Walt Whitman - The Complete Prose Works of Walt Whitman, Volume III, 1902

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MARY LAKE MEMORIAL

•

'O





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THIS EDITION

IS

ISSUED

UNDER ARRANGEMENT WITH

MESSRS. SMALL, MAYNARD,

&

CO.,

OF BOSTON

THE PUBLISHERS OF THE AUTHORIZED EDITIONS OF

THE WRITINGS OF WALT WHITMAN



PAUMANOK

EDITION

This Edition of the Complete Works of Walt

Whitman

printed on Ruisdael hand^made

is

paper, and limited

which

to

Three Hundred

this is

Number.

S.5 b

Sets,

of




n


THE

COMPLETE WRITINGS or

WALT

WHITMAN Issued under the editorial super-

vision of his Literary Execu-

Thomas B. Harned, and Horace

L. Traubel

With

additional

bibliographical

and

critical

ma-

prepared by Oscar Lovell friggs, Ph.D. terial

G.P.PinrNAM'3 SeNS THE KJaCRCWtCKCR PRE**


^


TME

COMPLETE «,

WRITINGS

M

WALT

WHITMAN Issued under the editorial super-

vision

of his

Literary Executors,

Richard

Maurice Bucke, Thomas B.Harned, and Horace L. Traubel

With

additional

bibliographical

and

critical

terial

ma-

prepared

by Oscar Lovell Triggs, Ph.D.

G.P.PUTNAM'3 52N5

NEWYeRK

^

LONDON

THE KNICKERB9CKER PRESS



THE COMPLETE PROSE WORKS OF

WALT WHITMAN

VOLUME

G, P.

III

PUTNAM'S SONS

NEW YORK AND LONDON Xlbe Iknicftetbocfter

1902

press


Copyright 1881, 1888, 1891, BY

WALT WHITMAN

Copyright, 1902

THOMAS

By

B.

HARNED

and

HORACE

SURVIVING LITERARY EXECUTORS OF

L.

Entered at Stationers' Hall

«

••

• ••

• ••• •

• •

••••

Vbc

Unkfterbecftcr pretf,

TRAUBEL

WALT WHITMAN

lUw

Boct


Contents ~—

COLLEC T—Continued, Youth

Pieces in Early

p^c.

Dough- Face Song Death

in the

3

School-Room

One Wicked Impulse The Last Loyalist Wild Frank's Return

The Boy Lover The Child and the

.

5

15

!

28 .

.

49 60

Profligate

Lingave's Temptation Little

73

.

Jane

Dumb

39

80

Kate

85

Talk to an Art-Union

Blood-Money

....

90

Wounded

House of Friends

91

in the

88

.

Sailing the Mississippi at

Midnigh t

92

NOVEMBER BOUGHS. Our Eminent Visitors, The Bible as Poetry

Past, Present

and Future

.

What

A

97 104

Father Taylor (and Oratory)

The Spanish Element

.

in

our Nationality

.

.

Lurks Behind Shakspere's Historical Plays

.

Thought on Shakspere

.

no .116 .120 124

Robert Burns as Poet and Person

128

A Word

143

About Tennyson

VOL, VI. [iii]

273534


Contenta

NOyEMBER BOUGHS-^Contintud, Slang in America

....

...

An Indian Bureau Reminiscence Some Diary Notes at Random Negro Slaves

in

New

,^ 149

138

York

164

Ginada Nights

164

Country Days and Nights

16$

Central Park Notes

166

Plate Glass

Notes

168

Some War Memoranda Washington

The

Street Scenes

172

195th Pennsylvania

173

Left-hand Writing by Soldiers

.

.

.

.173

Central Virginia in '64

Paying the

ist

U. S. C.

174

T

176

Five Thousand Poems The Old Bowery

.182 184

Notes to Late English Books Preface to the Reader in the British Islands

.

.196

Additional Note, 1887

197

Preface to English Edition Democratic yistas

.

199

Abraham Lincoln

202

New

208

Small

Orleans in 1848

Memoranda Attorney General's Office, 1865

A

Glint Inside of

Abraham

.

.

.

Lincoln's Cabinet

.217 Ap-

pointments

219

Note to a Friend

221

an Album

Written Impromptu

in

The

Fills in

Last of the

Place Gratitude

War

Elias Hicks,

Cases

a Fine Character

.

222

.

222

224

Notes (such as they

are)

George Fox and Shakspere Chrl

-241 273


Contcnte

GOOD-BYE

MY FANCY

An Old Man's

Rejoinder

Old Poets

.

Ship

.

'

.

.

pagb

.

...

Ahoy

For Queen Victoria's Birthday

M

283 .

.289

....

296 297



irUustrations

IValt

Whitman

.

.

.

.

Frontispiece

From a photograph by Rockwood, New York

Robert Burns

.

.

.

.

From a photograph of the painting

.

.

by

128

Kramer

Lord Tennyson, 18^9 From

.

144

the painting by G. F. Watts,

Elias Hicks

R.A.

24/

From a photograph

[vii]



Collect (Continued)

VOL. VI.— I.



Eppenbii: pieces in iBntl^ l^outb 1834-42

BottQbi-jf ace

Sons

Like dough; soft; yielding to pressure; pale.

We are all

IVebster^s Dictionary.

docile dough-faces,

They knead us with

the

fist.

They, the dashing southern

We labor as For them

they

lords.

list;

we speak — or hold our we turn and twist.

tongues,

For them

We join them Free

soil

in their

and

That firebrand

'*

howl

against

abolition,"

— that assassin knife —

Which risk our land's condition. And leave no peace of life to any Dough-faced

To

put

down

politician.

'*

agitation,"

now.

We think the most judicious To damn Those

The

*'

For

all **

**

northern fanatics,"

traitors " black

reg'lar party

us,

and no

**

and vicious,

usages"

new

[3]

issues."


Collect

Things have come to a pretty

When

a

trifle

Moving and

small as this,

bartering nigger slaves.

Can open an abyss, With jaws a-gape for "

A

pretty thought,

1

two

great parties;

wis!

!

know

not where they

Rights of the masses

Words

!

found.

're

— progress! — bah

1

sound " o'er " practical men

that tickle and

But claiming to Is

the

— freedom — fiddlesticks

Principle

We

pass,

rule

very different ground.

Beyond

such

all

we know

a term

Charming to ears and eyes, With it we 'II stab young Freedom,

And do Speak

in disguise;

it

soft,

ye wily dough-faces

That term

And what

if

is

*'

compromise."

children,

growing up,

In future seasons read

The thing we do ? and

heart and tongue

Accurse us for the deed

The

?

future cannot touch us ;

The present gain we Then, Let

all

's

heed.

together, dough-faces!

stop the exciting

clatter.

And pacify slave-breeding wrath By yielding all the matter; For otherwise, as sure as guns,

The Union

it

will shatter. [4]

"


Collect

Besides, to

tell

the honest truth

(For us an innovation,

Keeping Is

in

with the slave power

our personal salvation

We 've very From Besides

Who What

t'

little

to expects

other part of the nation.

it 's

plain at

likeliest

Washington

wins the

earthly chance has " free soil

For any good

fat place ?

While many a daw has

By Take

race,

his

feather'd his nest.

creamy and meek dough-face.

heart, then,

sweet companions,

Be steady, Scripture Dick! Webster, Cooper, Walker,

To your allegiance

stick!

With Brooks, and Briggs and

Phoenix,

Stand up through thin and thick!

We do not ask a bold brave We never try that game;

front;

T would bring the storm upon our heads, A

huge mad storm of shame " compromise Evade it, brothers

—

"

Will answer just the same.

Paumanok.

Ting-a-ling-Iing-Iing

Schoolroom (A Fact)

was

went the little bell on

^^^ teacher's desk of a village-school one

morning,

when

part of the It

!

the studies of the earlier

day were about half completed.

well understood that this [5]

was

a

command

for


Collect

and attention; and when these had been obtained, the master spoke. He was a low thickset man, and his name was Lugare. ** Boys/* said he, "I have had a complaint entered, that last night some of you were stealing fruit silence

from Mr. Nichols's garden.

Tim

I

rather think

1

know

up here, sir." The one to whom he spoke came forward. He was a slight, fair-looking boy of about thirteen; and his face had a laughing, good-humor'd expression,

the

thief.

Barker, step

which even the charge now preferr'd against him, and the stern tone and threatening look of the The counteteacher, had not entirely dissipated. nance of the boy, however, was too unearthly for health; ful look, .

it

had, notwithstanding

a singular cast as

if

its

fair

fleshy, cheer-

some inward

disease,

were seated within. As the stripling stood before that place of judgment that place so often made the scene of heartless and coarse

and that a

fearful one,

—

brutality,

of timid

innocence

confused,

helpless

childhood outraged, and gentle feelings crush'd

—

Lugare looked on him with a frown which plainly

no very pleasant mood. (Happily a worthier and more philosophical system is proving to men that schools can be better govern 'd than by lashes and tears and sighs. We are waxing toward told that he

felt in

consummation when one of the old-fashion'd school-masters with his cowhide, his heavy birchrod, and his many ingenious methods of child-

that

[6]


Collect

be gazed upon as a scorn 'd memento of an ignorant, cruel, and exploded doctrine. May

torture, will

propitious gales speed that day!)

*'Were you by Mr. Nichols's garden fence

last

night ? " said Lugare. ''Yes, sir," answer'd the boy, **

Well,

sir,

I

your confession. a

little

'' I

was."

'm glad to find you so ready with

And

so you thought you could do

robbing, and enjoy yourself in a

manner you

ought to be ashamed to own, without being punish'd,

you?"

did

'' I

have not been robbing," replied the boy quick-

was suffused, whether with resentment '' And did n't do or fright, it was difficult to tell. anything last night, that am ashamed to own." His face

ly.

I

1

''No impudence!" exclaim'd the teacher, passionately,

" give

as he grasp'd a long and

me none of your

sharp speeches, or

you till you beg like a dog." The youngster's face paled a er'd,

heavy

little;

I

'11

ratan:

thrash

his lip quiv-

but he did not speak.

"And ward

pray, sir," continued Lugare, as the out-

signs of wrath disappear 'd from his features;

"what were you about

the garden for?

Perhaps

you only receiv'd the plunder, and had an accomplice to do the more dangerous part of the job! " went that way because it is on my road home. was there again afterwards to meet an acquaintance; and and But did not go into the garden, I

I

—

—

I

[7]


Collect

nor take anything

away from

it.

I

would not

steal,

— hardly to save myself from starving." **

You had

You were

better

have stuck to that

Tim

seen,

Barker, to

Mr. Nichols's garden fence, a

with a bag

evening.

come from under

little after

nine o'clock,

of something or other over your

full

The bag had every appearance of being

shoulders.

with

filled

last

and

fruit,

this

morning the melon-beds

Now,

are found to have been completely cleared.

what was there

sir,

Like

fire itself

in

that bag ?

"

glow'd the face of the detected

lad.

He spoke

their

eyes directed at him.

down

his white forehead like rain-drops.

'*

Speak,

All

the school had

The

perspiration ran

not a word.

sir I"

exclaimed Lugare, with a loud

on the desk. The boy look'd as though he would

strike of his ratan

faint.

But

the unmerciful teacher, confident of having brought to light a criminal, and exulting in the idea of the

severe chastisement he should inflicting,

now

kept working himself up to a

and greater degree of passion. the child seem'd hardly to himself.

mouth.

was

be justified

His

tongue

Either he

In

was very much

greater

the meantime,

know what

cleav'd to

still

in

to

do with

the roof of his frightened, or

he

actually unwell.

say!" again thundered Lugare; and his hand, grasping his ratan, towered above his head **

in a

Speak,

1

very significant manner.

m


Collect

hardly can,

**I

sir/' said

was husky and some other time.

the poor fellow faintly. '*

His voice

thick.

some

Please let

1

you

will tell

me go

my

to

seat— a'n't well." *'0h yes; that's very likely;" and Mr. Lugare bulged out his nose and cheeks with contempt. '' Do you think to make me believe your lies ? Ve found you out, sir, plainly enough; and am satisfied that you are as precious a little villain as there 1

I

I

is

But

the State.

in

you

for

and

if

an hour yet.

you don't

tell

I

will

postpone settling with

shall

then

call

you up

the whole truth then,

I

again;

will give

make you remember Mr. many a month to come; go to

you something that Nichols's melons for

I

'11

your seat." Glad enough of the ungracious permission, and

answering not

a

to his bench.

He

as his

if

he was

arms on

them. for

The

in

sound, the child crept tremblingly felt

very strangely, dizzily

a dream than in real

his desk,

bow'd down

life;

— more

and laying

his face

between

pupils turn'd to their accustom'd studies,

during the reign of Lugare

in

the village-school,

they had been so used to scenes of violence and severe chastisement, that such things

made but

little

way. Now, while the intervening hour is passing, we will clear up the mystery of the bag, and of young Barker being under the garden fence on the preceding night. The boy's mother was a widow, and interruption in the tenor of their

[9]


Collect

they both had to

His father had died little

Tim was

left

no one expected to prise of

all,

the very narrowest limits.

live in

when he was

six years old,

a sickly emaciated infant live

To

many months.

however, the poor child kept

and

whom

the sur-

alive,

and

seem'd to recover his health, as he certainly did his size

This was owing to the kind

and good looks.

offices of

who had a countryand who had been in-

an eminent physician

seat in the neighborhood,

terested

in

the widow's

little

Tim, the

family.

physician said, might possibly outgrow his disease;

but everything was uncertain.

and

baffling

malady; and

it

It

was

a mysterious

would not be wonderful

some moment of apparent health be suddenly taken away. The poor widow was at first if

he should

in

in a continual state

of uneasiness; but several years

had now pass'd, and none of the impending evils had fallen upon the boy's head. His mother seem'd to feel confident that he would live, and be a help and an honor to her old age; and the two struggled on

happy in each other, and enduring much of poverty and discomfort without repin-

together, mutually

ing,

each for the other's sake.

Tim's pleasant disposition had made him friends in the village,

farmer

named

Jones,

work'd a large farm

in

and among the

who, with

rest a

many young

his elder brother,

the neighborhood on shares.

Jones very frequently made Tim a present of a bag of potatoes or corn,

or

some garden

[10]

vegetables,


Collect

which he took from

his

own

stock; but as his part-

was a parsimonious, high-tempered man, and had often said that Tim was an idle fellow, and ner

ought not to be help'd because he did not work,

made his gifts in such a manner no one knew anything about them, except

Jones generally that

himself and the grateful objects of his kindness.

It

might be, too, that the widow was loth to have

it

understood by the neighbors that she received food

from anyone;

for there is often

an excusable pride

in

people of her condition which makes them shrink

from being consider'd as objects of

would from the severest

Tim had been

pains.

''

charity " as they

On the night in ques-

would send them a bag of potatoes, and the place at which they were to be waiting for him was fixed at Mr. Nichols's garden fence. It was this bag that Tim had been seen staggering under, and which caused the unlucky boy to be accused and convicted by his teacher as a thief. That teacher was one little fitted for his important and responsible office. Hasty to decide, and inflexibly severe, he was the terror of the little Punishment he world he ruled so despotically. seemed to delight in. Knowing little of those sweet fountains which in children's breasts ever open

tion,

quickly at the

he was none.

call

told that Jones

of gentleness and kind words,

by all for his sternness, and loved by would that he were an isolated instance in

fear'd I

his profession. [II]


Collect

The hour

drawn to its which it was usual

of grace had

the time approach'd at to give his

close, for

and

Lugare

school a joyfully-receiv'd dismission.

Now

and then one of the scholars would direct a furtive glance at Tim, sometimes in pity, sometimes in

They knew

indifference or inquiry.

he

that

would have no mercy shown him, and though most of them loved him, whipping was too common there to exact

much sympathy.

Every inquiring glance,

however, remained unsatisfied, hour,

and

Tim remained with

his

head bow'd

lean'd himself

end of the

his face completely hidden,

in his

when he

for at the

arms, precisely as he had

first

went

to his seat.

Lu-

gare look'd at the boy occasionally with a scowl

which seem'd to bode vengeance for his sullenness. At length the last class had been heard, and the last lesson recited, and Lugare seated himself behind his desk on the platform, with his longest and stoutest ratan before him.

'*Now, Barker," he business of yours,

Tim

said,

just step

**

we'll settle that

little

up here."

The school-room was as still sound was to be heard, except

did not move.

Not a

as the grave.

occasionally a long-drawn breath.

**Mind me,

sir,

or

it

will

be the worse

for

you.

Step up here, and take off your jacket!

The boy

been of wood. still

any more than if he had Lugare shook with passion. He sat

did not

a minute, as

if

stir

considering the best

way

to


Collect

wreak

That

vengeance.

his

death-like silence,

was

it

whiten'd with

slowly dropp'd away,

passed

some

a fearful one to

children, for their faces

seem'd, as

minute,

like

in

of the

fright.

It

the minute

which precedes the climax of an exquisitely-performed tragedy, when some mighty master of the histrionic art is treading the stage, and you and the multitude around you are waiting, with stretch 'd nerves and suspended breath, in expectation of the terrible catastrophe.

*'Tim

boys

who

is

asleep, sir," at length said

one of the

sat near him.

Lugare, at this intelligence, allow'd his features to relax from their expression of savage anger into a smile, but that smile look'd ble,

more malignant

than his former scowls.

amused

It

if

possi-

might be that he

felt

on the faces of those about him; or it might be that he was gloating in pleasure on the way in which he intended to wake at the horror depicted

the slumberer.

my young

''Asleep! are you,

he; 'Met us see

we

if

your eyes open.

can't find

There

's

best of a bad case, boys.

not to be worried for the

in his

thought of

it

gentleman!" said

something to

nothing

mind about a can't

even

making the

like

Tim, here,

tickle

is

determin'd

little

flogging,

keep the

little

scoundrel awake."

Lugare smiled again as he made the tion.

He

last

observa-

grasp'd his ratan firmly, and descended [13]


Collect

With

and stealthy steps he cross'd the room and stood by the unlucky sleeper. The boy was still as unconscious of his impending from his

seat.

light

punishment as ever. He might be dreaming Some golden dream of youth and pleasure; perhaps he

away

was

far

and

feeling delights,

in

the world of fancy, seeing scenes,

Lugare

bestow.

which cold

lifted his ratan

reality

never can

high over his head,

and with the true and expert aim which he had acquired by long practice, brought it down on Tim's back with a force and whacking sound which seem'd sufficient to

Quick and

wake

fast,

a freezing

man

in his last lethargy.

blow follow'd blow.

ing to see the effect of the

first

Without waitcut,

wretch plied his instrument of torture

the brutal

first

on one

and then on the other, and only stopped at the end of two or three minutes from very weariness. But still Tim showed no signs side of the boy's back,

of motion; and as Lugare, provoked at his torpidity, jerk'd

away one

of the child's arms, on which he

had been leaning over the desk, his head dropped down on the board with a dull sound, and his face lay turn'd

saw

it,

up and exposed to view.

he stood

like

When

one transfix'd by a

Lugare basilisk.

His countenance turn'd to a leaden whiteness; the ratan dropp'd from his grasp;

wide open, glared as of horror and death.

at

and

his eyes, stretch'd

some monstrous spectacle The sweat started in great

globules seemingly from every pore in his face; his [14]


Collect

skinny

lips contracted,

when he

and show'd

his teeth;

at length stretch'd forth his arm,

and

and with

the end of one of his fingers touch'd the child's cheek, each limb quiver'd like the tongue of a snake;

seemed

would moHe had mentarily fail him. The boy was dead. probably been so for some time, for his eyes were turn'd up, and his body was quite cold. Death was in the schoolroom, and Lugare had been flogging a and

his strength

as

though

it

CORPSE.

—Democratic Review, August, 1841. That section of Nassau Street which runs One Wicked Impulse

° ^^^^ ^^^.^ ^f ^^^ york brokers and stock-jobbers, has for a long time been j^^^^ ^j^^

much occupied by practitioners of the law. Tolerably well-known amid this class some years since, was Adam Covert, a middle-aged man of rather limited means, who, to

tell

the truth, gained more by trick-

ery than he did in the legitimate and honorable exer-

He was a tall, bilious-faced of two children; and had lately

cise of his profession.

widower; the father been seeking to better his fortunes by a rich marriage. But somehow or other his wooing did not seem to thrive well, and, with perhaps one exception, the lawyer's prospects in the

matrimonial

way

were hopelessly gloomy.

Among

the early clients of Mr. Covert had been a

distant relative

named Marsh, who, dying somewhat [15]


Collect

suddenly,

left

his

son and daughter, and some

property, to the care of Covert, under a will

little

drawn

At no time caught

out by that gentleman himself.

without his eyes open, the cunning lawyer, aided

by much sad confusion

in

the emergency which had

caused his services to be called

for,

and disguising

his object under a cloud of technicalities, inserted

provisions in the will, giving himself an almost arbitrary control over the property

whom

it

was

designed.

and over those

This control was even

for

made

beyond the time when the children would arrive at mature age. The son, Philip, a spirited and high-temper'd fellow, had some time since passed that age. Esther, the girl, a plain, and somewhat devotional young woman, was in her nineteenth year. Having such power over his wards, Covert did to extend

not scruple openly to use his advantage,

in

his claims as a suitor for Esthers hand.

pressing

Since the

which had been in real estate, and was to be divided equally between the brother and sister, had risen to very considerable value; and Esther's share was to a man in Covert's death of Marsh, the property he

situation a prize very well

time, while really

young orphans

sum

of

money

owning

often

felt

left,

worth seeking.

All this

a respectable income, the

the want of the smallest

— and Esther, on

Philip's account,

was

—

more than once driven to various contrivances the pawnshop, sales of her own little luxuries, and the like, to furnish him with means. ÂŁi6]


Collect

Though she had

frequently

shown

her guardian

unequivocal evidence of her aversion, Esther continued to suffer from his persecutions, until one day

he proceeded

and was more pressing than

farther

She possessed some of her brother's mettlesome temper, and gave him an abrupt and most With dignity, she exposed the decided refusal. baseness of his conduct, and forbade him ever again usual.

mentioning marriage to her.

He

vaunted his hold on her and

Philip,

retorted bitterly,

and swore an

oath that unless she became his wife, they should

both thenceforward become penniless. habitual

self-control

Losing his

his exasperation,

in

he even

added insults such as woman never receives from any one deserving the name of man, and at his own That day, Philip reconvenience left the house. turn'd to

New

York,

after

an absence of several

weeks on the business of a mercantile house in whose employment he had lately engaged. Toward the latter part of the same afternoon, Mr. Covert was sitting in his office, in Nassau Street, busily at work, when a knock at the door announc'd a visitor, and directly afterward young Marsh enter'd the room.

His face exhibited a peculiar pallid ap-

pearance that did not strike Covert at

and he

call'd his clerk

I

agreeably,

from an adjoining room, and

gave him something to do ''

all

at a

desk near by.

wish to see you alone, Mr. Covert,

nient," said the VOL. VI.—a.

newcomer. _

_-

[17]

if

conve-


Collect

*'

We can

talk quite well **

answered the lawyer; I

have any

enough where

indeed,

leisure to talk at

are,"

know that am just now

don't

I

all,

we

for

1

very much pressed with business." " But must speak to you," rejoined Philip sternly, 1

must say one thing, and that is, Mr. Covert, that you are a villain " Insolent " exclaimed the lawyer, rising behind "at

least

I

I

!

*'

the table, and pointing to the door.

your

method.

see

you the other may reach the landing by quicker

Let one minute longer find

that, sir ? side, or

Do you

feet

Begone,

sir

I

Such a threat was the more harsh to Philip, for he had rather high-strung feelings of honor. He grew almost '* I

livid

with suppressed agitation.

will see

you again very soon,"

but distinct manner, his

and

left

The day

the

lips

said he, in a

trembling as he spoke;

office.

incidents of the rest of that pleasant

left little

He roam'd

low

to

summer

impression on the young man's mind.

and

fro

without any object or destina-

Along South Street and by Whitehall, he watch'd with curious eyes the movements of the shipping, and the loading and unloading of cargoes; and listened to the merry heave-yo of the sailors and

tion.

stevedores.

There are some minds upon which great

excitement produces the singular

effect of uniting

two

utterly inconsistent faculties

— a sort of cold apathy,

and a sharp sensitiveness to

all

[x8]

that

is

going on at the


Collect

same

time.

Philip's

was one

of this sort; he noticed

the various differences in the apparel of a gang of wharf-laborers

— turn'd over

in his brain

whether they

wages enough to keep them comfortable, and and if they had families or not, their families also which he tried to tell by their looks. In such petty receiv'd

—

And

away.

reflections the daylight passed

all

the

while the master wish of Philip's thoughts was a desire to see

was by no means Nightfall came at last.

himself

man

For what purpose he

the lawyer Covert. clear.

did not direct his steps

Still,

however, the young

He

homeward.

felt

more

calm, however, and entering an eating house, order'd

something

for his supper,

which,

and

to him, he merely tasted,

when

it

was brought

stroll'd forth again.

There was a kind of gnawing sensation of thirst within

him

yet,

that one

the thing.

and as he pass'd a

hotel,

he bethought him

would perhaps be just He drank, and hour after hour wore away

little

glass of spirits

unconsciously; he drank not one glass, but three or four,

and strong glasses they were to him,

for

he was

habitually abstemious.

had been a hot day and evening, and when Philip, at an advanced period of the night, emerged It

from the bar-room into the

street,

thunderstorm had just commenced.

he found that a

He

resolutely

walk'd on, however, although at every step

more and more blustering. The rain now pour'd down a [19]

cataract

;

it

grew

the shops


Collect

were all shut; few of the street lamps were lighted; and there was little except the frequent flashes of

show him his way. When about half the Chatham Street, which lay in the direction

lightning to

length of

he had to take, the momentary fury of the tempest

him

forced

to turn aside into a sort of shelter form'd

by the corners of the deep entrance to a Jew pawnbroker's shop there. He had hardly drawn himself in as closely as possible,

to

him

anted '*

when

the lightning revealed

that the opposite corner of the

nook was ten-

also.

A sharp rain,

this," said the other occupant,

who

simultaneously beheld Philip.

The

young man's ears a note which almost made him sober again. It was certainly the voice of Adam Covert. He made some commonvoice sounded to the

place reply, and waited for another flash of lightning to

show him the

stranger's face.

that his companion

was indeed

It

came, and he saw

his guardian.

—

Marsh had drank deeply (let us plead all that may be possible to you, stern moralist). Upon his mind came swarming, and he could not drive them away, thoughts of all those insults his sister had told him of, and the bitter words Covert had spoken to her; he reflected, too, on the injuries Esther as well Philip

as himself had receiv'd, and

were still likely to receive, at the hands of that bold, bad man how mean, selfish, and unprincipled was his character what base and cruel advantages he had taken of many poor people, ;

—

[20]


Collect

entangled

power, and of

in his

how much wrong and

he had been the author, and might be again

suffering

The very

through future years. ments, the harsh

turmoil of the ele-

of the thunder, the vindictive

roll

beating of the rain, and the fierce glare of the wild

seem'd to

fluid that

riot in

the ferocity of the storm

around him, kindled a strange sympathetic fury

young man's mind.

Heaven

his imaginations) appear'd to

in

(so deranged

itself

have provided a

the

were

fitting

scene and time for a deed of retribution, which to his disorder'd passion half wore the semblance of a divine justice.

He remember'd not the ready solution

found

Covert's pressure of business, which had no

in

doubt kept him

in

be

than usual; but fancied some

later

mysterious intent

to

the ordaining that he should be

there,

and that they two should meet

hour.

All this whirl of influence

with startling quickness

at that

at that

untimely

came over Philip He horrid moment.

stepp'd to the side of his guardian. **

ert ?

Ho

!

" said he,

You

children!

'*

traitor to I

have

my

fear to think

we met

so soon, Mr. Cov-

dead father— robber of his

on what

I

think

now

!

The lawyer's natural effrontery did not desert him. *' Unless you 'd like to spend a night in the watchhouse, young gentleman, " said he, after a short pause, '' move on. Your father was a weak man, rememI

ber; as for his son, his foe.

say,

I

own wicked

heart

have never done wrong to either

and swear

it

1

[21]

is

his

worst

— that

I

can


Collect

" Insolent out sparks of

liar

!

"exclaimed

fire in

Philip, his

eye flashing

the darkness.

Covert made no reply except a cool, contemptuous

which stung the excited young man to double He sprang upon the lawyer, and clutch'd him

laugh, fury.

by the neckcloth. *' Take it, then " he cried hoarsely, for his throat was impeded by the fiendish rage which in that black hour possess'd him. " You are not fit to live He dragged his guardian to the earth and fell crushingly upon him, choking the shriek the poor victim I

I

but just began to

utter.

Then, with monstrous im-

precations, he twisted a tight knot around the gasping

drew

creature's neck,

and touching the eager for

its

spring, the long sharp blade, too

bloody work, flew open.

During the the prostrate of agony.

a clasp knife from his pocket,

lull

man

of the storm, the last strength of burst forth into one short loud cry

At the same instant, the arm of the mur-

derer thrust the blade, once, twice, thrice, deep in his

enemy's bosom fatal

I

Not a minute had passed

exasperating laugh

since that

—but the deed was done, and

the instinctive thought which came at once to the guilty one, In

was

a thought of fear and escape.

the unearthly pause which follow'd, Philip's

eyes gave one long searching sweep tion,

there?

eye!

every direc-

^bovel God of the What, and who was that figure

above and around him.

all-seeing

in


Collect

**

but clear

name, forbear;" cried a and melodious voice.

was

some accusing

Forbear

shrill, It

as

In Jehovah's

1

if

had come down

spirit

to bear witness against the deed of blood. far

Leaning

out of an open window, appear'd a white draper-

ied shape,

its

face possess'd of a

Long

wonderful youthful

glows of lightning gave Philip a full opportunity to see as clearly as though the sun had been shining at noonday. One hand of the figure was raised upward in a deprecating attitude, and his large bright black eyes bent down upon the scene below with an expression of horror and shrinking pain. Such heavenly looks, and the peculiar circumbeauty.

vivid

stance of the time,

*'0h, again, '

*'

not yet too

if it is

spare

fill'd Phillip's

him.

In

Thou shalt do no murder The words rang like a

ror-stricken

heart with awe.

spoke the youth

late,''

God's voice, !

I

command,

'

knell in the ear of the ter-

and already remorseful

Philip.

Springing

from the body, he gave a second glance up and the walk, which

was

totally

lonesome and deserted

then crossing into Reade Street, he

way

in

down

made

his fearful

a half state of stupor, half-bewilderment,

by

the nearest avenues to his home.

When the corpse of the murder'd lawyer was found in the

morning, and the

their inquiry, suspicion

and he was ever,

arrested.

brought to

officers ofjustice

commenced

immediately

upon

The most

light

Philip,

rigorous search,

nothing at [23]

fell

all

how-

implicating the


Collect

young man, except

his visit to Covert's office the

That

evening before, and his angry language there.

was by no means enough

to fix so heavy a charge

upon him.

The second day afterward, the whole business came before the ordinary judicial tribunal, in order that Philip might be either

or discharged.

stood alone. in his

The testimony

One

for

the crime,

of Mr. Covert's clerk

of his employers, who, believing

innocence, had deserted him not in this

had provided him with the

New

committed

crisis,

ablest criminal counsel in

The proof was declared entirely insufficient, and Philip was discharged. The crowded court-room made way for him as he came out; hundreds of curious looks fixed upon his York.

features, all

and many a

that arena of human faces, he

pale, black-eyed one, rest.

He had seen

upon him.

But of

saw only one

— a sad,

jibe pass'd

cowering

in

the centre of the

that face twice before

— the

time as a warning spectre—the second time

immediately

after his arrest

— now

first

in prison,

for the last time.

This young stranger— the son of a scorn 'd race

—com-

unhappy duty, with the intention of testifying to what he had seen, melted at the sight of Philip's bloodless cheek, and of his sister's convulsive sobs, and forbore witnessing Shall we applaud or condemn against the murderer. him? Let every reader answer the question for him-

ing to the court-room to perform an

self.

£^1


Collect

That afternoon

Philip left

New York.

His friendly

employer own'd a small farm some miles up the Hud-

was

son, and until the excitement of the affair

he advised the young man to go

prepara-

took a hurried leave of Esther, and by

nightfall

was settled in his new abode. And how, think you, rested night?

much

Philip

made a few

thankfully accepted the proposal, tions,

thither.

over,

Rested, indeed!

for the halter

O,

and the

if

Philip

those

Marsh that

who

clamor so

scaffold to punish crime,

could have seen that sight, they might have learn 'd a lesson then!

Four days had elapsed since he that

upon the bed there had slumber'd. Not the slightest intermission had come to his awaken'd and tensely strung sense, during those frightful days. Disturb'd waking dreams came to him, as he thought what he might do to gain his lost peace. Far, far away would he go! The cold roll of the murder'd man's eye, as it turn'd up its last glance into his face lay tossing

— the

shrill

exclamation of pain

all

the unearthly

vividness of the posture, motions, and looks of the

dead—the warning

voice from above

—pursued

him

and were never absent from his mind, asleep or awake, that long weary night. Anything, any place, to escape such horrid companionship He would travel inland hire himself to do

like

tormenting

furies,

!

hard drudgery upon some

— farm — work

incessantly

through the wide summer days, and thus force nature to bestow oblivion

upon [35]

his senses, at least a


Collect

little

while

now and

He would

then.

fly on, on, on,

amid different scenes and a new life, the old memories were rubb*d entirely out. He would fight until,

bravely

in

For peace he

himself for peace of mind.

would labor and struggle— for peace he would pray! At length after a feverish slumber of some thirty or forty minutes, the unhappy youth, waking with a nervous start, raised himself in bed, and saw the blessed daylight beginning to dawn. He felt the sweat trickling down his naked breast; the sheet where he had lain was quite wet with it. Dragging himself wearily, he opened the window. Ahl that good morning air how it refreshed him how he leaned out, and drank in the fragrance of the blossoms below, and almost for the first time in his life felt how beautifully indeed God had made the earth, and that there was wonderful sweetness in mere existence. And amidst the thousand mute mouths and eloquent eyes, which appeared as it were to look up and speak

—

in

—

every direction, he fancied so

many

invitations to

come among them.

Not without effort, for he was very weak, he dress'd himself, and issued forth into the open air. Clouds of pale gold and transparent crimson .

"^N

whose face was not yet

draperied the eastern sky, but the sun,

gladdened them

into

above the horizon. rare,

It

that glory,

all

was

a time

such Eden-like beauty!

summit of an upward

slope, [26]

and place of such

Philip

paused

at the

and gazed around him.


Collect

Some few Hudson cliffs

miles off he could see a gleam of the

River,

and above

it

a spur of those rugged

Nearer by

scatter'd along its western shores.

were cultivated

The

fields.

clover

grew

richly there,

young grain bent to the early breeze, and the At his air was filled with an intoxicating perfume. side was the large well-kept garden of his host, in which were many pretty flowers, grass plots, and a, wide avenue of noble trees. As Philip gazed, the invisible the holy calming power of Nature the

spirit

of so

melted into the feverish

much beauty and so much innocence, his soul. The disturbed passions and conflict subsided. He even felt some-

thing like envied peace of mind in

the presence of

as

fair

all

to him, guilty

purest of the pure.

— a sort of joy even

the unmarr'd goodness.

It

was

though he had been, as to the No accusing frowns show'd in

the face of the flowers, or in the green shrubs, or the branches of the trees.

They, more forgiving

than mankind, and distinguishing not between the children

of darkness and the children of light

Was

they at least treated him with gentleness. then, a being so accurs'd ?

Involuntarily,

he,

he bent

over a branch of red roses, and took them softly be-

tween

his

hands

— those murderous, bloody hands!

But the red roses neither withered nor smell'd fragrant.

And

as the

young man

dropp'd a tear upon them,

it

kiss'd

them, and

seem'd to him that

he had found pity and sympathy from Heaven [27]

less

itself.


Collect

Though

against

the rules of story-writing,

all

we

continue our narrative of these mainly true incidents (for

such they are) no

further.

the murderer soon departed for a

Only to say that

new

field

of ac-

and that this is but tion—that he is still living one of thousands of cases of unravePd, unpunished crime left, not to the tribunals of man, but to a

wider power and judgment.

am

The Last

The

Loyaiist

tional reminiscence of a country place, in

**sbecMmtu>

niy rambles about which

story

I

going to

tell

is

a tradi-

have often

I

nc L^gwre passed the house, now unoccupied, and p^Qs^jy jp fuins, that was the scene of the cannot, of course, convey to others transaction. that particular kind of influence which is derived from my being so familiar with the locality, and with the very people whose grandfathers or fathers were contemporaries of the actors in the drama shall must hardly expect, therefore, that to transcribe. back DO trestL"

1

1

I

those

who

hear

it

thro' the

medium

narration will possess as life-like

character as

On in the

City,

it

of

my

and interesting a

does to myself.

a large and

fertile

neck of land that juts out

Sound, stretching to the east of there stood,

in

the

latter

part

New

been built by one of the

New

World; and

first settlers its [28]

York

of the last

century, an old-fashion'd country-residence.

of the

pen, the

It

had

of this section

occupant was originally


Collect

owner of the extensive

tract lying

house, and pushing into waters.

It

the

adjacent to his

bosom

of the salt

was during the troubled times which

mark'd our American Revolution that the incidents occurred

my

which are the foundation of

Some time

story.

commencement of the war, shall call Vanhome, was taken the owner, whom For some time before his death he sick and died. before the 1

had

lived a

widower; and

his only child, a lad of

was thus left an orphan. By his this child was placed implicitly under

ten years old, father's will

the guardianship of an uncle, a middle-aged man,

who had

been of

care and interest, however,

while laid

the family.

His

were needed but a

little

late a resident in

— not two years elaps'd

away

after

the parents were

to their last repose before another grave

had to be prepared for the son —the child who had been so haplessly deprived of their fostering care.

The period now

arrived

convulsion burst forth.

when

the great national

Sounds of

strife

and the

and the angry voices of disputants, were borne along by the air, and week after week grew to still louder clamor. Families were divided; adherents to the crown, and ardent upholders of the rebellion, were often found in the bosom of the same domestic circle. Vanhome, the uncle spoken clash of arms,

of as guardian to the

young

heir,

was

a

man who

and the severe. He soon became known among the most energetic

lean'd to the stern, the high-handed

[29]


Collect

So decided were his sentiments that, leaving the estate which he had inherited from his brother and nephew, he join'd the forces of the British king. Thenceforward, whenever his old neighbors heard of him, it was as being engaged in of the loyalists.

the boldest inroads, or the

the cruelest outrages,

most determined attacks upon the army of his countrymen or their peaceful settlements. Eight years brought the rebel States and their

when

leaders to that glorious epoch

the last rem-

nant of a monarch's rule was to leave their shores

— when the to flutter as

and

its

waving of the

last

should be haul'd

it

place

fill'd

royal standard

down from

the

was

staff,

by the proud testimonial of our

warriors' success.

Pleasantly over the

November

sun,

when

autumn a

shone

fields

horseman, of somewhat

military look, plodded slowly along the led

to the

old

nothing peculiar

Vanhome farmhouse. in

his attire, unless

a red scarf which he

the

wore

tied

road that

There was it

might be

round his waist.

He was a dark-featured, sullen-eyed man; and as his glance was thrown restlessly to the right and left, whole manner appeared to be that of a person moving amid familiar and accustom'd scenes. Occasionally he stopp'd, and looking long and steadily his

at

some

object that attracted his attention, mutter'd

to himself, like one in

were moving.

whose

His course [30]

breast busy thoughts

was

evidently to the


Collect

homestead

at

itself,

He dismounted,

which

in

due time he

led his horse to the

arrived.

stables,

and

then, without knocking, though there were evident signs of occupancy around the building, the traveler

made

his

entrance as composedly and

boldly as

though he were master of the whole establishment. Now the house being in a measure deserted for

many strife

years,

and the successful termination of the

rendering

probable that the

it

would be confiscated

to the

Vanhome

estate

new government,

an

aged, poverty-stricken couple had been encouraged

by the neighbors the place.

to take possession as tenants of

name was

Their

Gills;

and these people

the traveler found upon his entrance were likely to

be his host and hostess. did

by so

opposition

Holding their right as they

slight a tenure,

when

they ventur'd to

offer

no

the stranger signified his intention

of passing several hours there.

and the sun went down in the interloper, gloomy and taciturn,

The day wore

on,

the west;

still

made no

signs of departing.

But as the evening

advanced (whether the darkness was congenial to

sombre thoughts, or whether it merely chanced so) he seem'd to grow more affable and communicative, and informed Gills that he should pass the night there, tendering him at the same time ample remuneration, which the latter accepted with many

his

thanks.

"Tell me," said he to his aged host, [31]

when they


(ToIIect

were

all

sitting

around the

ample hearth,

conclusion of their evening meal,

thing to while **

new

Ah!

away

at the

me some-

the hours."

answered

sir,"

**tell

'*

Gills,

We

or interesting events.

this live

is

no place

for

here from year

we find ourselves which we filled in the

to year, and at the end of one at

about the same place

beginning."

**Gin you relate nothing, then?" rejoin'd the guest, and a singular smile passed over his features;

"can you say nothing about your own place? house or

this

its

—

former inhabitants, or former his-

tory?"

The

old

man glanced

across to his wife, and a

look expressive of sympathetic feeling started

in

the

''

and

face of each.

"

may

It is

an unfortunate story,

cast a chill

feeling

which

it

sir," said Gills,

upon you, instead of the pleasant would be best to foster when in

strange walls." *'

Strange walls! " echoed he of the red

and

for the first

but

it

was not

scarf,

time since his arrival he half laughed,

the laugh which comes from a man's

heart.

"You must know,

sir,"

continued

ers

"I am

—

The Vanhomes was the name of the former residents and ownhave never seen; for when came to these

myself a sort of intruder here. that

Gills,

—

I

parts the last occupant

I

had

left

to join the red-coat


Collect

am told that he is to lands, now that the war

soldiery.

foreign

sail

I

is

with them

for

ended, and his

property almost certain to pass into other hands."

his

As the old man went on, the stranger cast down eyes, and listen'd with an appearance of great in-

though a transient smile or a brightening of the eye would occasionally disturb the serenity of his terest,

deportment.

''The old owners of this place," continued the white-haired narrator,

''

were well

and bore a good name among brother of Sergeant

off in the world,

their neighbors.

The

Vanhome, now the only one of

the name, died ten or twelve years since, leaving a

son

— a child

so small that the father's will

up by

provision for his being brought

whom

1

mentioned but

now

made

his uncle,

as of the British army.

He was a strange man, this uncle; disliked by all who knew him; passionate, vindictive, and, it was said, ''

very avaricious, even from his childhood.

Well, not long after the death of the parents, dark

stories

began to be circulated about cruelty and pun-

by People who had

ishment and whippings and starvation

new

the

master upon his nephew.

inflicted

business at the homestead would frequently,

they came away, relate the most manager, and

was

fearful things of its

he misused his brother's

child.

It

half hinted that he strove to get the youngster

out of the fall

how

when

into

way in order that the whole estate might own hands. As told you before,

his

I

VOL. VI.— 3.

[33]


Collect

however, nobody liked the man; and perhaps they

judged him too uncharitably.

had gone on in this way for some time, a countryman, a laborer, who was hired to do farm-work upon the place, one evening observed that the little orphan Vanhome was more faint and pale even than usual, for he was always delicate, and **

After things

why think it possible that his death, of which am now going to tell you, was but the result of his own weak constitution, and nothing that

is

one reason

I

1

The

else.

house.

night at the farm-

laborer slept that

Just before the time at

which they usually

retired to bed, this person, feeling sleepy

day*s

way

toil,

to rest.

to pass a sir,

left

the kitchen hearth and In

with his

wended

his

going to his place of repose he had

chamber— the

are to sleep to-night

very chamber where you,

— and

there he heard the

voice of the orphan child uttering half-suppress'd

exclamations as

if

Upon stopelder Vanhome,

in pitiful entreaty.

ping, he heard also the tones of the

The sound of blows followed. As each one fell it was accompanied by a groan or shriek, and so they continued for some time. Shocked and indignant, the countryman would have but they were harsh and

bitter.

burst open the door and interfered to prevent this brutal

proceeding, but he bethought him that he

might get himself into trouble, and perhaps find that he could do no good

after

to his room. C34]

all,

and so he passed on


Collect

"Well,

sir,

the following day the child did not

come out among the work-people as usual. taken very ill. No physician was sent for next afternoon; and though one arrived of the night,

it

was too

late

— the

in

He was until the

the course

poor boy died be-

fore morning.

People talk'd threateningly upon the subject,

''

but nothing could be proved against Vanhome.

At

one period there were efforts made to have the whole Perhaps that would have taken affair investigated.

had not every one's attention been swallow'd up by the rumors of difficulty and war, which were

place,

then beginning to disturb the country. ''

Vanhome joined

the army of the king.

His ene-

mies said that he feared to be on the side of the rebels,

because

they were routed his property

if

would be taken from him. But events have shown that, if this was indeed what he dreaded, it has happen'd to him from the very means which he took to prevent it"

The

old

man

He had

paused.

For some minutes

himself with so long talking. there

was unbroken

quite wearied

silence.

Presently the stranger signified his intention of retiring for the night.

a

light

for

He

the purpose

rose,

and

his host

of ushering

him

to

took his

apartment.

When

Gills return'd to his

in the large

accustomed situation

arm-chair by the chimney-hearth, his [35]


Collect

With the simthe bed stood in the same

ancient helpmate had retired to rest. plicity of their times,

room where the three had been seated during the last few hours; and now the remaining two talk'd together about the singular events of the evening.

As the time wore on, leave his cosy chair;

bending over the

show'd no disposition to but sat toasting his feet, and

Gills

Gradually the insidious

coals.

heat and the lateness of the hour began to exercise their influence over the old

The drowsy

man.

indo-

which every one has experienced in getting thoroughly heated through by close contact with a glowing fire, spread in each vein and sinew, and relaxed its tone. He lean'd back in his chair and slept. For a long time his repose went on quietly and lent feeling

soundly.

He could not tell how many hours elapsed

but, a while after midnight, the torpid senses of the

slumberer were awaken 'd by a startling shock.

was

a cry as of a strong

not very loud cry, but

blood

in his

fearful,

like cold, polished steel.

himself

in his seat

For a minute, night.

man

Then

all

and

—a

shrill,

and creeping into the

The

listen'd, at

old

once

was the solemn

man

fully

raised

awake.

stillness of

mid-

rose that horrid tone again, wailing

and wild, and making the hearer's end.

agony

It

One moment more, and

hair to stand

on

the trampling of hasty

sounded in the passage outside. The door was thrown open, and the form of the stranger, more like a corpse than living man, rushed into the room. feet

[36]


Collect

"All white !" yell'd the conscience-stricken creature—'' all white, and with the grave-clothes around him.

One

per'd,

''

and

I

came

I

shoulder

saw blue

cried

was

my very my face.

upon

streaks

aloud.

He

and

bare,

I

saw," he whisIt

it.

was

stepp'd toward

horrible,

me

I

He

hand almost touch'd could not bear it, and fled." The miserable man bent his head down upon his bosom; convulsive rattlings shook his throat; and his whole frame waver'd to and fro like a tree in a storm. Bewilder'd and shocked. Gills look'd at his apparently deranged guest, and knew not what answer to make, or what course of conduct to pursue. Thrusting out his arms and his extended fingers, and bending down his eyes, as men do when shading them from a glare of lightning, the stranger stagbedside;

to

ger'd from the

his small

I

door,

and,

in

a

moment

further,

dash'd madly through the passage which led through the kitchen into the outer road.

The

old

man

heard

the noise of his falling footsteps, sounding fainter

and

fainter

dropp'd his

in

own

the distance, and then, retreating,

exhausted limbs into the chair from

which he had been arous'd so

terribly.

It

was many

minutes before his energies recover'd their accus-

tomed tone again. Strangely enough, his wife, unawaken'd by the stranger's ravings, still slumber'd on as profoundly as ever. Pass we on to a far different scene —the embarkation of the British troops for the distant land [37]

whose


Collect

monarch was never more to wield the sceptre over a kingdom lost by his imprudence and tyranny. With frowning brow and sullen pace the martial ranks

moved

Boat after boat was

on.

discharged

its

complement

heaving their anchors

the

in

ships that lay

the stream,

in

and, as each

filled,

it

returned,

and

was soon filled with another load. And at length it became time for the last soldier to lift his eye and glance at the broad banner of England's

take a

last

pride,

which

highest

staff"

flapped

its

folds from the top of the

on the Battery.

As the warning sound of a trumpet called together all who were laggards those taking leave of friends, and those who were arranging their own

private affairs,

left

until the last

A

made

— a single

down

the

red scarf tightly encircled his waist.

He

horseman was seen street.

moment

furiously

directly for the shore,

gathered started back in

dashing

and the crowd there

wonderment

his disheveFd appearance

and ghastly

as they beheld face.

Throw-

ing himself violently from his saddle, he flung the bridle over the animal's neck,

and gave him a sharp

cut with a small riding- whip.

He made

for

the boat;

one minute later, and he had been left. They were pushing the keel from the landing— the stranger

sprang— a space vened

— he

of

two

or three feet already inter-

and the Last gunwale Soldier of King George had left the American struck on the

shores. [38]


Collect

As the sun, one August day some fifty years ago, had just pass'd the meridian of ^ *• f \ T ^ ^ ^ Country town m the eastern section of Long Island, a single traveler came up to

"VTiid

Frank's

•

Return

the quaint low-roof d village tavern, open'd door, and enter'd the

common

room.

its half-

Dust covered

brow was moist lagging, weary way;

the clothes of the wayfarer, and his

He

with sweat.

though

his

trod in

a

form and features told of an age not more

Over one shoulder and in his hand he carried

than nineteen or twenty years.

was slung a

little

a sailor's jacket,

bundle.

told a ferpale

Sitting

down on

who made

a rude bench, he

her appearance behind the

bar, that

he would have a glass of brandy and sugar.

He took

off the liquor at a draught: after

which he lit and began to smoke a cigar, with which he supplied himself from his pocket— stretching out one leg, and leaning his elbow down on the bench, in

man who takes an indolent lounge. Do you know one Richard Hall that lives somewhere here among you ? " said he. Mr. Hall's is down the lane that turns off by that big locust tree," answer'd the woman, pointing the attitude of a *'

''

to the direction through the

open door;

*'it 's

about

half a mile from here to his house."

The youth, for a minute or two, puff 'd the smoke from his mouth very leisurely in silence. His manner had an air of vacant self-sufficiency, rather strange in

one of so few years. [39]


Collect

a

wish to see Mr. Hall," he said at length Here 's a silver sixpence, for any one who will I

'*

carry a message to him."

"The

folks are

and your limbs

was not

all

away.

It *s

but a short walk,

altogether pleased with the easy

making himself

at

who way of

young," replied the female,

are

home which marked

her shabby-

That individual, however, seem'd to give small attention to the hint, but lean'd and looking customer.

puff *d his cigar-smoke as leisurely as before. **

woman,

Unless," continued the

ond glance

at the

the stable, as he

sixpence;

's

'*

catching a sec-

unless old Joe

very likely to be.

1 '11

And she push'd open

find out for you."

her back, stepp'd through an adjoining a yard,

at

go and

a door at

room

into

whence her voice was the next moment

heard calling the person she had mention'd, cents

is

by no means remarkable

for their

in ac-

melody or

softness.

Her search was successful. She soon returned with him who was to act as messenger a little,

withered, ragged old

unshaven late

— a hanger-on there, whose

face told plainly

intemperate habits

too

man

to be

enough the story of

his

— those deeply seated habits, now

uprooted, that would ere long lay

him in a drunkard's grave. The youth inform'dhim what the required service was, and promised him the reward as soon as he should return. **Tell Richard Hall that [40]

1

am

going to his

father's


Collect

house

this

afternoon.

he asks

If

who

that

is

it

wishes him here, say the person sent no name," continued the stranger, sitting up from his indolent

were about leaving the

posture, as the feet of old Joe

door-stone, and his blear'd eyes turned to catch the last

sentence of the mandate.

And yet, perhaps you may as well," added communing a moment with himself: ''you may '*

he, tell

him his brother Frank, Wild Frank, it is, who wishes him to come." The old man departed on his errand, and he who call'd himself Wild Frank, toss'd his nearly smoked cigar out of the window, and folded his arms in thought.

No

better place than this, probably, will occur to

some former events

give a brief account of life

of the

young

in

and waiting

named

Hall, a

man

of

good

— required

all

his

portion to their age; and his

might not be called Richard.

faced

at the

repute, well-off

the world, and head of a large family.

fond of gain

the

Fifteen miles east of that inn lived a

village inn.

farmer

stranger, resting

in

favorite,

He was

boys to labor in proright hand man, if he

was

his

eldest son

This eldest son, an industrious, sober-

young

fellow,

was

the powers of second swift obedience

was

in

by his father with command; and as strict and invested

a prime tenet in the farmer's

domestic government, the children mitted to their brother's

sway— all [41]

all

tacitly

sub-

but one, and that


Collect

was

The

Frank.

in rather

farmer*s wife

was

a quiet

tender health; and though for

all

woman, her

off-

spring she had a mother's love, Frank's kiss ever

She favor'd him more than the rest in a hundred similar instances, for his being so often at fault, and so often blamed. In truth, however, he seldom received more blame than he deserv'd, for he was a capricious, high-temper'd lad, and up to all kinds of mischief. From these traits he was known in the neighborhood by the name of Wild Frank. seem'd sweetest to her

lips.

— perhaps, as

Among

the farmer's stock there

was

a fine

young

blood mare — a beautiful creature, large and graceful,

with eyes

like

dark-hued jewels, and her color that of

the deep night.

It

being the custom of the farmer to

boys have something about the farm that they could call their own, and take care of as such, Black let his

Nell, as the

mare was

had somehow or other He was very proud of her,

called,

fallen to Frank's share.

and thought as much of her comfort as his own. elder brother, however,

saw

fit

The

to claim for himself,

and several times to exercise, a privilege of managing and using Black Nell, notwithstanding what

Frank consider'd his prerogative.

On

occasions a hot dispute arose, and, after blood,

it

was

He decided

in

referr'd to the

just;

and Wild Frank's

much angry

farmer for settlement.

favor of Richard,

lecture to his other son.

one of these

and added a harsh

The farmer was

really

face paled with rage [42]

un-

and


Collect

mortification.

That furious temper which he had

never been taught to curb,

flowing torrent.

With

now

swell'd like an over-

difficulty restraining the ex-

hibition of his passions, as soon as

he got by himself

he swore that not another sun should

roll

by and

him under that roof. Late at night he silently arose, and turning his back on what he thought an inhospitable home, in mood in which the child find

should never leave the parental

toward the It

may

roof,

bent his steps

city.

well be imagined that alarm and grief

pervaded the whole of the family, on discovering Frank's departure.

And

as

week

after

week melted

away and brought no tidings of him, his poor mother's heart grew wearier and wearier. She spoke not much, but was evidently sick in spirit. Nearly two years had elaps'd when about a week before the incidents at the commencement of this were joyfully surprised by receiving a letter from the long absent son. He had been to sea, and was then in New York, at which port his vessel had just arrived. He wrote in a gay strain; appear'd to have lost the angry feeling which caused his flight from home; and said he heard in the city that Richard had married, and settled several miles distant, where he wished him all good luck and happiness. Wild Frank wound up his letter by promising, as soon as he could get through the imperative business of his ship, to pay a visit to his story, the farmer's family

[43]


Collect

On Tuesday

parents and native place.

of the suc-

ceeding week, he said he would be with them.

Within half an hour

after the departure of old joe,

was seen slowly

the form of that ancient personage

wheeling round the locust-tree

at the

end of the

accompanied by a stout young man in primitive homespun apparel. The meeting between Wild

lane,

Frank and his brother Richard, though hardly of that kind which generally takes place between persons so closely related, could not exactly be call'd distant or

Richard pressed his brother to go with

cool either.

him

some hours

self for

''They

he

will

*'

said, '*

and repose him-

to the farmhouse, and refresh

I

all

but Frank declined.

at least,

expect

me home

wrote to them

I

But you must be very

this afternoon,"

would be there to-day."

tired,

Frank," rejoin'd the

some of us harness up and " he stopp'd a moment, carry you ? Or if you like and a trifling suffusion spread over his face; '* if you other;

'*

won't you

let

like, ril

at

my

put the saddle on Black Nell

— she

now, and you can

home

place

ride

's

here

like a

lord."

Frank's face colored a

moment

in

too.

little,

thought — he

was

He paused

**

You know

the speed of Nell, as well as

when

Richard; *M

say she

good order

in

day — so

he

offer.

'11

's

and

really foot-sore,

exhausted with his journey that hot accepted his brother's

for a

warrant

I

bring her here

as ever." [44]

So

telling

I,"

said

you '11 him to


Collect

amuse himself for Richard

left

a

few minutes as well as he could,

the tavern.

Could it be that Black Nell knew her early master ? She neigh'd and rubb'd her nose on his shoulder; and as he put his foot in the stirrup and rose on her back, it was evident that they were both highly pleased with their meeting.

Bidding his brother

young man set forth on his journey to his father's house. As he left the village behind, and came upon the long mofarewell,

and not forgetting old

Joe, the

notonous road before him, he thought on the circumstances of his leaving

home

— and he

thought, too,

on his course of life, how it was being frittered away and lost. Very gentle influences, doubtless, came over Wild Frank's mind then, and he yearn'd to

show

was

sorry for the trouble

He blamed

himself for his former

his parents that he

he had cost them. follies,

and even

felt

remorse that he had not acted

more kindly to Richard, and gone to his house. Oh, it had been a sad mistake of the farmer that he did not teach his children to love one another. It was a foolish thing that he prided himself on governing his

little

flock well,

when sweet

affection, gentle for-

bearance, and brotherly faith, were almost

unknown

among them. The day was now advanced, though the heat pour'd down with a strength little less oppressive than at noon.

Frank had accomplish'd the greater

part of his journey; he

was within two [45]

miles of his


Collect

home. The road here led over a high, tiresome and he determined to stop on the top of it and

How

And

knew

well he

rest

few

himself, as well as give the animal he rode a

minutes* breath.

hill,

the place

that mighty oak, standing just outside the fence

on the very summit of the

hill,

often had he reposed

would be pleasant

few minutes to stretch his limbs there again as of old, he thought to himself; and he dismounted from the Mindful saddle and led Black Nell under the tree. under

its

shade.

It

for a

of the comfort of his favorite, he took from his

little

bundle, which he had strapped behind him on the

mare's back, a piece of strong cord, four or five yards in length,

and

which he

tied to the bridle,

and wound

own

tied the other end, for security, over his

upon the ground, Black Nell was at liberty to graze around him, without danger of straying away. It was a calm scene, and a pleasant. There was no rude sound hardly even a chirping insect to break the sleepy silence of the place. The atmosphere had a dim, hazy cast, and was impregnated with overpowering heat. The young man lay there wrist; then

throwing himself

at full length

—

minute for

after

away unnoticed; repose was sweet to

minute, as time glided

he was very

him.

—

tired,

and

his

Occasionally he raised himself and cast a

less look at the distant landscape,

the slight mist.

veiFd as

it

list-

was by

At length his repose was without

such interruptions.

His eyes closed, and though at [463


Collect

first

they open'd languidly again at

Could

while they shut altogether. slept ?

It

was

intervals, after a it

be that he

Yielding to the drowsy

so indeed.

influences about him, and to his prolong'd weariness

of travel, he had fallen into a deep, sound slumber.

Thus he

lay;

and Black

his departure from his

the companion of his

Nell, the original cause of

— by a singular chance, return — quietly cropp'd the

home

grass at his side.

An hour

man

nearly pass'd away, and yet the

The

young

and heat were not glaring now; a change had come over earth and heaven. slept on.

light

There were signs of one of those thunderstorms that in

our climate spring up and pass over so quickly

and so

terribly.

horizon,

and

Masses of vapor loom'd up

and a dark shadow

fields.

The

settled

the

on the woods

leaves of the great oak rustled to-

gether over the youth's head. in

in

Clouds

flitted swiftly

men coming up to leader's trumpet. A thick

the sky, like bodies of armed

battle at the call of their

rain-drop

fell

now and then,

while occasionally hoarse

mutterings of thunder sounded the slumberer

was not

arous'd.

in It

the distance; yet

was strange

that

Wild Frank did not awake. Perhaps his ocean life had taught him to rest undisturbed amid the jarring of elements. Though the storm was now coming on in its fury, he slept like a babe in its cradle. Black Nell had ceased grazing, and stood by her sleeping master with ears erect, and her long mane [47]


Collect

and tail waving in the wind. It seem'd quite darlc, so heavy were the clouds. The blast blew sweepingly, the lightning flashed, and the rain fell in torCrash after crash of thunder seem'd to shake rents. the solid earth. And Black Nell, she stood now, an image of beautiful terror, with her fore feet thrust out, her neck arch'd, and her eyes glaring balls of fear. At length, after a dazzling and lurid glare, there great

—a

came a peal axle was rent.

deafening crash

God

of Spirits

!

— as

if

the

the startled

Her mare sprang off like a ship in an ocean-storm eyes were blinded with light; she dashed madly down the hill, and plunge after plunge far, far away swift as an arrow dragging the hapless body of the youth behind her !

In the low, old-fashion'd

there

was

dwelling of the farmer

a large family group.

The men and boys

had gathered under shelter at the approach of the storm; and the subject of their talk was the return of the long absent son. The mother spoke of him, too,

and her eyes brightened with pleasure as she

spoke.

She made

— cook'd his his

own

to

the

little

favorite dishes

bed, in

mounted

all

its

its

own

domestic preparations

— and arranged

old place.

for

him

As the tempest

fury they discussed the probability of

his getting soak'd

by

it;

and the provident dame had

some dry garments for a change. But the rain was soon over, and nature smiled again in her invigorated beauty. The sun shone

already selected

[48]


Collect

was dipping

out as

it

on the

leaf-tips

in

the west.

Drops sparkled

— coolness and clearness were

in

the

air.

came to the ears It was on the of those who were gather'd there. other side of the house that the wagon road lead;

The

clattering of a horse's hoofs

and they open'd the door and rush'd in a tumult of glad anticipations, through the adjoining room to the porch.

What

a sight

was

it

met them there

that

!

Black Nell stood a few feet from the door, with her

neck crouch 'd down; she drew her breath long and deep, and vapor rose from every part of her reeking

body.

And with eyes

starting from their sockets,

and mouths agape with stupefying terror, they beheld on the ground near her a mangled, hideous mass the rough semblance of a human form all Attached to it was batter'd, and cut, and bloody.

the

fatal cord,

dabbled over with gore.

And

as the

mother gazed for she could not withdraw her eyes and the appalling truth came upon her mind, she

sank

down without

shriek or utterance, into a deep,

deathly swoon.

Listen, and the old will

°^

the young.

speak a chronicle for

Ah, youth

thou art one day coming to be old, too. And let me tell thee how thou mayest get a useful lesson. For an hour, dream thyself old. Realize, in thy thoughts and conLover

!

sciousness, that vigor and strength are VOL. VI.—4.

[49]

subdued

in


Collect

— that the color of the shroud likened those leaping desires, luxthy very hairs — that

thy sinews

in

is

all

urious hopes, beautiful aspirations, and proud con-

younger

fidences, of thy

have long been buried

life,

(a funeral for the better part of thee) in that grave

which must soon close over thy tottering limbs. Look back, then, through the long track of the past

How has

years.

it

been with thee

?

Are there bright

beacons of happiness enjoy'd, and of good done by

way

the

Glimmer gentle rays of what was scatfrom a holy heart? Have benevolence, and and undeviating honesty left tokens on which

tered

love,

?

thy eyes can

rest

sweetly

Answerest thou,

thus?

It

?

Is

it

well with thee,

Or answerest

is?

thou,

gloom and and the wreck of good resolves, and a broken heart, filled with sickness, and troubled among its ruined chambers with the phantoms of many follies ? O, youth youth this dream will one day be a I

see nothing but

!

reality—2l

shattered hours,

!

reality, either of

heavenly peace or agoniz-

ing sorrow.

And

yet not

for all is

it

decreed to attain the neigh-

borhood of the three score and ten years—the span of life. am to speak of one who died young. Very awkward was his childhood—but most fragile and I

sensitive

!

So

unnoticed plant tiful, it is

may exist

delicate a nature !

and dropped

Let the

away

boy

rest

;

betimes.

a singular story, to which ISO]

let

in

a rough,

—he was not beauBut

for

the cause

crusted worldlings


Collect

pay the their

tribute of a light

own hollow

laugh—light and empty

as

hearts.

which with its cankerseed of decay within, has sent young men and maidens to a long'd-for, but Love the child-monarch that too premature burial. Death itself cannot conquer; that has its tokens on slabs at the head of grass-cover'd tombs tokens more Love

!

!

visible to the

eye of the stranger, yet not so deeply

graven as the face and the remembrances cut upon Love! the sweet, the pure,

the heart of the living.

the innocent; yet the causer of fierce hate, of wishes for

deadly revenge, of bloody deeds, and madness,

and the horrors of

Love! that wanders over

hell.

up mangled human trunks, and parting back the hair from gory faces, and daring the points of swords and the thunder of artillery, without

battlefields, turning

a fear or a

Words

thought of danger.

begin to see am, indeed, an words old man, and garrulous Let me go back yes, see it must be many years !

!

I

I

!

I

!

It

was

at the close of the last century.

One

foreigner,

of his clients

who

kept a

little

was an

was

at

my

father fol-

elderly

widow, a

that time studying law, the profession

lowed.

I

ale-house, on the banks of

two miles from what is now the centre of the city. Then the spot was quite out of town and surrounded by fields and green trees. The widow often invited me to come and pay her a visit, when had a leisure afternoon including also the North River, at about

I

[SI]


Collect

in

my

the invitation

two other students

brother and

who were in my father's office. Matthew, the brother I

mention, was a boy of sixteen; he was troubled with

an inward illness—though

it

temper, which ever retained cidity

and gentleness.

boisterous,

had no power over his the most admirable pla-

He was

cheerful, but never

and everybody loved him

;

mind seem'd age, though his

his

more developed than is usual for his personal appearance was exceedingly plain. Wheaton and Brown, the names of the other students, were spirited, clever young fellows, with most of the traits that those in their position of

life

generally possess.

The first was as generous and brave as any man ever knew. He was very passionate, too, but the whirlwind soon blew over, and left everything quiet again. Frank Brown was slim, graceful, and handsome. He I

profess'd to be fond of sentiment, ularly in love

The

once a month.

half of every

ourselves,

and used to fall reg-

Wednesday we four youths had to

and were

or a walk together.

in

the habit of taking a

sail,

a ride,

One of these afternoons, of a pleas-

ant day in April, the sun shining, and the

air clear,

1

bethought myself of the widow and her beer— about which latter article had made inquiries, and heard it I

spoken of in termsof high commendation. the matter to

we

Matthew and to

agreed to

house.

fill

in

mentioned

my fellow-students, and

up our holiday by a jaunt to the ale-

Accordingly,

walk, arrived

I

we

set forth, and, after a fine

glorious spirits at our destination. [5^]


Collect

Ah how !

shall

I

describe the quiet beauties of the

low piazza looking out upon the river, and its clean homely tables, and the tankards of real silver in which the ale was given us, and the There was the flavor of that excellent liquor itself. widow; and there was a sober, stately old woman, half companion, half servant, Margery by name; and spot, with

long,

its

was (good God my fingers quiver yet as write the word!) young Ninon, the daughter of the widow. there

I

!

no more, my memory strays back, and that whole scene comes up before me once again and the brightest part of the picture O, through the years that

live

—

is

the strange ethereal beauty of that

young

girl

She was apparently about the age of my brother Matthew, and the most fascinating, artless creature had ever beheld. She had blue eyes and light hair, and I

an expression of childish simplicity which was charm-

have no doubt that ere half an hour had elapsed from the time we enter'd the tavern and saw ing indeed.

I

Ninon, every one of the four of us loved the

girl

to

much money, nor drank

as

the very depth of passion.

We much home.

neither spent so

beer, as

we had

intended before starting from

The widow was very

civil,

being pleased to

see us, and Margery served our wants with a deal of

— but

was

Ninon that the afternoon's pleasure was attributable; for though we were strangers, we became acquainted at once the manners of politeness

it

to

—

[53]


Collect

merry as she was, putting entirely out of view the most distant imputation of indecorum—and the the

girl,

widow and Margery

presence of the in

the

common room

(for

we were

all

together, there being no other

company), serving to make us

all

disembarrassed, and

at ease. It

was not

started

until quite a

while

on our return to the

city.

after

sunset that

We

made

we

several

attempts to revive the mirth and lively talk that usually signalized

our rambles, but they seem'd forced

and discordant, brother

laughter in a sick-room.

like

was the only one who preserved

My

his usual

tenor of temper and conduct.

need hardly say that thenceforward every Wednesday afternoon was spent at the widow's tavern. I

Strangely, neither

Matthew

or

my two

friends, or

myself, spoke to each other of the sentiment that filled

us

in reference to

Ninon.

Yet

we

all

knew

the

thoughts and feelings of the others, and each, perhaps, felt

confident that his love alone

was unsuspected by

his companions.

The ple one.

story of the

widow was

She was by

a touching yet sim-

birth a Swiss.

In

one of the

cantons of her native land, she had grown up, and married, and lived for a time in

happy comfort.

A

son was born to her, and a daughter, the beautiful Ninon.

By some

reverse of fortune, the father and

head of the family had the greater portion of his possessions swept from him. [54]

He

struggled for a time


Collect

againsttheevil influence,but it pressed upon

him harder and harder. He had heard of a people in the Western world a new and swarming land where the stranger was welcom'd, and peace and the protection He had not of the strong arm thrown around him. heart to stay and struggle amid the scenes of his former prosperity, and he determined to go and make his home in that distant republic of the West. So with his wife and children, and the proceeds of what little

—

property

—

was

was never

left,

he took passage

for

New York.

to reach his journey's end.

cares that weighed

upon

his mind, or

He

Either the

some other cause,

hammock, from which he only through the Great Dismisser. He was

consign'd him to a sick

found

relief

buried

in

at the

the sea, and in due time his family arrived

American emporium.

But there, the son too

sicken'd— died, ere long, and was buried likewise.

They would not bury him by the

solitary

widow soon

in

the

city,

but

away

banks of the Hudson; on which the

afterwards took up her abode.

Ninon was too young to feel much grief at these sad occurrences; and the mother, whatever she might have suffer'd inwardly, had .a good deal of phlegm and patience, and set about making herself and her remaining child as comfortable as might be.

had

still

They

sum in cash, and after due widow purchas'd the little quiet

a respectable

deliberation, the

tavern, not far from the grave of her boy;

days and holidays she took [55]

in

and of Sun-

considerable

money


Collect

enough to make a decent support for them in their humble way of living, French and Germans visited the house frequently, and quite a number of young Americans the

latter

too.

was

Probably the greatest attraction to

the sweet face of Ninon.

Spring passed, and

summer

crept in and wasted

away, and autumn had arrived. Every New Yorker knows what delicious weather we have, in these regions, of the early October days; how calm, clear, and divested of sultriness, is the air, and how decently nature seems preparing for her winter sleep.

Thus

it

was the

last

Wednesday we

started on our

months had elapsed since our first visit, and, as then, we were full of the exuFrequent and berance of young and joyful hearts. hearty were our jokes, by no means particular about the theme or the method, and long and loud the peals accustomed excursion.

Six

of laughter that rang over the fields or along the shore.

We table,

took our seats round the same clean, white

and received our

favorite beverage in the

They were

bright tankards.

set before

sober Margery, no one else being

we were

same

us by the

visible.

As

fre-

company. Walking and breathing the keen, fine air had made us dry, and we soon drain'd the foaming vessels, and remember well an animated chat caird for more. we had about some poems that had just made their appearance from a great British author, and were creThere was one, a tale of ating quite a public stir. quently happened,

1

[56]

the

only


Collect

passion and despair, which

Wheaton had

of which he gave us a transcript.

and dreamy, perhaps

it

Wild,

and

read,

startling,

threw over our minds

its

peculiar cast.

An hour moved

off,

we began

and

strange that neither Ninon or the

One

the room.

to think

widow came

into

of us gave a hint to that effect to

Margery; but she made no answer, and went on

way

her usual '*

The grim

it

in

as before.

Wheaton, '' if she were " in Spain, they 'd make her a premier duenna ask'd the woman about Ninon and the widow. She seemed disturbed, thought; but, making no reold thing," said

!

I

1

ply to the tress

was

first

in

part of

my question,

said that her mis-

another part of the house, and did not

wish to be with company, *'Then be kind enough, Mrs. Vinegar," resumed

Wheaton, good-naturedly, ''be kind enough to go and ask the widow if we can see Ninon." Our attendant's face turn'd as pale as ashes, and she precipitately

left

the apartment.

her agitation, which Frank

merry

We

laugh'd at

Brown assigned

to our

ridicule.

Quite a quarter of an hour elaps'd before Margery's return.

the

When

she appear'd she told us briefly that

widow had bidden

we

her obey our behest, and now,

would conduct us to the daughter's presence. There was a singular expression in the woman's eyes, and the whole affair began to strike us

if

desired, she

[57]


Collect

somewhat odd; but we

and taking our caps, followed her as she stepped through the door. Back of the house were some fields, and a path leading into clumps of trees. At some thirty rods distant from the as

arose,

one of those clumps, the larger tree whereof was a willow, Margery stopped and pausing

tavern, nigh

a minute, while

we came

up, spoke in tones calm

and

low:

"Ninon

is

there!"

She pointed downward with her finger. Great God There was a grave, new made, and with the sods loosely joined, and a rough brown stone at each extremity! Some earth yet lay upon the grass near If we had look'd, we might have seen the restby. ing-place of the widow's son, Ninon's brother— for it was close at hand. But amid the whole scene our !

eyes took

in

nothing except that horrible covering of

My

death—the oven-shaped mound. to waver,

my

head

felt

dizzy,

and a

sight

seemed

feeling of deadly

came over me. heard a stifled exclamation, and looking round, saw Frank Brown leaning against sickness

I

the nearest tree, great sweat upon his forehead, and

Wheaton gave way than ever had known a man

his cheeks bloodless as chalk.

agony more fully before; he had fallen sobbing

to his

ing his hands.

It is

1

like a child,

and wring-

impossible to describe the sud-

denness and fearfulness of the sickening truth that

came upon us like a stroke of thunder. Of all of us, my brother Matthew [58]

neither shed


Collect

tears, or

turned pale, or fainted, or exposed any other

evidence of inward depth of pain. ant voice

which

was indeed

His quiet, pleas-

a tone lower, but

the lapse of

recall'd us, after

many

it

was

that

long min-

utes, to ourselves.

had died and been buried. We were of an illness that had seized her the very day af-

So the told

girl

ter our last preceding visit;

but

we

inquired not into

the particulars.

And now come

I

to the conclusion of

my

story,

and to the most singular part of it. The evening of the third day afterward, Wheaton, who had wept scalding tears, and Brown, whose cheeks had recover'd their color,

my

and myself, that

for

an hour thought

would never rebound again from the fearful that evening, say, we three were seated

heart

shock

I

around a table

in

another tavern, drinking other

and laughing but a little less cheerfully, and as though we had never known the widow or her

beer,

daughter into our

—neither of whom,

I

venture to affirm, came

minds once the whole

night, or but to be

dismiss'd again, carelessly, like the remembrance of faces seen in a crowd.

Strange are the contradictions of the things of life!

The seventh day after that dreadful visit saw my brother Matthew the delicate one, who, while bold men writhed in torture, had kept the same placid face, and the same untrembling fingers him that seventh day saw a clay-cold corpse, carried to the repose of

[59]


Collect

the churchyard. within,

youth

The

shaft, rankling far

wrought a poison too great

down and

show, and the

for

died.

one evening in summer —that pleasant hour when the air is balmy.

Just after sunset, ^

Sf

ISd

Profligate

the light loses

its

glare,

and

around

all

is

imbued with soothing quiet on the doorstep of a house there sat an elderly woman waiting the arrival of her son.

The house was

in a

straggling

some fifty miles from New York City. She who sat on the door-step was a widow; her white cap covered locks of gray, and her dress, though clean, was village

exceedingly homely.

she occupied was her

Her house

own—was

Trees clustered around

old.

it

for

very

the tenement little

and very

so thickly as almost to

color— that blackish gray color which belongs to old wooden houses that have never been painted; and to get into it you had to enter a little rickety gate hide

its

and walk through a short path, border'd by beds and beets and other vegetables. she was expecting was her only child. before he had been

bound apprentice

carrot

The son whom About

a year

to a rich farmer

was

in

the place, and after finishing his daily task he

in

the habit of spending half an hour at his mothers.

On

the present occasion the shadows of night had

settled heavily before the

When all

his

youth made

his appearance.

walk was slow and dragging, and motions were languid, as if from great wearihe

did, his

[60]


Collect

ness.

He open'd the

came through the

gate,

path,

and sat down by his mother in silence. *'You are sullen to-night, Charley," said the widow, after a moment's pause, when she found

no answer to her greeting. As she spoke she put her hand fondly on his head; it seem'd moist as if it had been dipped in the water. His shirt, too, was soak'd; and as she pass'd her fingers down his shoulder she felt a sharp twinge in that he return 'd

her heart, for she

knew

that moisture to be the hard

wrung sweat of severe toil, exacted from her young child (he was but thirteen years old) by an unyielding task-master.

You have work'd hard to-day, my son." ''I Ve been mowing." The widow's heart felt another pang. *' Not all day, Charley ? " she said, in a low voice; and there was a slight quiver in it. ''

*'Yes, mother, Ellis said

he could

are so high.

I

all

n't afford to hire

've

swung

hour before sunrise.

There were Tears started trust herself

in

day," replied the boy; ''Mr. for

wages

the scythe ever since an

Feel of

blisters

men,

my

on them

hands." like great

the widow's eyes.

lumps.

She dared not

with a reply, though her heart was

bursting with the thought that she could not better

There was no earthly means of support on which she had dependence enough to en-

his condition.

courage her child

in

the wish she [6i]

knew he was


Collect

forming— the wish not

utter'dfor the

first

time

to be freed from his bondage.

" Mother," It

no

at length said the boy,

longer.

I

'M can stand

cannot and will not stay at Mr.

went into his house Ve been a slave; and if have to work so much longer know shall run off and go to sea or some'd as leave be in my grave as there." where else. Ever since the day

Ellis's.

1

first

I

I

I

I

I

And

the child burst into a passionate

His mother After

herself.

fit

of weeping.

was silent, for she was in deep grief some minutes had flown, however,

she gathered sufficient self-possession to speak to her soothing tone, endeavoring to win him from

son

in a

his

sorrows and cheer up his heart.

— troubles — with

She told him

was swift that in the course of a few that all people years he would be his own master

that time

have

their

many

other ready argu-

ments which, though they had little effect in calming her own distress, she hoped would act as a solace to the disturb'd temper of the boy. And as the half hour to which he was limited had now elaps'd, she took him by the hand and led him to the gate, to set forth on his return. The youth seemed pacified, though occasionally one of those convulsive sighs that remain after a fit of weeping, would break from his throat. At the gate he threw his arms about his mother's neck; each press'd a long kiss on the lips of the other, and the youngster bent his steps towards his master's house. [to]


Collect

As her

child pass'd out of sight the

widow

re-

turn'd, shut the gate and enter'd her lonely room.

There was no the heart of

light in the old cottage that night its

occupant was dark and cheerless.

Love, agony, and

and convulsive The thought of a beloved

and

grief,

wrestlings were there.

son condemned to labor

tears

— labor

that

would break

down a man — struggling from day to day under the

hard rule of a soulless gold-worshipper; the knowledge that years must pass thus; the sickening idea of her

own

poverty, and of living mainly on the

grudged charity of neighbors

— thoughts, too, of

for-

mer happy days these rack'd the widow's heart, and made her bed a sleepless one without repose. The boy bent his steps to his employer's, as has said. In his way down the village street he had to pass a public house, the only one the place contain'd; and when he came off against it he heard

been

the sound of a fiddle

— drown'd, however,

at inter-

by much laughter and talking. The windows were up, and, the house standing close to the road, Charles thought it no harm to take a look and see what was going on within. Half a dozen footsteps brought him to the low casement, on which he lean'd his elbow, and where he had a full view of the room and its occupants. In one corner was an old man, known in the village as Black Dave he it was whose musical performances had a moment before drawn Charles's attention to the tavern; and he it vals,

[63]


Collect

was who now exerted himself

in a

violent

manner

to give, with divers flourishes and extra twangs, a

among that thick-lipp'd

tune very popular

fondness for melody dle of the

room were

is

so well known.

five or six sailors,

race

In

whose

the mid-

some

of them

quite drunk, and others in the earlier stages of that process, while on benches around

were more

sailors,

and here and there a person dress'd in landsman's attire. The men in the middle of the room were dancing; that

they were going through certain

is,

contortions and shufflings,

varied occasionally

by

upon the sanded floor. In short, the whole party were engaged in a drunken frolic, which was in no respect different from a thousand other drunken frolics, except, perhaps, that exceeding hearty stamps

there

and

was

less

quarreling.

than the ordinary amount of anger Indeed everyone seem'd

in

remark-

ably good humor.

But what excited the boy's attention more than

any other object was an individual, seated on one of the benches opposite, who, though evidently enjoying the spree as much as if he were an old hand at such business, seem'd in every other particular to be

was youthHe might have been twenty-one or two years ful. His countenance was intelligent, and had the old. He was dress'd not air of city life and society. far

out of his element.

His appearance

gaudily, but in every respect fashionably; his coat

being of the finest broadcloth, his linen delicate and [641


Collect

whole aspect that of one whose counterpart may now and then be seen upon the pave in Broadway of a fine afternoon. He laugh 'd and talk'd with the rest, and it must be confess'd his spotless as

snow, and

his

— the most of those that pass'd current their there — were by no means distinguish'd

jokes

like

for

finement or purity.

re-

Near the door was a small

cover'd with decanters and glasses,

some

table,

of which

had been used, but were used again indiscriminately,

and a box of very thick and very long cigars. One of the sailors and it was he who made the had but one eye. His largest share of the hubbub

chin and cheeks were cover'd with huge, bushy

whiskers, and altogether he had quite a brutal appearance.

*'Come, boys," said

''come,

us take a drink.

let

getting dry

";

and he clench'd

1

this

gentleman,

know you're

his invitation

all

a

with an

appalling oath.

This politeness was responded to by a general

moving of the company toward the

table holding the

before-mention'd decanters and glasses.

Clustering

there around, each one help'd himself to a very hand-

some

portion of that particular liquor

his fancy;

which suited

and steadiness and accuracy being

moment by no means

at that

distinguishing traits of the

arms and legs of the party, a goodly amount of the fluid

was

spiird

upon the

travagance excited the

ire

the ''treat"; and that

ire

floor.

This piece of ex-

of the personage

was

VOL. VI.— 5.

[65]

still

who

gave

further increas'd


Collect

when he discovered two or three loiterers who seem'd disposed to slight his request to drink.

we

Charles, as

have before mentioned, was looking

window. *'Walk

up,

boys! walk up!

among

skulker

us,

blast

my

at the

there be any

If

eyes

in

if

he shan't go

down on his marrow bones and taste the we have spilt Hallo he exclaimed as he

liquor

''

!

**

Charles;

you chap

hallo,

in

the

spied

window, come

here and take a sup."

As he spoke he stepped to the open casement, put his brawny hands under the boy's arms, and lifted him into the room bodily. "There, my lads," said he, turning to his companions, ''there's a new recruit for you. Not so coarse a one, either," he added as he took a fair view of the boy, who, though not what is called pretty, was fresh and manly looking, and large for his age. ''Come, youngster, take a glass," he continued.

And he

Now was

pour'd one nearly

was not

Charles

full

of strong brandy.

exactly frighten'd, for he

and had often been at the country merry-makings, and at the parties of the place; but he was certainly rather abash'd at his abrupt a lively fellow,

So, putting

introduction to the midst of strangers.

the glass aside, he look'd up with a pleasant smile in his

"

I

new 've

acquaintance's face.

no need

I'm just as

much

for

anything now," he

obliged to [66]

you

as

if

I

said,

was."

"but


Collect

''Poh

" drink

!

it

man, drink it down/' rejoin'd the it won't hurt you. down

sailor,

—

And, by

way

of

showing

excellence, the one-

its

eyed worthy drain 'd it himself to the last drop. Then filling it again, he renew'd his efforts to make the

go through the same operation. Besides, my mother has often 've no occasion. pray'd me not to drink, and promised to obey her." A little irritated by his continued refusal, the lad

''

I

I

sailor,

with a loud oath, declared that Charles should

swallow the brandy, whether he would or no. Placing one of his tremendous paws on the back of the boy's head, with the other he thrust the edge of the glass to his lips, swearing at the

he shook

it

so as to

spill

its

same

time, that

if

contents the conse-

quences would be of a nature by no means agreeable to his back

and shoulders.

Disliking the liquor, and

angry at the attempt to overbear him, the undaunted

hand and struck the arm of the sailor with a blow so sudden that the glass fell and was smash'd to pieces on the floor; while the brandy was about equally divided between the face of Charles, the clothes of the sailor, and the sand. By this time the whole of the company had their attention drawn to the scene. Some of them laugh'd child lifted his

when they saw

Charles's undisguised antipathy to

when

the drink; but they laughed

still

more

he discomfited the

sailor.

All

of them, however,

were content to

the matter go as chance

let

[ÂŤ73

heartily

would


Collect

have

it

all

but the young

man

of the black coat,

who has been spoken of. What was there in the words which

Charles had

spoken that carried the mind of the young man back to former times

— to

a period

when he was more

now ?

''My mother has often

pure and innocent than

prafd

ine not to

months

drink T'

how

Ah,

the mist of

and presented to his souKs eye mother, and a prayer of exactly

roll'd aside,

the picture of his similar purport

I

Why

was

it,

too, that the

young

man's heart moved with a feeling of kindness toward the harshly treated child ?

Charles stood, his cheek flushed and his heart throbbing, wiping the trickling drops from his face

At

with a handkerchief. his

first

the

sailor,

between

drunkenness and his surprise, was much

in

the

condition of one suddenly awaken'd out of a deep

who

sleep,

When

cannot

call his

consciousness about him.

he saw the state of things, however, and

heard the jeering laugh of his companions, his dull

eye lighting up with anger,

had withstood him.

He

fell

upon the boy

who

seized Charles with a grip

of iron, and with the side of his heavy boot gave him a sharp and solid kick.

performance grasp

— but

— for all

He was about

the child

hung

repeating the

like a rag in

of a sudden his ears rang, as

if

his

pistols

were snapped close to them; lights of various hues flickered in his eye (he had but one, it will be remembered), and a strong propelling power caused him to


Collect

move from his position, and keep moving until he was brought up by the wall. A blow, a cuff given in it

such a

scientific

manner

hand from which

that the

proceeded was evidently no stranger to the pugi-

had been suddenly planted in the ear of the sailor. It was planted by the young man of the black coat. He had watch'd with interest the proceeding of the sailor and the boy two or three times he was on the point of interfering; but when listic art,

the kick

was

given, his rage

sprang from his seat

was

He

uncontrollable.

the attitude of a boxer

in

manner to cause those unpleasand ant sensations which have been described would probably have followed up the attack, had not struck the sailor in a

Charles, legs

now

thoroughly

terrified,

clung around his

and prevented his advancing.

The scene was quite a silent one. their seats,

and

— every nerve He seem'd

The company had

for a

strain'd positions.

the young man,

a strange one, and for the time

In

in his

out,

moment

started from

held breathless but

the middle of the room stood

not at

and

all

ungraceful attitude

his eyes flashing brilliantly.

rooted like a rock; and clasping him, with

an appearance of confidence

in his protection,

clung

the boy. ''

You scoundrel

!

" cried

the young man, his voice

thick with passion, ''dare to touch the

and

I'll

thrash

you

till

no sense

body." [69]

is

boy

left

in

again,

your


Collect

The

sailor,

now

made some

partially recovered,

gestures of a belligerent nature. '*

Come **

youth;

I

on, drunken brute

wish you would

what you deserve

Upon

1

"

continued the angry

You Ve not had

!

half

I

and sense more fully taking their power in the brains of the one-eyed mariner, however, that worthy determined in his own mind that it would be most prudent to let the matter drop. sobriety

Expressing therefore his conviction to that

adding certain remarks to the purport that he

'*

effect,

meant

no harm to the lad," that he was surprised at such a gentleman being angry at '*a little piece of fun, "and so forth

— he proposed that

on with

their jollity just as

In truth,

the if

company should go

nothing had happened.

he of the single eye was not a bad fellow at

enemy whose advances he had so often courted that night, had stolen away his good feelings, and set busy devils at work within him, that might have made his hands do some dreadheart, after all; the fiery

ful

deed, had not the stranger interposed. In a

its

few minutes the

former footing.

frolic

of the party

The young man

sat

one of the benches, with the boy by

was upon

down upon

his side,

and

while the rest were loudly laughing and talking,

they two convers'd together.

from Charles

— how

all

The

stranger learned

the particulars of his simple story

had died years since how his mother worked hard for a bare living— and how he his father

[70]


Collect

himself, for

many

dreary months, had been the ser-

More

vant of a hard-hearted, avaricious master.

and more interested, drawing the child close to his side, the young man listened to his plainly told hisand thus an hour passed away. tory

It

was now

Charles that on the relieve

The young man

past midnight.

him from

morrow he would

his servitude

— that

told

take steps to

for the present

would probably give him a lodgand little persuading did the host

night the landlord

ing at the inn

need

for that.

As he filled

the

very pleasant thoughts

retired to sleep,

mind of the young man

— thoughts

of a

worthy action performed thoughts, too, newly awakened ones, of walking in a steadier and wiser path than formerly.

That

roof, then, sheltered

two beings

— one of them innocent and sinless the other — oh, to that other what

of

evil

that night

all

wrong

had not been

present, either in action or to his desires!

Who

was the

To those

stranger ?

of relationship or otherwise,

the answer to that question

felt

His

companions

an interest

was not

name was Langton sipated young man a brawler upon.

that,

from in

ties

him,

pleasant to dwell

— parentless — a — one whose too

disfre-

were rowdies, blacklegs, and swindlers. The New York police offices were not strangers to his countenance. He had been bred to the profession of medicine; besides, he had a very quent

[71]


Collect

respectable income, and his house street

on the west side of the

was

in a pleasant Little

city.

of his

time, however, did Mr. John Langton spend at his

domestic hearth; and the elderly lady as his housekeeper

have him gone

for a

who

officiated

was by no means surprised to week or a month at a time, and

she knowing nothing of his whereabouts.

young man was an un-

Living as he did, the

happy

being.

was not so much

It

that his asso-

—

were below his own capacity for Langton, though sensible and well bred, was not highly talented or refined but that he lived without any steady purpose, that he had no one to attract him to his home, that he too easily allowed himself to be which caused his life to be, of late, one tempted ciates

—

—

continued scene of dissatisfaction. tion

he sought to drive away by the brandy

and mixing

was

This dissatisfac-

in all

pleasure.

bottle,

kinds of parties where the object

On

the present occasion he had

left

the city a few days before, and passing his time at a place

mother

near the lived.

who were

He

village fell in,

where Charles and

his

during the day, with those

companions of the tavern spree; and thus it happened that they were all together. Langton hesitated not to make himself at home with any his

associate that suited his fancy.

The next morning the poor widow sleepless cot;

and from that lucky

rose from her

trait in

our nature

which makes one extreme follow another, she [72]

set


Collect

about her

with a lightened heart.

toil

Ellis,

the

farmer, rose, too, short as the nights were, an hour

before day; for his

was

of his creed

god was

gain,

much work

to get as

from every one around him.

day

Ellis

was

and a prime

In

article

as possible

the course of the

upon by young Langton, and

called

was the farmer puzzled

never perhaps

in

more than

his desire young man's proposal the widow's family, a family that

to

his

life

at the

provide for

could do him no pecuniary good, and his willingness

money

to disburse too,

was

The widow,

for that purpose.

on that day, but the

called upon, not only

next and the next. It

needs not that

I

should particularize the subse-

quent events of Langton's and the boy's history

how

the reformation of the profligate might be dated

— how he gradually sever'd that had so long the guilty him — how he enjoy'd his own home again — how the friendship of Charles and himself grew not slack with time —

to begin from that time

gall'd

ties

and how, when in the course of seasons he became head of a family of his own, he would shudder at the

remembrance of his early dangers and *' ^

Temptation

Another day,"

^^

^^ awoke

day comes

utter'd the poet Lingave,

the morning, and turn'd

in

him drowsily on

his hard pallet,

out, burthen 'd with

Of what use

is

his escapes.

existence to [73]

its

me?

'*

another

weight of woes. Crush'd

down


Collect

beneath the

merciless

me

promise of hope to cheer prospect but a

life

of

heel

and no

poverty,

what have

on,

in

I

neglected, and a death of misery?

The youth paused; but

"

receiving no answer to

his questions, thought proper to continue the peevish

soliloquy.

am

*M

speaker smiled

and food.

Why

me

have

should

not apparel

exist in the world,

1

all

their souls can desire?

1

un-

many

behold

— see the respectful presence of pride — and curse the con-

bow

at the

trast

between

cratic

is

pressed with cares, while so

the splendid equipages

rich.

they say," and the

**but genius

bitterly,

known, unloved, around

a genius,

roll

by

I

1

my own

The lofty demeanor

lot,

and the fortune of the

— the show of dress — the aristo— the of jewels — dazzle my air

glitter

eyes; and sharp-tooth'd envy works within me.

hate these haughty and favor'd ones.

my

Why

1

should

much rougher than theirs? Pitiable, am! to be placed beneath man that

path be so

unfortunate

those

whom

I

in

my

heart

I

despise

— and to be con-

stantly tantalized with the presence of that wealth I

cannot enjoy!"

And

the poet covered his eyes

with his hands, and wept from very passion and fretfulness.

O, Lingave! be more of a man!

Have you not

the treasures of health and untainted propensities,

which many of those you envy never enjoy? Are you not their superior in mental power, in liberal views of mankind, and in comprehensive intellect? [741


Collect

And even shudder

allowing you the choice,

how would you

at changing, in total, conditions

with them!

were you willing to devote all your time and energies, you could gain property too: squeeze, and toil, and worry, and twist everything into a matter of profit, and you can become a great man, Besides,

money goes to make greatness. Retreat, then, man of the polish'd

as far as

those

complaints against your

irritable

longings for wealth

and

puerile

soul, lot

from

— those

distinction,

not

worthy your class. Do justice, philosopher, to your own powers. While the world runs after its shadows and its bubbles, (thus commune in your own mind) we will fold ourselves in our circle of understanding, and look with an eye of apathy on those things it considers so mighty and so enviable. Let the proud let

man

the gay flutter

his folly,

glory;

we

different

lowly

in finery

—

pompous glance

let

will

from

in his

gaze without desire on all

pleasures.

their

Not

theirs.

flights of their crippled

ledge no fellowship with

for

perishing all

their

Our destiny

such as we, the

wings.

them

—

the foolish enjoy

and the beautiful move on

possessions, and is

pass with his

in

We

acknow-

ambition.

We

composedly look down on the paths where they walk, and pursue our own, vv^ithout uttering a wish to descend, and be as they. What is it to us that the mass pay us not that deference which wealth

commands?

We

desire [75]

no

applause,

save

the


Collect

applause of the good and discriminating

among men.

Our

— the choice

would be sullied, were the vulgar to approximate to it, by professing to readily enter in, and praising it. Our pride is a towering, and thrice refined pride. When Lingave had given way to his temper some half hour, or thereabout, he grew more calm, and spirits

intellect

bethought himself that he was acting a very

He

part. carts,

listened a

moment

to the clatter of the

and the tramp of early passengers on the pave

below, as they wended along to daily

silly

toil.

summer.

It

was

A

little

just sunrise,

commence

and the season was

canary bird, the only pet poor

Lingave could afford to keep, chirp'd merrily

cage on the wall.

their

How

in its

slight a circumstance will

sometimes change the whole current of our thoughtsi The music of that bird abstracting the mind of the poet but a

moment from

for his natural

his sorrows,

buoyancy

gave a chance

to act again.

Lingave sprang lightly from his bed, and performed his ablutions

and his simple

toilet

— then hanging the

window, and speaking an endearment to the songster, which brought a perfect flood of melody in return— he slowly passed through cage on a

his door, stairs,

nail outside the

descended the long narrow turnings of the

and stood

in

the open street.

Undetermined

as to any particular destination, he folded his hands

behind him, cast his glance upon the ground, and

moved

listlessly

onward. [76]


Collect

Hour after hour the poet walk'd along up this he reck'd not how or where. street and down that And as crowded thoroughfares are hardly the most

fit

man

places for a

to let his fancy soar in the

— many a push

and shove and curse did the dreamer get bestow'd upon him. clouds

The booming hour twelve

of the city clock sounded forth the

— high noon.

''Hoi Lingave! " cried a voice from an open base-

ment window

He

unwittingly would have

stopp'd, and then

walked on ''

as the poet pass'd.

still,

Lingave,

person to

I

not fully awaken'd from his reverie. say! " cried the voice again, and the

whom

head quite out

the voice belong'd stretch'd his

into the area in front, ''Stop,

Have you forgotten your appointment

"Oh! ah!"

said the poet,

man.

" ?

and he smiled un-

meaningly, and descending the steps, went into the office of

him

Ridman, whose

in his

Who

call

it

was

that had startled

walk.

was Ridman

While the poet

?

the convenience of that personage,

it

is

may be

waiting as well

to describe him.

Ridman was

a money-maker.

penetration, considerable

He had much

knowledge of the world,

and a disposition to be constantly in the midst of enterprise, excitement, and stir. His schemes for gaining wealth were various; he had dipp'd into almost every branch and channel of business. [77]

A


Collect

slight acquaintance of several years' standing sub-

between him and the poet. The day previous a boy had caird with a note from Ridman to Linsisted

gave, desiring the

presence

of the latter at the

money-maker's room. The poet returned for answer that he would be there. This was the engagement which he came near breaking.

Ridman had a smooth tongue. was needed in the explanation to

why and It

is

wherefore the

ingenuity

companion of had been sent for. his

not requisite to state specifically the offer

made by in

latter

All his

the

one of

man

Ridman,

of wealth to the poet.

his enterprises,

found

it

necessary to pro-

cure the aid of such a person as Lingave

—a

writer

of power, a master of elegant diction, of fine taste, in

style

passionate yet pure, and of the delicate

imagery that belongs to the children of song. The youth was absolutely startled at the magnificent and

permanent remuneration which was held out to him for a moderate exercise of his talents. But the nature of the service required!

All

the

Ridman could not veil its repulsiveness. The poet was to labor for the advancement of what he felt to be unholy he was to inculcate what would lower the perfection of man.

sophistry and art of

—

He promised

succeeding day, and

Now going on

during the in

answer to the proposal the

to give an left

the place.

many hours

the heart

was a war of the poor poet. He was [7ÂŤ]

there


Collect

indeed poor; often he had no certainty whether he should be able to procure the next day's meals.

And the poet knew the beauty not

in

the

of truth, and adored,

merely, but in

abstract

practice,

the

excellence of upright principles.

Night came. let

Lingave, wearied, lay upon his pal-

The misty veil thrown over poesy came to his visions, and

again and slept.

him, the

of

spirit

stood beside him, and look'd

down

pleasantly with

her large eyes, which were bright and liquid like the reflection of stars in a lake.

Virtue (such imagining, then, seem'd conscious to the soul of the dreamer)

is

ever the sinew of true

two

in

one, they are endow'd

genius.

Together, the

with immortal strength, and approach from

whom

both spring.

loftily to

Him

Yet there are those that

having great powers, bend them to the slavery of

wrong.

God

them!

forgive

they surely do

Oh, could he

ignorantly or heedlessly. tosses around

for

him the seeds of

who

it

lightly

evil in his writings,

words could he see how, haply, they are to spring up in distant time and poison the air, and putrefy, and cause to sicken would he not shrink back in horror ? A bad principle, jestingly spoken a falsehood, but of a word may taint a whole nation! or his enduring thoughts, or his chance

Let the

man

to

whom

the great Master has given

the might of mind, beware If

for the

how he

uses that might.

furtherance of bad ends, [79]

what can be


Collect

expected but that, as the hour of the closing scene

draws nigh, thoughts of harm done, and capacities distorted from their proper aim, and strength so laid out that

men must be worse

strength —

through the exertion of that

and swarm

like spectres

instead of

around him

will

better,

come

?

Be and continue poor, young man," so taught one whose counsels should be graven on the heart of every youth, *' while others around you grow rich **

by fraud and

disloyalty.

Be without place and

power, while others beg their

way upward.

Bear

the pain of disappointed hopes, while others gain

Forego the

the accomplishment of their flattery.

gracious pressure of a hand, for which others cringe

and crawl.

Wrap

yourself

in

your

seek a friend and your daily bread.

own If

virtue,

and

you have,

in

such a course, grown gray with unblench'd honor,

God and

bless

When

die."

awoke the next morning, he

Lingave

despatched his answer to his wealthy friend, and

then plodded on as

*'Lift Little

Jane

^^^

the days before.

in

was ejaculated as a signall ^^^^ ^^^ glasses in the hands

up!"

^|j^|^|

of a party of tipsy men, drinking one night at the bar of one of the middling order of taverns.

many

And

and many a terrible blasphemy, and many an impure phrase sounded a wild gibe

was

utter'd,

out the pollution of the hearts of these half-crazed


Collect

creatures, as they toss'd

made the

down

their

walls echo with their uproar.

and foremost

in

recklessness

was

liquor,

and

The

first

a girlish-faced,

fair-

twenty-two or three years. They him Mike. He seem'd to be look'd upon by

hair'd fellow of called

the others as a sort of prompter, from

whom

they

were to take cue. And if the brazen wickedness evinced by him in a hundred freaks and remarks to were there might hardly be one any test of his capacity more fit to go forward as a guide on the road of From the conversation of the party, it destruction. appeared that they had been spending the early part of the evening in a gambling house. A second, third and fourth time were the glasses fiird; and the effect thereof began to be perceiv'd in a still higher degree of noise and loquacity among companions, during their stay

his

in that place,

the revellers.

One

of the serving-men

came

in at

moment, and whisper'd the barkeeper, who went out, and in a moment return'd again.

this

''

A

person," he said,

*'

wish'd to speak with Mr.

He waited on the walk in front." The individual whose name was mentioned, made his excuses to the others, telling them he would be Michael.

As he shut the door behind him, and stepp'd into the open air, he saw one of his brothers his elder by eight or ten years pacing to and fro with rapid and uneven steps. As the man turn'd in his walk, and the glare back

in

a moment, and

left

the room.

VOL. VI.—6.

[8x]


Collect

of the street lamp

benumb'd as

fell

upon

his face, the youth, half-

his senses were,

at its paleness

and evident perturbation.

**Come with me!" riedly, **the illness of

have been sent

for

said the elder brother, hur-

our

little

Jane

is

worse, and

I

you."

young drunkard, very

answered the

**Poh!"

was somewhat startled

composedly, 'Ms that all?

shall

1

be

home by-

and-by," and he turn'd back again.

"But, brother, she Perhaps

The

when you

is

worse than ever

arrive she

paused in

tipsy one

may

before.

be dead/'

his

retreat,

perhaps

alarm'd at the utterance of that dread word, which

seldom

to shoot a chill to the hearts of mortals.

fails

But he soon calm'd himself, and waving his hand to the other: '*

have

Why,

been

I

good

see," said he, ''a score of times at least,

little

call'd

sister

away

to the last sickness of our

and each time

;

nothing worse than some physician. live

whim

Three years has the

of the nurse or

been able to

girl

very heartily under her disease;

bound

And

she'll stay

and

1

11

be

on earth three years longer."

as he concluded this wicked and most brutal

reply, the speaker

the bar-room.

open'd the door and went into

But

in

his intoxication, during the

hour that follow'd, Mike was

far

from being at ease.

At the end of that hour, the words,

you

proves to be

it

arrive she

may be

**

Perhaps

when

dead/' were not effaced from [8a]


Collect

and he started for home. The elder brother had wended his way back in sorrow. Let me go before the younger one, awhile, to a

his hearing yet,

room in that home. A little girl lay there dying. She had been ill a long time; so it was no sudden thing for her parents, and her brethren and sisters, to be called for the witness of the death agony.

The And

girl

was not what might be

yet, there

is

a solemn kind of loveliness that

always surrounds a sick the

weak and

own

called beautiful.

child.

The sympathy

for

helpless sufferer, perhaps, increases

it

The ashiness and the moisture on the brow, and the film over the eyeballs what man can look upon the sight, and not feel his heart awed within him ? Children, have sometimes fanin

our

ideas.

—

I

cied too, increase in beauty as their illness deepens.

Besides the nearest relatives of

little

Jane, stand-

was the family doctor. He had just laid her wrist down upon the coverlet, and the look he gave the mother, was a look in which there was no hope. *'My child! " she cried, in uncontrollable agony, ing round her bedside,

''O!

my

child!"

And the father, and the sons and daughters, were bowed down in grief, and thick tears rippled between the fingers held before their eyes. Then there was silence awhile. During the hour just by-gone, jane had, in her childish way, bestow'd a little gift upon each of her kindred, as a [83]


Collect

remembrancer when she should be dead and buried in the grave. And there was one of these simple tokens which had not reached its destination. She held

in

it

her hand now.

thumbed book

—a

her by her mother

It

was

a very small

much-

religious story for infants, given

when

she had

first

learn'd to

read.

While they were

all

keeping this solemn

stillness

— broken only by the suppress'd sobs of those who stood and watch'd for the passing

away

of the

girl's

soul — a confusion of some one entering rudely, and

speaking

in a

turbulent voice,

was

it

father

bade one of

forth

an ad-

the voice of the drunkard Mike, and the his sons

'Mf nought else

him

in

Again the voice roughly sounded

joining apartment. out;

was heard

by

go and quiet the

will do," said

strength.

We

intruder.

he sternly, ''put

want no

tipsy brawlers

here, to disturb such a scene as this.''

For what

moved

the sick

girl

uneasily on her

and raised her neck, and motion'd to her mother ? She would that Mike should be brought And it was enjoin'd on him whom the to her side. father had bade to eject the noisy one, that he pillow,

should

tell

Mike

come to her. He came.

his sister's request,

The

and beg him to

— his mind sober'd by scene — stood there, and

inebriate

the deep solemnity of the

leaned over to catch the last accounts of one

who

soon was to be with the

was

spirits £84]

of heaven.

All


Collect

The dying

the silence of the deepest night.

held the

young man's hand

other she slowly lifted

one of hers; with the the trifling memorial she had in

assigned especially for him, aloft

shook— her

eyes,

child

in

the

now becoming

air.

Her arm

glassy with the

death-damps, were cast toward her brother's

face.

She smiled pleasantly, and as an indistinct gurgle came from her throat, the uplifted hand fell suddenly into the open palm of her brother's, depositing the Little Jane was dead. tiny volume there. From that night, the young man stepped no more in his

wild courses, but

was reform 'd.

Not many years since— and yet long enough to have been before the abundance of railroads, and similar speedy modes of conveyance

— the travelers from Amboy village to the metropolis of our republic were permitted to refresh themselves,

and the horses of the stage had a breathing certain old-fashion'd tavern,

two

spell at a

about halfway between

was a quaint, comfortable, ancient house, that tavern. Huge button wood trees embower'd it round about, and there was a long porch in front, the trellis'd work whereof, though old and

the

places.

It

moulder'd, had been, and promised years, held together

by the tangled

vine wreath'd about

it

like a

still

to be for

folds of a grape

tremendous serpent.

How clean and fragrant everything was there How bright the pewter tankards wherefrom cider I

[85]


Collect

or ale

went

into the parch'd throat of the thirsty

man

How

pleasing to look into the expressive eyes

I

who

of Kate, the landlord's lovely daughter,

kept

everything so clean and bright!

Now

why

the reason

Kate's eyes had

become so

expressive was, that, besides their proper and natural office,

they stood to the poor

tongue and ears birth.

and

child.

many

light hair, silky, that

common set off

dumb from her helpless creature when

Gentle, timid, and affectionate

beautiful as the

cultivate so

the place of

Kate had been

Everybody loved the

she was a she,

also.

in

girl

every

and the

lilies

was

of which she loved to

summer

in

Her

her garden.

light-color'd lashes, so long

and

droop'd over her blue eyes of such un-

size

by a

— her rounded shape, well modest art of dress — her smile —

and softness

little

the graceful ease of her motions, always attracted the

admiration of the strangers

who

stopped there, and

were quite a pride to her parents and friends. How could it happen that so beautiful and fensive a being should taste, even to

its

inof-

dregs, the

Oh, there must indeed be a mysterious, unfathomable meaning in the decrees of Providence which is beyond the comprehension of man; for no one on earth less deserved or needed bitterest

unhappiness?

*'the uses of adversity" than

the mighty and

lawless

Dumb

passion,

Kate.

came

Love,

into the

sanctuary of the maid's pure breast, and the dove of peace fled

away

forever. [86]


Collect

One

who had

of the persons

most frequently

occasion to stop

at the tavern kept

by

Dumb

Kate's

young man, the son of a wealthy farmer, who own'd an estate in the neighborhood. He saw Kate, and was struck with her natural elegance. Though not of thoroughly wicked propensities, the fascination of so fine a prize made this parents

was

a

youth determine to gain her love, and,

if

possible,

win her to himself At first he hardly dared, even amid the depths of his own soul, to entertain thoughts of vileness against one so confiding and childlike. But in a short time such feelings wore away, and he made up his mind to become the beto

trayer of poor Kate.

He was

a good-looking fellow,

and made but too sure of his victim. Kate was lost! The villain came to New York soon after, and engaged in a business which prospered well, and which has no doubt by this time made him what is

caird a

man

of fortune.

Not long did sickness of the heart wear into the life and happiness of Dumb Kate. One pleasant spring day, the neighbors having been called by a notice the previous morning, the old churchyard

thrown open, and a

coffin

was borne over the

grass that seem'd so delicate with

hue.

There was a

side the

bier

moment

until

boy,

was

new made rested

by

— while

curiosity, [87]

light

grave, and

holy words had been

call'd there

its

was

early

green

by

its

they paused a said.

An

saw something

idle

lying


Collect

on the

fresh earth

thrown out from the grave, which

A

attracted his attention.

little

blossom, the only

one to be seen around, had grown exactly on the spot where the sexton chose to dig poor Kate's last resting-place.

and

now

was

It

where

lay

it

a

weak but

lovely flower,

had been carelessly toss'd The boy twirl'd it a mo-

amid the coarse gravel. ment in his fingers the bruis'd fragments gave out a momentary perfume, and then fell to the edge of the pit, over which the child at that moment lean'd, and gazed in his inquisitiveness. As they dropped they were wafted to the bottom of the grave. The last look was bestow'd on the dead girl's face by those who loved her so well in life, and then she

—

was

softly laid

away

to her sleep beneath that green

grass covering.

Yet

in

the churchyard on the

There stands a

hill is

white stone

Kate's grave.

and there; and gossips, sometimes

little

verdure grows richly

at the head,

of a Sabbath afternoon, rambling over that gatheringplace of the

over the

gone from

dumb It is

Talk to an

Art-Umon

AB

ki

fragment

girl's

earth, stop a while,

hapless story.

something of the artist .

P^ 'Jve

men contain them. And per-

a beautiful truth that

,

,

.

'* ^^

and con

,

^^^^

^

in

all

.

,

greatest artists

and die, the world and themselves alike

ignorant

what they

possess.

Who would

not mourn that an ample palace, of surpassingly grace[88]


Collect

ful architecture, fiird

and sculpture, should stand cold and and vacant, and never be known or enjoy'd by

with still

its

with luxuries, and embellished

fine pictures

Would such

owner?

sadness?

Then be

sad.

you

a fact as this cause

For there

is

a palace, to

which the courts of the most sumptuous kings are it is always waiting for them, not one of its owners ever enters there with any genuine sense of its grandeur and glory. I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be but a frivolous patch, and, though

He who does

traced to the artistical impulse.

great

does them from his innate sensitiveness to

deeds,

moral beauty.

they are also

Such men are not merely

artistic material.

Washington

artists,

in

some

Lawrence on the bloody deck of the Chesapeake, Mary Stuart at the block, Kossuth in captivity, and Mazzini in exile all great rebels and

great

crisis,

—

innovators, exhibit the highest phases of the artist

The

spirit.

painter, the sculptor, the poet, express

heroic beauty better in description; but the others

are heroic beauty, the best belov'd of

Talk not so much, then, young great old masters,

Study not only

who

with coal from the

artist,

of the

but painted and chiseird.

their productions.

higher school for him

art.

who would

There

a

still

kindle his

fire

is

virtues,

and purest is the school of all grand actions and grand of heroism, of the death of patriots and

martyrs

— of

art.

It

all

altar of

the

loftiest

the mighty deeds written in the [89]


Collect

pages of history

— deeds of daring, and

enthusiasm,

devotion, and fortitude.

r **CMUfy oftks bod/ and

th4 blood of Christ."

I

Of

olden time,

when

it

came

to pass

That the beautiful god, Jesus, should

Then went

And took pay Curs'd

And

finish his

work on

earth,

Judas, and sold the divine youth, for his

body.

was the deed, even grew dry;

before the sweat of the clutching hand

darkness frown'd upon the

Where, as though

seller

of the like of God,

earth lifted her breast to

throw him

fi-om her,

and heaven refused him.

He hung The

in the air, self-slaughter'd.

cycles,

with their long shadows, have stalk'd

silently for-

ward. Since those ancient days

— many

a pouch enwrapping

mean-

while Its fee, like that

paid for the son of Mary.

And still goes one, saying, " What will ye give me, and will deliver this man unto you ? " And they make the covenant, and pay the pieces of silver. I

U Look

forth, deliverer,

Look

forth, first-born of the dead,

bo]


Collect

Over the tree-tops of Paradise; See thyself in yet continued bonds,

Toilsome and poor, thou bear'st man's form again.

Thou

put into prison.

art reviled, scourged,

Hunted from the arrogant equality of the

With

staves and

rest;

swords throng the willing servants of

Again they surround thee,

mad with

Toward thee

hands of a multitude,

stretch the

authority.

devilish spite like

vultures'

talons.

The meanest

spit in thy face,

Bruised, bloody,

and pinion'd

More sorrowful than death

is

they smite thee with their palms; is

Witness of anguish, brother of

Not with thy

And

still

thy body,

thy soul. slaves.

price closed the price of thine

image:

Iscariot plies his trade.

Paumanok.

April, 184^,

TOoun&e& " And one shall

shall

in tbe

say unto him,

answer Those with which

Douse

What are I

these

ot jftien^s

wounds

was wounded

in thy

in the

hands?

house of

my

Zechariakxui.,6.

If

thou

art balk'd,

O

Freedom,

The victory is not to thy manlier foes From the house of friends comes the death Virginia,

mother of greatness,

Blush not for being also mother of slaves;

You might have borne deeper Doughfaces, crawlers, Terrific

Who

lice

slaves

of humanity

screamers of freedom,

roar

and bawl, and get hot [91]

i'

the face,

stab.

Then he friends."—


Collect

But were they not incapable of august crime,

Would quench

the hopes of ages for a drink

—

Muck-worms, creeping flat to the ground, A dollar dearer to them than Christ's blessing; thought of gain.

All loves, all hopes, less than the

In

life

walking

Men whom

in that as in a

shroud

the throes of heroes.

Great deeds at which the gods might stand appai'd,

The The

shriek of the drown'd, the appeal of

women.

exulting laugh of untied empires,

Would

touch them never in the heart.

But only

in the pocket.

Hot-headed Carolina,

Well may you

With

all

Which

curi

your

lip

your bondsmen, bless the destiny

brings you no such breed as this.

Arise,

young North cowards:

Our

elder blood flows in the veins of

The The

gray-hair'd sneak, the blanch'd poltroon, feign'd or real shiverer at tongues,

That nursing babes need hardly cry the Are they to be our tokens always

less for

?

r Sailing tbe Aidsisdippi at /l>i^nidbt

Vast and

starless, the pall of

Laps on the

And

trailing pall

heaven

below

forward, forward, in solemn darkness.

As

Now

if

to the sea of the lost

drawn nigh

we

go.

the edge of the river.

Weird-like creatures suddenly [9a]

rise


Collect

Shapes that

fade, dissolving outlines

Baffle the gazer's straining eyes.

Towering upward and bending forward,

Wild and wide

Ready

arms are thrown,

their

to pierce with forked fingers

Him who

touches their realm upon.

Tide of youth, thus thickly planted,

While in the eddies onward you swim. Thus on the shore stands a phantom army. Lining forever the channel's rim. Steady, helmsman! you guide the immortal;

Many a wreck is beneath you Many a brave yet unwary sailor Over these waters has been

Nor

is it

is it

Will

But

beguiled.

the storm or the scowling midnight,

Cold, or sickness, or

Nor

piled.

the

peril

when

reef, or

fire's

dismay

—

treacherous quicksand.

you most on your twisted way.

there

comes

a voluptuous languor.

Soft the sunshine, silent the

Bewitching your Then, young

craft

air,

with safety and sweetness,

pilot of

life,

[93]

beware.



November Bouobs

[95]



®ut iSminent

IDxsitors

pastt ipresent and jfutute

them each and all! They do good— though the deepest, widest, most needed good which quite certainly not in the ways attempted

Welcome

to

— —

have, at times, something irresistibly comic.

can be more

farcical, for instance,

What

than the sight of a

worthy gentleman coming three or four thousand miles through wet and wind to speak complacently and at great length on matters of which he both entirely mistakes or knows nothing before crowds of auditors equally complacent and equally at fault ? Yet welcome and thanks, we say, to those visitors we have, and have had, from abroad among us and may the procession continue! We have had Dickens and Thackeray, Froude, Herbert Spencer,

Oscar

Wilde,

Lord

Coleridge

— soldiers,

savants,

poets— and now Matthew Arnold and Irving the actor. Some have come to make money some for a ''good time" some to help us along and give us advice and some undoubtedly to investigate,

bona

fide, this great

VOL. VI.— 7.

problem, democratic America, ,

,

[97]


Hovember Bouoba looming upon the world with such cumulative power

now

through a hundred years,

with the evident

in-

tention (since the secession war) to stay, and take a

many

leading hand, for

and humanity's

zation's

that very investigation

gation lessly

a century to come, in

eternal

game.

civili-

But

alasl

— the method of that investi-

where the deficit most surely and helpcomes in. Let not Lord Coleridge and Mr. is

Arnold (to say nothing of the

im-

illustrious actor)

when they have met and

surveyed the

eti-

quettical gatherings of our wealthy, distinguish'd

and

agine that

sure-to-be-put-forward-on-such-occasions citizens

(New

York, Boston, Philadelphia, &c., have certain

stereotyped strings of them, continually lined and

paraded

like

the

lists

— you again —

of dishes at hotel tables

same over and over it is and the bowing and introducing, the

are sure to get the

very amusing)

receptions at the swell clubs, the eating and drinking

and praising and praising back

— and the

riding about Central Park, or doing the stitutions

"—and

*'

next day Public In-

so passing through, one after an-

other, the full-dress coteries of the Atlantic cities,

grammatical and

cultured

and

all

with the

correct,

toned-down manners of the gentlemen, and the kidgloves, and luncheons and finger-glasses let not our eminent visitors, we say, suppose that, by means

of these experiences, they have **seen America," or captur'd any distinctive clew or purport

Not a

bit

of

it.

Of

the pulse-beats that

M

thereof.

lie

within


movembet

ffiougba

of the hardand vitalize this Commonweal to-day pan purports and idiosyncrasies pursued faithfully and triumphantly by its bulk of men North and

South, generation after generation, superficially unconscious of their ing

own

aims, yet none the less press-

onward with deathless intuition— those

do not furnish the

World the best

faintest

flavor

and significance of a race may

possibly need to be look'd for in its

gentries,

its

this,

its

''

court, its etat major.

States the rule

is

the Old

In

scintilla.

coteries

revers'd.

perhaps deepest of

all),

upper classes," In the

United

Besides (and a point,

the special marks of our

grouping and design are not going to be understood in a hurry.

ground are

The

lesson and scanning right on the

difficult;

I

possible to foreigners

was going

—but

I

to say they are im-

have occasionally found

coming from far-off quarters. Surely nothing could be more apt, not only for our eminent visitors present and to come, but for

the clearest appreciation of

home

all,

study, than the following editorial criticism of

the London Times on Mr. Froude's

visits

and lectures

here a few years ago, and the culminating dinner given at Delmonico's, with

"We

read the

list,"

its brilliant

array of guests:

says the Times, **of those

who

assem-

bled to do honor to Mr. Froude: there were Mr. Emerson, Mr. Beecher, Mr. Curtis, Mr. Bryant;

who

we

add the names of those

sent letters of regret that they could not attend in person

Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Whittier.

known

They

are

names which

—almost as well known and as much honor'd [99]

in

are well

England


November Bouflbe as in America; and yet

what must we say

American people outside

this

end?

in the

assemblage of writers

is

The

something

vaster and greater than they, singly or together, can comprehend. It

cannot be said of any or

their nation.

We who

them

of

all

that they can speak for

look on at this distance are able perhaps

on that account to see the more

clearly that there are qualities of

the American people which find no representation,

among

And what

these their spokesmen.

of the English class of

ambassador.

whom

Mr. Froude

true of

is

character as the subject of his study, he

short time in so comprehending

its

may

is

true

to be the

style.

He has

Taking any single

the gift of grace and the gift of sympathy.

succeed

after a

very

workings as to be able

present a living figure to the intelligence and readers.

them

Mr. Froude may be said

master of a charming

is

no voice,

memory

to

of his

But the movements of a nation, the voiceless purpose

of a people which cannot put

upon them

its

own thoughts

in each successive generation

within his grasp.

.

.

.

The

into words, yet acts

—these things do not

lie

functions of literature such as he

represents are limited in their action; the influence he can wield is artificial

and

restricted, and,

while he and his hearers please

and are pleas'd with pleasant periods, life

will flow

around them unmov'd

this great

mass of national

in its tides

by action as

powerless as that of the dwellers by the shore to direct the currents of the ocean."

A

thought, here, that needs to be echoed, ex-

panded, permanently treasured by our

and educators.

literary classes

(The gestation, the youth, the

ting preparations, are

now

over,

and

How

it

is full

knit-

time

few think of it, though it is the impetus and background of our whole Nationality and popular life. In the present for definite

purpose, result.)

[100]


movember brief

memorandum

awake

ffiousbe

very likely

I

for

the

first

and

''the intelligent reader" to the idea

quiry whether there

is n't

time in-

such a thing as the distinc-

tive genius of our democratic

New

World, universal,

immanent, bringing to a head the best experience of the past

— not specially

merely ''good,"

(in

ance Society sense,)

literary or intellectual

— not

the Sunday School and Temper-

—some invisible

spine and great

sympathetic to these States, resident only

in

average people,

physi-

in their practical life, in their

the

ology, in their emotions, in their nebulous yet fiery patriotism, in the armies (both sides) through

the

an identity and character whole secession war which indeed so far "finds no voice among their spokesmen." To my mind America, vast and fruitful as it appears to-day, is even yet, for its most important results, entirely in the tentative state; its

tion-stir

and whirling

and picturesque, to

very forma-

and essays more splendid thinking, than the accom-

trials

my

growths and shows of other lands, through European history, or Greece, or all the past. Surely

plish'd

a

New World literature, worthy the name,

if it

ever comes,

some

not to be,

fiction, or fancy, or bit

timentalism or polish'd abstraction.

is

work merely by

So long as such

of sen-

itself,

literature is

or in

no born

branch and offshoot of the Nationality, rooted and

grown from

its

roots,

never answer any deep

and fibred with call

its fibre, it

or perennial need.

[lOl]

can

Perhaps


flovcinbcr Bouflba

the untaught Republic

The

best literature

far greater

there

result of

something

Before there can be recorded history or

must be the

old masterpieces, the epics, the

always a

teachers.

its

than itself— not the hero, but the portrait

of the hero.

poem

is

wiser than

is

Beyond the the interminable Hindu

transaction.

Iliad,

Greek tragedies, even the Bible

itself,

range

immense facts of what must have preceded them, their sine qua non—the veritable poems and masterthe

pieces, of

which, grand as they

are,

the word-state-

ments are but shreds and cartoons. think the For to-day and the States,

vividest,

1

most stupendous processes ever known, ever perform'd by man or nation, on the largest scales and in countless varieties, are now and here Not as our poets and preachers are presented. rapidest,

always conventionally putting ent.

Some

it

— but

quite differ-

colossal foundry, the flaming of the

fire,

the melted metal, the pounding trip-hammers, the

workmen

surging crowds of point, the

shifting

murky shadows, the

from point to

rolling haze, the dis-

cord, the crudeness, the deafening din, the disorder,

the dross and clouds of dust, the waste and extrav-

agance of material, the shafts of darted sunshine through the vast open roof-scuttles aloft—the mighty castings,

many

of

them not yet

layed long, yet each in

place and use and

its

fitted,

due time, with

meaning — such,

symbol of America. [103]

perhaps de-

more

definite

like, is

a


IRovember Bougba After

we

all

of which, returning to our starting-pointy

reiterate,

come

and

the whole Land's name, a wel-

in

to our eminent guests.

hospitalities,

and hand-shaking, and

and the distant brought near

face,

solvents they are!

face

— what

divine

Travel, reciprocity, ''interview-

intercommunion of lands

ing,"

and meeting

Visits like theirs,

— what are they but

Democracy's and the highest Law's best aids that our

— could

own

country

annually,

— that every land

continually,

thinkers, scientists, even

the

other lands, as honor'd guests. States, especially the

in

O

O

the world^

receive the

official

?

poets,

magnates, of

that the United

West, could have had a good

and explorative jaunt, from the noble and melancholy Tourgueneff, before he died or from long

visit

Hugo

— or

Thomas Carlyle, Castelar, Tennyson, any of the two or three great Parisian essayists—were they and we to come face to face, how

Victor

is it

possible but that the right understanding

ensue

?

[103]

would


Zhc Bible as I

Ipoetrig

SUPPOSE one cannot at this day say anything

new, from a

of view, about

literary point

— the

autochthonic bequests of Asia

those

Hebrew

Bible,

the mighty Hindu epics, and a hundred lesser but

works (not now definitely including the Iliad— though that work was certainly of Asiatic typical

genesis, as

Homer

himself

was

which seem curiously ignored).

— considerations

But

will there ever

be a time or place — ever a student, however

em, of the grand will not afford

art,

to

whom

those compositions

profounder lessons than

their kind in the

mod-

all

garnerage of the past?

else of

Could

more opportune suggestion, to the current popular writer and reader of verse, what the and is yet office of poet was in primeval times capable of being, anew, adjusted entirely to the modern ? All the poems of Orientalism, with the Old and New Testaments at the centre, tend to deep and wide (I don't know but the deepest and widest) with little, or nothing psychological development at all, of the mere esthetic, the principal verse-

there be any

[104]


November Bougbe Very

requirement of our day.

comes

to every capable student the perception that

not

it is

but unerringly,

late,

in

beauty,

it is

not in

art, it is

not even

science, that the profoundest laws of the case

sway and outcropping. discourse on '' Hebrew poets

in

have

their eternal In his

Mendes **

ality,

jects,

God and

God

of the sanctuary,

and

City,

of

istic

lov'd

and subjects

Palestine

with

said that

Hebrew poetry

for epic display

at

all.

pleasant

its **

God

in

to Nature's

— the

glory

ritual,

the Holy

valleys

and wild

rhyming was not

a character-

Metre was not a necessary mark

Great poets discarded

the early Jewish poets

it;

Compared with the famed

epics of Greece,

and

ones since, the spinal supports of the Bible

are simple

and meagre.

All its history, biography,

narratives, &c., are as beads, strung

ing the eternal thread of the

power.

on and

Deific

Yet with only deepest

and such

indicat-

purpose and

faith for

impetus,

Deific purpose for palpable or impalpable

theme,

it

and

masterpieces.

all

sub-

not."

it

lesser

Israel,

hymns and odes

the offerings, the splendid

Mendes

Dr.

of poetry.

knew

nation-

Its

then the checker'd history of the nation furnish'd

allusions, illustrations,

tracts."

Sola

the Creator and Governor, Nature

majesty and beauty, inspired

And

Hebrew

the

religious.

Providence, the covenants with

Nature, and as reveal'd,

God.

De

said:

The fundamental feature of Judaism, of was religion; its poetry was naturally

in her

"

often transcends the masterpieces of Hellas,

The metaphors daring beyond [105]

%


'ttopember

Bougba

account, the lawless soul, extravagant by our stand-

the glow of love and friendship, the fervent

ards,

kiss

— nothing

in proverbs,

common

in

in

argument or

religious ecstasy,

mortality and death,

izers—the

everything,

spirit

scented

faith

limitless,

spiritual

its

— an

non-worldliness and dew-

all-inclusive

illiteracy (the

ceremonies and

the

immensely

sensuousness

incredible,

suggestions of

in

man*s great equal-

forms of the churches nothing,

immense

but unsurpassed

logic,

antipodes of our Nineteenth

Century business absorption and morbid refinement) no hair-splitting doubts, no sickly sulking and

no Hamlet, no Adonais, no Thanatopsis, no In Memoriam.

sniffling,

The culminated proof is

the equality of

its

of the poetry of a country

personnel, which, in any race,

can never be really superior without superior poems.

The (in

finest

my

Iliad,

blending of individuality with universality

opinion

or Shakspere*s heroes, or from the

sonian Idylls, so fied in the

and

nothing out of the galaxies of the

women

lofty,

devoted and

Tenny-

starlike), typi-

songs of those old Asiatic lands. as great columnar trees.

the abnegation of self towering

in

Nowhere

Men else

such quaint sub-

nowhere else the simplest human emotions conquering the gods of heaven, and fate itself. (The episode, for instance, toward the close of the Malimity;

habharata

— the journey of the wife

god of death, Yama, [106]

Savitri

with the


IRovember Bougbe "One

terrible to see

— blood-red his garb,

His body huge and dark, bloodshot his eyes,

Which flamed like suns beneath Arm'd was he with a noose,"

who

carries off the soul of the

his turban doth,

dead husband, the

wife tenaciously following, and — by the charm of perfect poetic recitation! — eventually

resistless re-

deeming her captive mate.) remember how enthusiastically William H. Seward, in his last days, once expatiated on these themes, from his travels in Turkey, Egypt, and Asia I

Minor, finding the oldest Biblical narratives exactly illustrated

there to-day with apparently no break

or change along three thousand years

women, all

— the

veil'd

the costumes, the gravity and simplicity,

the manners just the same.

The veteran Tre-

lawney said he found the only real nobleman of the world in a good average specimen of the mid-aged or elderly Oriental.

always leading,

is

In

the old man, majestic, with flow-

ing beard, paternal, &c. is,

as

we know,

handsome and

the East the grand figure,

In

Europe and America,

the young fellow

interesting hero,

in

novels,

more or

it

a

less ju-

venile—in operas, a tenor with blooming cheeks, black mustache, superficial animation, and perhaps good lungs, but no more depth than skim milk. tion

But reading folks probably get their informaof those

Bible

depicted in print

areas and current peoples, as

by English and French [107]

cads, the


November Bougba most shallow,

impudent,

brood

supercilious

on

earth. I

have said nothing yet of the cumulus of associa-

tions (perfectly legitimate parts of finally in

many

its

and

influence,

respects the dominant parts) of the

and of every portion of

Bible as a poetic entity,

it.

Not the old edifice only — the congeries also of events and struggles and surroundings, of which it has been the scene and motive even the horrors, dreads, deaths. How many ages and generations have brooded and wept and agonized over this book! What untenable joys and ecstasies what support to martyrs at the stake from it. (No really great song can ever attain full purport till long after the

death of

porated the it

has

singer

its

many

till

passions,

joys and sorrows, has

Translated

in all

whose

it

nay,

that

bring us is

thick-studded

what

is

clasp'd within

the least of

thousands, there

is

with

civilized

of our retrospects has

what

it

it

not

Not only

interwoven and link'd and permeated?

does

been

languages,

Of

has united this diverse world!

lands to-day,

it

safety — the refuge from driv-

ing tempest and wreck! it

many

To what myriads

itself arous'd.)

the shore and rock of

how

has accrued and incor-

it

its

brings.

covers;

Of

its

not a verse, not a word, but

human

is

emotions, successions

of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, of our

own

antecedents, inseparable from that background

of us, on which, phantasmal [108]

as

it

is,

all

that

we


IRovember Bougbe are to-day inevitably depends

— our

ancestry, our

past.

Strange, but true,

cohering the nations,

that the eras

principal

factor

in

and paradoxes of the

by giving them a common platform of two or three great ideas, a commonalty of origin, and projecting kosmic brotherhood, the dream of all hope,

globe,

all

— that the

time

long trains, gestations, attempts

and failures, resulting in the Nev/ World, and in modern solidarity and politics are to be identified and resolv'd back into a collection of old poetic lore,

which, more than any one thing else, has been the axis of civilization and history through thousands of years

— and its

except for which this America of ours, with

polity

No

and

essentials, could not

now

be existing.

true bard will ever contravene the Bible.

the time ever comes

tremest Bible in

in its

when iconoclasm does

ex-

one direction against the Books of the

must

present form, the collection

survive in another, and dominate just as hitherto, or

its

If

more than

hitherto,

through

still

much its

as

divine

and primal poetic structure. To me, that is the living and definite element-principle of the work, evolving everything

else.

Then the

oldest and newest Asiatic utterance

and

all

between, holding together,

continuity; the

and character, like

the appari-

and coming to us the same. Even to our Nineteenth Century here are the fountainheads of song. tion of the sky,

[109]


jfatbcr trailer (anb ©rator^)

HAVE never heard but one essentially perfect

I

— one who those depths of the emotional nature that most cases go through quite — untouched, unfed who held every hearer by spells which no conventionalist, high or low — nor any — pride or composure, nor resistance of orator

satisfied

in

life

intellect

could stand against for ten minutes.

And by

the way,

class genius

humanity's

in

is

it

not strange, of this

first-

the rarest and most profound of

arts, that

will

it

forgotten and rubb'd out

is

be necessary (so nearly his

name by

whirl of the last twenty-five years) to current readers that he

the rushing first

was an orthodox

of no particular celebrity,

who

inform

minister,

during a long

life

preach'd especially to Yankee sailors

in

an old fourth-

down by

in

Boston

— had

been a seafaring man through his

earlier

class

church

practically

years

— and

turn'd,

His

the wharves

died April

6,

1871,

*'just as the tide

going out with the ebb as an old

name

of Boston

is

now

salt

should " ?

comparatively unknown, outside

— and even

there, (though Dickens, Mr. [no]


movember Bougba Jameson, Dr. Bartol and Bishop Haven have commemorated him,) is mostly but a reminiscence.

my

During

visits to

''

the Hub," in 1859 and '60

saw and heard Father Taylor. autumn, quiet Sunday forenoons,

several times

spring or

I

the

In

liked

I

go down early to the quaint ship-cabin-looking to enter and church where the old man minister'd leisurely scan the building, the low ceiling, everything strongly timbered (polish'd and rubb'd apparto

ently),

dark

the

half-light — and

watch the

rich

the

colors,

gallery,

smell the aroma of old

all

in

wood — to

auditors, sailors, mates, ''matlows," offi-

cers, singly or in groups, as

physiognomies, forms, dress,

they came

in

— their

as they walk'd

gait,

— their postures, seating themselves along the the rude, roomy, undoor'd, uncushion'd pews — aisles

in

and the evident

effect

upon them of the

place,

occasion, and atmosphere.

The

twelve

pulpit, rising ten or

the rear wall, painting, in

oil

was back'd by

— showing

feet high, against

a significant mural

out

its

bold lines and

strong hues through the subdued light of the build-

ing—of

waves

a stormy sea, the

amid them an

old-style ship,

through the gale, and

in

all

high-rolling,

and

bent over, driving

great peril

—a

vivid

and

meant for the criticism of artists (though think it had merit even from that standpoint), but for its effect upon the congregation, and what it would convey to them. effectual piece of limning, not I

[Ill]


flovember Bougbe Father Taylor

was a moderate-sized man, indeed

almost small, (reminded

me

of old Booth, the great

and my favorite of those and preceding days,) well advanced in years, but alert, with mild blue or gray eyes, and good presence and voice. Soon as he open'd his mouth ceas'd to pay any attention to actor,

1

church or audience, or pictures or lights and shades;

more potent charm

sway'd me. In the course of the sermon, (there was no sign of any MS., or reading from notes,) some of the parts a

far

would be

in

turesque.

entirely

the highest degree majestic and pic-

Colloquial

in

a severe sense,

it

often

and Oriental forms. Especially were all allusions to ships and the ocean and sailors' lives, of unrival'd power and life-likeness. Someleaned to Biblical

times there were passages of fine language and composition,

even from the

purist's point of view.

A

few arguments, and of the best, but always brief and simple. One realized what grip there might have been

in

such words-of-mouth talk as that of

Socrates and Epictetus.

In the

main,

I

should say,

of any of these discourses, that the old Demosthe-

nean rule and requirement of tion," first in

and

its

restrain'd)

its

**

action, action, ac-

inward and then (very moderate

outward sense, was the quality

that had leading fulfilment. I

remember

I

felt

the deepest impression from

the old man's prayers, which invariably affected to tears.

me

Never, on similar or any other occasions, [1X3]


movembet aSouobe heard such impassion'd pleading— such human-harassing reproach (like Hamlet to his mother,

have in

I

the closet)

— such

probing to the very depths of

that latent conscience and remorse lie

somev/here For

soul.

in

the background of every

when

the rhetoric and

which probably life,

every

Father Taylor preach'd or pray'd,

art,

the mere words, (which usually

play such a big part,) seem'd altogether to disappear,

and the

live feeling

advanced upon you and

seiz'd

power before unknown. Everybody felt One young this marvellous and awful influence. sailor, a Rhode Islander, (who came every Sunday, and got acquainted with, and talk'd to once or twice as we went away,) told me, *'That must be

you with

a

I

the Holy Ghost I

we

read of in the Testament."

should be at a loss to make any comparison

with other preachers or public speakers. child

I

had heard

(though so

was

Elias Hicks

— and

When

a

Father Taylor

different in personal appearance, for Elias

and most shapely form, with black eyes that blazed at times like meteors) always reminded me of him. Both had the same inner, apparently of

tall

inexhaustible, fund of latent volcanic passion

— the

same tenderness, blended with a curious remorseless firmness, as of some surgeon operating on a belov'd patient. Hearing such men sends to the winds all the books, and formulas, and polish'd speaking, and rules of oratory.

Talking of orator^,'

why

VOL. VI.—8.

,i;"3]

is it

that the unsophisti-


November JSougbe cated practices often strike deeper than the train 'd

Why

do our experiences perhaps of some

ones

?

local

country exhorter—or often

at political

my

In

in

meetings—bring the most

time

and such

cilibres;

minor but life-eloquence of men

two

Cassius Clay, and one or fanatics "

not

I

West

ahead of

all

definite results ?

important quality of

yet

like

John

anyhow.

the

P. Hale,

of the old abolition

—the

Is

and most

first, last,

in training for a ''finish'd

all,

speaker," generally unsought, unreck'd

Though maybe

teacher and pupil ?

recall

I

those stereotyped fames.

sometimes question

taught,

or South

have heard Webster, Clay, Edward

I

Everett, Phillips,

**

the

At any

rate,

we

both by

of,

cannot be

it

need to clearly

understand the distinction between oratory and elocution.

Under the

order, there

is

latter art, including

indeed no scarcity

in

some

of high

the United States,

With

preachers, lawyers, actors, lecturers, &c.

all,

almost none. seem to be few real orators it (more as sugI repeat, and would dwell upon gestion than mere fact) among all the brilliant lights

there

of bar or stage

New

I

have heard

York and other

witness notable

trials,

my

in

cities

I

time

(for years in

haunted the courts to

and have heard

all

the famous

actors and actresses that have been in America the

past

fifty

years) though

1

recall

from one or other of them, in

the

way

I

marvellous effects

never had anything

of vocal utterance to shake

and through, and become

fix'd,

["43

with

its

me

through

accompani-


IRovember BouQba ments,

in

my memory,

like

those prayers and ser-

mons—like Father Taylor's personal electricity and the whole scene there the prone ship in the gale, in the and dashing wave and foam for background

little

old sea-church in Boston, those

summer Sun-

days just before the secession war broke out.

["53


TTbe

Spanish lElement

in

®ur

Bationalit^ [Our friends

at Santa F6,

New Mexico,

have

just finish'd their

long-drawn-out anniversary of the 333d year of the settlement of their city

by the Spanish.

asked to write them a

wrote them a

letter as

The good, gray Walt Whitman was

poem

in

commemoration.

Instead he

follows \—Philadelphia Press, August

5,

1883.]

Camden,

To Messrs,

Griffin,

New

July 20, 1883. Martine;(, Prince, and other GenJersey,

tlemen at Santa Fe:

Dear Sirs:— Your kind deliver a

poem

for

invitation to visit

the 333d Anniversary of founding

Santa F6 has reached

me

so late that

cline,

with sincere regret.

words

off hand.

We Americans

you and

But

have yet to

1

I

have to de-

will

say a few

really learn our

antecedents, and sort them, to unify them. will

own

They

be found ampler than has been supposed, and

widely different sources.

New

Thus

far,

in

impressed by

England writers and schoolmasters,

we

tacitly

abandon ourselves to the notion that our United [1X6]


November

ffiougba

States have been fashion'd from the British Islands

and

only,

which for

is

essentially form a

second England only

Many

a very great mistake.

leading traits

our future national personality, and some of the

best ones, will certainly prove to have originated

As

from other than British stock.

and German, valuable as they are

Or

ready threaten excess.

in

the British

is,

it

the concrete,

rather,

I

al-

should say,

To-day,

they have certainly reach'd that excess.

something outside of them, and to counterbalance them,

seriously needed.

is

The seething

materialistic

and business vortices

of the United States, in their present devouring relations, controlling in

my

the

and

belittling

everything

else, are,

opinion, but a vast and indispensable stage in

new

world's development, and are certainly to

be follow'd by something entirely different

by immense modifications. Character, society worthy the name, are yet to be through a nationality of noblest democratic attributes definitely exists

at least

literature,

a

established,

spiritual, heroic

and

— not one of which at present

— entirely

from the past,

different

though unerringly founded on it, and to justify it. To that composite American identity of the future, Spanish character will supply some of the most

needed

parts.

retrospect

stock

— grander

for patriotism, (It is

No

shows

a

grander historic

in religiousness

and

loyalty, or

courage, decorum, gravity and honor.

time to dismiss utterly the illusion-compound, ["7]


Dopember Bougba half raw-head-and-bloody-bones

and half Mysteries-

of-Udolpho, inherited from the English writers of the past for

it is

two hundred

certainly true

any more

years.

— that

It is

time to realize

there will not be found

cruelty, tyranny, superstition, &c., in the

risumi of past Spanish history than

in

the corre-

sponding risunU of Anglo-Norman history.

Nay,

I

think there will not be found so much.)

Then another

point, relating to

ogy, past and to come,

I

will here

American ethnoltouch upon at a

As to our aboriginal or Indian population the Aztec in the South, and many a tribe in the North and West know it seems to be agreed that they must gradually dwindle as time rolls on, and in a few generations more leave only a reminiscence, a blank. But am not at all clear about that. As America, from its many far-back sources and current venture.

I

I

supplies, develops, adapts, entwines, faithfully identifies its

— are

own

and using

all

we

to see

it

cheerfully accepting

the contributions of foreign lands from

— and then rejecting the only own — the autochthonic ones ?

the whole outside globe

ones distinctively

its

As to the Spanish stock of our Southwest, it is certain to me that we do not begin to appreciate the splendor and sterling value of its race element.

Who

knows but

that element, like the course of

some subterranean river, dipping invisibly for a hundred or two years, is now to emerge in broadest flow and permanent action ? [118]


IRovember ISougba If

might assume to do

I

you the most

so,

I

cordial, heartfelt

would

friends in the Northern

send

congratulations of

your American fellow-countrymen here.

more

like to

You have

and Atlantic regions

than you suppose, and they are deeply interested

in

the development of the great Southwestern interior,

and

in

what your

festival

would arouse to

public

attention.

Very

respectfully, &c.,

Walt Whitman.

["9]


Mbat Xurks

Bebinb Sbakspere's

Ibistodcal plains

We

all

know how much

Shakspere question as

it

tnythus there

stands to-day.

is in

the

Beneath a

few foundations of proved facts are certainly engulfd far more dim and elusive ones, of deepest impor-

— tantalizing

and half suspected suggesting explanations that one dare not put in plain statement. But coming at once to the point, the English

tance

historical plays are to

me

not only the most eminent

as dramatic performances

(my maturest judgment

confirming the impressions of

my

early years, that

the distinctiveness and glory of the Poet reside not in

his

vaunted dramas of the passions, but those

founded on the contests of English dynasties, and the French wars), but form, as

we

get

it

all,

the

Conceived out of

chief in a complexity of puzzles.

the fullest heat and pulse of European feudalism personifying in unparalleFd tocracy, caste,

its

with

towering its

own

ways the

spirit

mediaeval aris-

of ruthless and gigantic

peculiar air

and arrogance (no

mere imitation)— only one of the [wo]

**

wolfish earls"


IRovember Bougba

some born might seem to be the true descendant and knower, amazing works works in some author of those

so plenteous in the plays themselves, or

respects

greater

than

anything

else

in

recorded

literature.

The start and germ-stock of the pieces on which the present speculation

is

founded are undoubtedly (with,

no small amount of bungling work) in Henry VL It is plain to me that as profound and forecasting a brain and pen as ever appear'd in literat the outset,

ature, after floundering

somewhat

in

the

first

part of

that trilogy — or perhaps draughting more or — experimentally or by accident afterward developed less

it

and defined his plan in the Second and Third Parts, and from time to time, thenceforward, systematically enlarged it to majestic and mature proportions in Richard II, Richard III, King John, Henry IV, Henry For V, and even in Macbeth, Coriolanus, and Lear, it is impossible to grasp the whole cluster of those plays, however wide the intervals and different circumstances of their composition, without thinking of them as, in a free sense, the result of an essentially controling plan.

what was certainly

veil'd

What was

that plan?

behind it? —

me

there

was

Even the episodes of and the like (which sometimes

something so

Cade, Joan of Arc,

for to

Or, rather,

veil'd.

seem to me like interpolations allow'd), may be meant to foil the possible sleuth, and throw any too 'cute pursuer off the scent. In the whole matter I [121]


Tlovcmbcr Bougba

much

should specially dwell on, and make

of,

that

inexplicable element of every highest poetic nature

which causes it to cover up and involve its real purpose and meanings in folded removes and far rehiding the nest where comOf this trait cesses.

mon

may

seekers

never find

it

— the

Shaksperean

most numerous and mark'd illuswould even call that trait trations known to me. the leading one through the whole of those works.

works

afford the

I

All the foregoing to

how and where

1

get

premise a brief statement of

my new

on Shakspere.

light

my

Speaking of the special English plays,

friend

William O'Connor says:

"They seem

simply and rudely historical

in their motive, as

aiming to give in the rough a tableau of warring dynasties,

and carry to me

a lurking sense of being in aid of

some

ulterior

design, probably well enough understood in that age, which

perhaps time and criticism will reveal. phere

is

make us

.

.

Their atmos-

.

one of barbarous and tumultuous gloom, love the times they limn,

believe that the

greatest

.

.

.

and

it is

of the Elizabethan

— they do not impossible to

men

could have

sought to indoctrinate the age with the love of feudalism which his

own drama

true, certainly

in its entirety, if the

view taken of

Reading the just-specified play Mr. O'Connor's suggestion,

such

new and deep

ink,

warm'd by the

Will

it

1

herein be

is

in

the light of

defy any one to escape

utterance-meanings, like magic fire,

and previously

not indeed be strange

and Hamlet

it

and subtly saps and mines."

if

invisible.

the author of Othello

destined to live in America, in a gene[xaa]


November Bougbe ration or two, less as the

cunning draughtsman of

the passions, and more as putting on record the full

expose

— and

by

first

the most vivid one, im-

far

measurably ahead of doctrinaires and economists of the political theory and results, or the reason-why

and necessity

for

earth to abnegate

them which America has come on and replace

?

The summary of my suggestion would be, therefore, that while the more the rich and tangled jungle of the Shaksperean area

is

travers'd

and studied, and

the more baffled and mix'd, as so tar appears, be-

comes the exploring student (who at last surmises everything, and remains certain of nothing), it is possible a future age of criticism, diving deeper, mapping the land and lines freer, completer than hitherto,

may

named

the scientific (Ba-

inauguration of modern

democracy— furn-

discover in the plays

conian

?)

ishing realistic

and

first-class artistic portraitures of

the mediaeval world, the feudal personalities, tutes, in their politics

pan, far

insti-

morbid accumulations, deposits, upon

and sociology,

— may penetrate to that hard-

down and back

of the ostent of to-day, on

which (and on which only) the progressism of the last two centuries has built this Democracy which now holds secure lodgment over the whole civilized world. Whether such was the unconscious, or (as think likely) the more or less conscious, purpose of him who fashioned those marvellous architectonics, I

is

a secondary question. ["3]


H

XTbouQbt on Sbahspere

The most

distinctive

poems

— the

most perma-

nently rooted and with heartiest reason for being

the copious cycle of Arthurian legends, or the almost equally copious Charlemagne cycle, or the

poems

of the Cid, or Scandinavian Eddas, or Nibelungen, or Chaucer, or Spenser, or bona fide Ossian, or

ferno

— probably had their

rise in

M-

the great historic

which they came in to sum up and confirm, indirectly embodying results to date. Then however precious to *' culture," the grandest of those poems, it may be said, preserve and typify results offensive to the modern spirit, and long past away. To state it briefly, and taking the strongest examples, in Homer lives the ruthless military prow-

perturbations,

ess of

Greece,

and of

special

its

god-descended

dynastic houses; in Shakspere the dragon-rancors

and stormy feudal splendor of mediaeval Poetry, largely consider'd,

is

caste.

an evolution, send-

ing out improved and ever-expanded types sense, the past, even the best of

ing place, and dying out.

it,

in

one

necessarily giv-

For our existing world,


November Bougb0 the bases on which built

all

have become vacuums

many

poems were

the grand old

— and

even those of

comparatively modern ones are broken and

half-gone.

For us to-day, not their

value, vast as that

poems

— but

is,

own

intrinsic

backs and maintains those

a mountain-high growth of associa-

Everywhere their own lands included (is there not something terrible in the tenacity with which the one the Homeric book out of millions holds its grip?) and Virgilian works, the interminable ballad-romances of the middle ages, the utterances of Dante, Spenser, and others, are upheld by their cumulusentrenchment in scholarship, and as precious, always welcome, unspeakably valuable reminiscences. Even the one who at present reigns unquestioned of Shakspere for all he stands for so much in modern literature, he stands entirely for the mighty tions, the

layers of successive ages.

esthetic sceptres

of the past, not for the spiritual

and democratic, the sceptres of the future. The inward and outward characteristics of Shakspere are his vast and rich variety of persons and themes, with his wondrous delineation of each and

all

— not

only limitless funds of verbal and pictorial resource,

but great excess, superfoetation fine, aristocratic

— mannerism,

perfume, holding a touch of

(Euphues, his mark)

— with

like

a

musk

boundless sumptuousand adornment, real velvet and gems, not shoddy nor paste but a good deal of bombast ness

[125]


November Bouflba and

— (certainly

fustian

Shakspere)

some

all

is,

objective and physiological kind of

the soul finds

grand of the

Shakspere

in

sort,

but

in

my

—a

modern and

satisfying

American purposes. or

is

it

mostly an

power and beauty supremely

style

opinion stopping short

of the grandest sort, at any rate for

ravines,

in

I

Superb and inimitable as

primeval,

mouthing

terrific

fulfilling

and

scientific

and

democratic

Think, not of growths as forests

Yellowstone

or

geysers,

Colorado

but of costly marble palaces, and palace

rooms, and the noblest fixings and furniture, and noble owners and occupants to correspond of carefully

built

— think

gardens from the beautiful but

sophisticated gardening art at

its

best,

with walks

and bowers and artificial lakes, and appropriate statue-groups and the finest cultivated roses and and you have the lilies and japonicas in plenty tally of Shakspere. The low characters, mechanics,

even the loyal henchmen ing

— serve

as capital

foils

all in

themselves noth-

to the aristocracy.

comedies (exquisite as they certainly in

admirably portray'd

common

are) bringing

characters,

have the

unmistakable hue of plays, portraits, made divertisement only of the

from

its

point of view.

61ite

The

for the

of the castle, and

The comedies

are altogether

non-acceptable to America and Democracy.

But to the deepest soul, •

it

seems

a

shame

and choose from the riches Shakspere has [ia6]

to pick

left

us


IRovember Bougba to criticise his infinitely royal, multiform quality

—

to gauge, with optic glasses, the dazzle of his sunlike

beams.

The

best poetic utterance, after

hint, or remind, often

removes.

Aught of

all,

can merely

very indirectly, or at distant

real

perfection, or the solution

of any deep problem, or any completed statement

of the moral, the true, greatest, deftest

uncaught

poet

—

the beautiful, eludes the flies

bird.

[1273

away

like

an always


li

I IRobert

Burns as poet anb Iperson

What the

future will decide about Robert Burns

works

— what

them on that great roster of geniuses and genius which can only be finished by the slow but sure balancing of the centuries with their ample average of and

his

place will be assifei'd

—

course cannot

tell.

But as

we know

I

him, from his

recorded utterances, and after nearly one century,

and

diligence of collections, songs, letters, anec-

its

dotes, presenting the figure of the in

a fullness and detail wonderfully complete, and

the lines mainly by his in

canny Scotchman

some

among

respects, the singers.

own

hand, he forms to-day,

most

interesting personality

Then

there

are

many

things in

poems and character that specially endear America. He was essentially a Republican

Burns's

—

him to would have been at home in the Western United He States, and probably become eminent there.

was an average sample

of the good-natured,

blooded, proud-spirited, vivial,

alimentive, con-

young and early-middle-aged man of the

decent-born

how.

amative,

warm-

middle classes everywhere and any-

Without the race of which he [138]

is

a distinct



»i

Uobcrt

f^oet

v<

isfi

''^^^

and

on

^m

anb Ipetson

uct

Hicc

ut -

Robert

Bums

?fd

them which

^*^sic

^nfiK^-

li

c^ c

lancing

Robert Burns

a^ryt

average-^

'^

cky\ 'Jf^^<^^otopi^i»f tkt paiHhngky

K^

one century,

its dt

.

dotes, pr' in

V

a fullncb:^ miu

some

among

respects, singers.

\t

Then

forms to-day,

many

t

poems and He was America.

lly

He )od-naturedj| warm-

-minent thefe.

oi

blooded, proud-spirited,

a Republican

he Western United

I

was an average sample

things in

specially endear

him to would have been at States, and probably bf

anuuve, alimentive> con-

young and early-middle-aged man of the

decent-born

how.

ichman

ting personality

i

Burns's

vivial,

anec-

complete, and

;

the lines mainly b\ in

of

from his

recorded

and

I

middle classes everywhere and any-

Without the race of which he [laS]

is

a distinct


.

-^-- 4- v-.wi»»«>r4vrv;-^tk.>»-',

5^ "

^ ^ 1



IRovember Bougba specimen,

(and perhaps his poems,) America and

her powerful Democracy could not exist to-day

could not project with unparallel'd historic

sway

into the future.

Perhaps the peculiar coloring of the era of Burns needs always first to be consider'd. It included the times of the '76-'83 Revolution

in

America, of the

French Revolution, and an unparallel'd chaos devel-

opment

in

Europe and elsewhere.

ment, shining and strange names, rising,

some

Franklin,

in

meridian,

some

In

every depart-

like

stars,

declining

some

— Voltaire,

Washington, Kant, Goethe, Fulton, Napo-

mark the era. And while so much, and of grandest moment, fit for the trumpet of the world's fame, was being transacted that little tragi-comedy of R. B.'s life and death was going on in a country leon,

by-place in Scotland! Burns's correspondence, generally collected and publish'd since his death, gives wonderful glints into

both the amiable and weak (and worse than weak) parts of his portraiture, habits,

ambition and associations. lop,

Dr.

good and bad

luck,

His letters to Mrs. Dun-

Thompson, Moore, Robert Muir, Mr. Cunningham, Miss Mrs.

McLehose,

(Clarinda,)

Margaret Chalmers, Peter

Hill,

Mr.

Richard Brown, Mrs.

Riddel, Robert Ainslie, and Robert

Graham, afford valuable lights and shades to the outline, and with numerous others, help to a touch here, and fill-in there, of poet and poems. There are suspicions, VOL. VI.—9.

[129]


Tlopember Bougba it is

true, of

The Genteel Letter-Wtiter, with scraps

and words from the Manual of French Quotations, and, in the love-letters, some hollow mouthings.

we would n't on any

Yet

A

full

and true

account lack the

always what

portrait is

veracity at every hazard.

do

Besides,

is

letters.

wanted;

we

not

all

see by this time that the story of Burns, even for its

own

several,

with

nothing

out?

left

every point minutely told out

and

justifies itself— (as

He

is

best

whole and Completely and

sake, requires the record of the

perhaps almost any

very close to the earth.

words and tunes

singers, but tells

explains

fullest,

its

He

life

pick'd

directly from the Scotch

Thompson they would

does).

up

his

home-

not please

"I call them simple you would pronounce them silly." Yes, indeed; the idiom was undoubtedly his happiest his,

T.'s,

''learned

adding,

lugs,"

Yet Dr. Moore,

hit. I

1789, writes to Burns,

*Mf

would be that in your productions you should abandon the Scotch

were to

future

in

offer

an opinion,

stanza and dialect,

and

it

adopt

the

language of modern English poetry!

measure and

"

As the 128th birth-anniversary of the poet draws on, (January, 1887,) with

its

increasing club-suppers,

vehement celebrations, letters, speeches, and so on (mostly, as William O'Connor says, from people who would not have noticed R. B. at all during his actual life, nor kept his company, or read his verses, on any account) it may be opportune to

[130]


IRovember BouQb6 print I

some

take

my

leisurely-jotted notes

find in

I

my budget.

observation of the Scottish bard by con-

amid the crov/ded and fairly inclusters, galaxies, of the old v/orld quiring and suggesting what out of these myriads he too may be to the Western Republic. In the sidering

individual

record so fully bequeaths

place no poet on

first

own

his

him as an

personal magnetism,^ nor illustrates

how

pointedly

one's verses,

by time and

can so curiously fuse with the

and death, and give I

would say

final light

versifier's

and shade to

reading,

own

life

all.

a large part of the fascination of

Burns's homely, simple dialect-melodies all

more

due, for

is

current and future readers, to the poet's personal

''errors," the general bleakness of his

grain'd pensiveness, tantalizing,

his

brief

and

and

in debt, sick

sore,

his in-

dash into dazzling,

evanescent sunshine

ing in those last years of his

lot,

life,

finally culminat-

his being taboo'd

yaw'd as by contending

* Probably no man that ever lived a friend has made this statement was by men and women, as Robert Burns. The reason is not hard to find he had a real heart of flesh and blood beating in his bosom you

so fondly loved, both :

;

could almost hear

"Some

you had shaken hands with him his hand would have burnt yours. The gods, indeed, made him poetical, but Nature had a hand in him first. His heart was in the right place; he did not pile up cantos of poetic diction; he pluck'd the mountain daisy under his feet; it

throb.

one

said, that

if

he wrote of field-mouse hurrying from its ruin'd dwelling. He held the plough or the pen with the same firm, manly grasp. And he was loved. The simple roll of the women who gave him their affection and their sympathy would make a long manuscript; and most of these were of such noble worth that, as Robert Chambers says,

'

their character

may

understand, the foregoing

Kilmarnock.

1

find the

stand as a testimony in favor of that of Burns.' " is

[As I from an extremely rare book publish'd by M'Kie, in

whole

beautiful paragraph in a capital paper

Amelia Barr.]

[131]

on Bums, by


November Bouflba gales, deeply dissatisfied with everything, all

with himself

— high-spirited

too— (no man

Robert Burns).

really higher-spirited than it

a perfectly legitimate part too.

come

to be an

most of ever

think

I

At any rate

it

has

impalpable aroma through which

only both the songs and their singer must hence-

Through that viewmedium of misfortune of a noble spirit in low environments, and of a squalid and premature death we view the undoubted facts, (giving, as we read them now, a sad kind of pungency,) that

forth

be read and absorbed.

Burns's were, before

and carousing

all else,

intoxication.

the lyrics of

Perhaps even

strange, impalpable post-mortem

ence

referr'd to, that gives

illicit

them

it

loves

is

comment and

this

influ-

their contrast, attrac-

making the zest of their author's after-fame. If he had lived steady, fat, moral, comfortable, wellto-do years, on his own grade, (let alone, what of course was out of the question, the ease and velvet and rosewood and copious royalties of Tennyson or Victor Hugo or Longfellow,) and died well-ripen'd and respectable, where could have come in that burst of passionate sobbing and remorse which weird forth instantly and generally in Scotland, and soon follow'd everywhere among English-speaking races, on the announcement of his death? and which, with no sign of stopping, only regulated and vein'd

tion,

with

fitting appreciation,

flows deeply, widely yet?

Dear Rob! manly, witty, fond,

friendly, full of


IRovember »ougb0

weak of so

spots as well as strong ones

— perhaps

many thousands

just said, of the decent-born

— essential type the average, as

young men and the

early-mid-aged, not only of the British

Isles,

but

America, too, North and South, just the same. think, indeed,

one best part of Burns

tionable proof he presents of the

ence

among

I

the unques-

is

perennial exist-

the laboring classes, especially farmers,

of the finest latent poetic elements in their blood,

(How

clear

it

is

always been, and such gems.)

me

to

that the

common

soil

has

now, thickly strewn with just He is well called the Ploughman, is

''Holding the plough," said his brother

*'was the favorite situation with Robert

Gilbert,

for poetic

and some of his best verses were produced while he was at that exercise." '' must return to my humble station, and woo my rustic

compositions;

I

muse

in

my wonted way, at

He has no high

to the Earl of Buchan.]

poet or the poet's

the plough-tail."

[1787,

ideal of the

indeed quite a low and

office;

contracted notion of both: **

Fortune!

if

thou

'II

but gie

me

still

Hale breeks, a scone, and whiskey

An' rowth

o'

rhyme

Tak'

a'

See also his rhym'd invoking patronage; cairn,

being dead,

gill.

to rave at will,

the rest."

letters to

Robert Graham

'*one stronghold," Lord Glen-

now

these appeals to [133]

''

Fintra,


flovembcr Bou^ba

my other stay/* (with

in

one

of vituperation generally). there

no

is

particular

letter

a copious shower

In his collected

poems be

unity, nothing that can

called a leading theory, no unmistakable spine or

Perhaps, indeed, their very desultoriness

skeleton. is

the charm of his songs:

**

Thompson,

other," he says in a letter to

the bee of the

take up one or an-

1

moment buzzes

in

my

'*just as

bonnet-lug."

— yet

Consonantly with the customs of the time markedly inconsistent in spirit with Burns's case, (and not a

as depicting

little

some

painful as

it

own

remains on record,

features of the bard himself,) the

between the nobiland literary people on

relation called patronage existed

and gentry on one side, the other, and gives one of the strongest side-lights It to the general coloring of poems and poets. crops out a good deal in Burns's Letters, and even neity

cessitated a certain flunkeyism on occasions, through It

life.

probably, with

helped in

its

requirements, (while

money and countenance,)

did as

much

it

as

any one cause in making that life a chafed and unhappy one, ended by a premature and miserable death.

Yes, there

is

something about Burns peculiarly

acceptable to the concrete,

He

human

points of view.

poetizes work-a-day agricultural labor and

and sympathies, as well as practicalare much the same everywhere,) and treats

(whose ities,

life,

spirit

fresh, often coarse, natural occurrences, loves, per[134]


IRovember

many new and some

sons, not like

genteel style of

removes, but ter,

sweat,

'Mads

and china, or

gilt

own

in their

all

ages,

at

old poets, in a

second or third

born atmosphere, laugh-

Perhaps no one ever sang

unction.

and lasses" — that

same, too,

ffioufiba

universal race, mainly the

lands

all

He

— down

on

their

own

no philosophy worth mentioning; his morality is hardly more than parrottalk— not bad or deficient, but cheap, shopworn, the platitudes of old aunts and uncles to the youngsters (be good boys and keep your noses clean). Only when he gets at Poosie Nansie's, celebrating plane, as

he has.

the ''barley bree," or

exhibits

among

tramps, or democratic

bouts and drinking generally, (**

we have,

Freedom and whiskey gang

in his

own

thegither,")

unmistakable color and warmth,

those interiors of rake-helly

life

and tavern fun

cantabile of jolly beggars in highest jinks

— the

— lights

and groupings of rank glee and brawny amorousness, outvying the

best

painted pictures

of the

Dutch school, or any school. By America and her democracy such a poet, I cannot too often repeat, must be kept in loving remembrance; but it is best that discriminations be made. His admirers (as at those anniversary suppers,

over the " hot Scotch ") will not accept for

their favorite

anything

along side of Homer,

less

than the highest rank,

Shakspere, £x35]

etc.

Such,

in


candor, are not the true friends of the Ayrshire bard,

who

really

The

Iliad

needs a

diflFerent

by

place quite

himself.

and the Odyssey express courage,

craft,

full-grown heroism in situations of danger, the sense

of

command and

fullest

like

leadership, emulation, the last

and

evolution of self-poise as in kings, and god-

even while animal appetites.

The Shaksperean

compositions, on vertebers and framework of the

primary passions, portray (essentially the same as

Homer's) the the

Norman

nobler than

spirit

lord,

and

of the feudal world,

ambitious and arrogant,

common men — with much

and gusts of heat and seas.

letter

cold, volcanoes

Burns (and some

will

taller

and

underplay

and stormy

say to his credit) at-

tempts none of these themes.

He

poetizes the

humor, riotous blood, sulks, amorous torments, fondness for the tavern and for cheap objective nature, with disgust at the grim and narrow ecclesiasticism of his time and land, of a young farmer on a bleak and hired farm in Scotland, through the years and under the circumstances of the British politics of that time,

and of

his short personal career as author, from 1783

to 1796.

He

is

intuitive

and

affectionate,

and just

emerged or emerging from the shackles of the kirk, from poverty, ignorance, and from his own rank (out of which latter, however, he never appetites It is to be said that amid not a extricated himself). little smoke and gas in his poems, there is in almost every piece a spark of fire, and now and then the

—

C136]


movember Bougba He has been applauded as democratic, and with some warrant; while Shakspere, and with real afflatus.

the greatest warrant, has been called monarchical or aristocratic

(which he certainly

formulated on

personalizations of Shakspere, largest, freest,

me

most

most

heroic,

But the splendid

is).

artistic

the

mould, are

more precious even as models for Democracy, than the humdrum samples Burns presents. The motives of some of his

to

far

dearer as lessons, and

effusions are certainly discreditable personally

or

two of them markedly

and

no

or

little

This

spirituality.

defect, tried

by highest

he never reach'd (and yet to

He

it).

He

so.

I

— one

has, moreover,

last is his

mortal flaw

The

standards.

think he leads the

gives melodies, and

now and

ideal

way

then the

simplest and sweetest ones; but harmonies, complications, oratorios in words, never. this

any deprecatory sense.

in

memory he has

know

(I

do not speak

Blessed be

of the warm-hearted Scotchman for

left us,

just as

it

isl)

He

the

what

likewise did not

more ways than one. Though so really free and independent, he prided himself in his songs on being a reactionist and a Jacobite on perhimself, in

sistent sentimental

adherency to the cause of the

Stuarts—the weakest, thinnest, most less

faithless, brain-

dynasty that ever held a throne.

Thus, while Burns

is

not at

all

great for

New

World study, in the sense that Isaiah and Eschylus and the book of Job are unquestionably great is

[137]


flopcmbcr JSouQba

— hardly even Emerson — he has a

not to be mentioned with Shakspere

with current Tennyson or our

own,

nestling niche of his

quaint and homely

—a

all

fragrant, fond,

and

lodge built near but outside

the mighty temple of the gods of song and art

those universal

strivers,

through

harmony and melody and power, intimate man's crowning,

last,

himself of Real and Ideal. precious

beyond

all

works of

their

to ever

or

victorious fusion in

Precious, too

high

singers,

show

fit

and

low — will

or

Burns ever be to the native Scotch, especially to the working-classes of North Britain; so intensely one of them, and so racy of the

customs. or

would

He

soil,

is

were

be, enthusiastically patriotic.

was

declaredly to be all

and

often apostrophizes Scotland,

has lately commemorated him

aim

sights,

''

in

and

is,

His country

a statue.*

His

poems young manhood (he

a Rustic Bard."

written in youth or

local

His

more than a young man when he died). His collected works in giving everything, are nearly one half first drafts. His brightest hit is his use of little

The Dumfries statue of Robert Bums was successfully unvefl'd April, i88i by Lord Roscbcry, the occasion having been made national in its character. Before the ceremony, a large procession paraded the streets of the town, all the trades and ,

societies of that part of

Scotland being represented, at the head of which went

dairymen and ploughmen, the former driving

their carts and being accompanied by The statute is of Sicilian marble. It rests on a pedestal of gray stone five feet high. The poet is represented as sitting easily on an old tree root, holding in his left hand a cluster of daisies. His face is tum'd toward the right shoulder, and the eyes gaze into the distance. Near by lie a collie dog, a broad bonnet half covering a well-thumb'd song-book, and a rustic flageolet. The costume is taken from the Nasmyth portrait, which has been follow 'd for the features of the face.

their maids.

II3S1


movember Bougba the Scotch patois, so fruits or berries.

to Burns

full

Then

I

of terms flavored like wild

should make an allowance

which cannot be made

for

any other

poet.

Curiously even the frequent crudeness, haste, deficiencies (flatness

and

puerilities

prove upon the whole not out of keeping

sent),

any comprehensive printed,

''following copy," every piece, every line

Other poets might t^-emble

such boldness, such rawness.

odd-kind

In ''this

such points hardly mar the

chiel "

in

collection of his works, heroically

according to originals. for

by no means ab-

Not only

rest.

are they in consonance with the underlying spirit of

abandon and veracof the farm-fields and the home-brew'd flavor of

the pieces, but complete the ity

the Scotch vernacular.

thing

in

(Is

full

there not often some-

the very neglect, unfinish, careless nudity,

slovenly hiatus, coming from intrinsic genius, and

not "put on," that secretly pleases the soul more

than the wrought and re-wrought polish of the most perfect verse ?)

Mark the

native spice and untrans-

twang in the very names of his songs —O ane and twenty, Tarn, John Barleycorn, Last May

latable

for

a braw Wooer, Rattlin', roarin' Willie, in the cauld, cauld blast,

Gude

Merry hae

I been teething

a Heckle,

mine,

and

lass,

O

wert thou

e'en to you,

O

Kimmer,

lay thy loofin

others.

The longer and more elaborated poems of Burns are just such as would please a natural but homely taste,

and cute but average [139]

intellect,

and

are inimi-


•Movcmbcr Boueba table in

their

The Twa Dogs, (one

way.

of the

best,) with the conversation between Caesar and Luath, the Brigs of Ayr, The Cotter's Saturday Night, Tarn O'Shanter—aW will be long read and re-read

With noand admired, and ever deserve to be. thing profound in any of them, what there is of moral and plot has an inimitably fresh and racy flavor.

If it

afford to

came

send

to question, Literature could well

adrift

many

a pretensive poem, and

even book of poems, before

it

could spare these

compositions.

Never indeed was there truer utterance

in

range of idiosyncrasy than by this poet.

a certain

Hardly a

piece of his, large or small, but has **snap'' and

He puts in cantering rhyme (often dogmuch cutting irony and idiomatic ear-cuffing

raciness.

gerel)

of the kirk-deacons

drily

good-natured addresses

would not stop us if he were here this moment, from classing that To the De'il among them,) To Mailie and her Lambs, To auld Mare Maggie, To a Mouse, to his cronies,

(he certainly

*'

Wee,

sleekit,

cowrin, timorous beastie,"

To a Mountain Daisy, To a Haggis, To a Louse, To the Toothache, &c.— and occasionally to his brother bards and lady or gentleman patrons, often with strokes of tenderest sensibility, idiopathic humor, and genuine poetic imagination still oftener with shrewd, original, sheeny, steel-flashes of wit, home-

Cmo]


movember Bougba spun

sense,

or

lance-blade

puncturing.

strangely, the basis of Burns's character, with

Then, all its

and manliness, was hypochondria, the blues, palpable enough in Despondency, Man was made to

fun

Mourn, Address to Ruin, A Bard's Epitaph, &c. From such deep-down elements sprout up, in very contrast and paradox, those riant utterances of which a superficial reading will not detect the hidden foundation.

Yet nothing

is

clearer to

me

than the black

—

and desperate background behind those pieces as shall now specify them. find his most characteristic, nature's masterly touch and luxuriant life-blood, color and heat, not in Tarn O'Shanter, The Cotter's Saturday Night, Scots wha hae. Highland Mary, The Twa Dogs, and the like, but in The Jolly Beggars, Rigs of Barley, Scotch Drink, The Epistle to John Rankine, Holy Willie's Prayer, and in Halloween I

I

(to

say nothing of a certain

known

cluster,

still

good these com-

to a small inner circle in Scotland, but, for

reasons, not published anywhere). positions,

especially

the

first,

there

In

is

much

in-

(some editions flatly leave it out,) but the composer reigns alone, with handling free and broad and true, and is an artist. You may see and feel the man indirectly in his other verses, all delicacy,

of them, with I

have named

more

or less life-likeness

last call

— but

out pronouncedly

voice, "I, Rob,

am

[141]

here."

these

in his

own


November Bougba any summing-up of Burns, though so

Finally, in

much

is

to

be said

in

the

way

of fault-finding,

drawing black marks, and doubtless severe criticism

myself full '*

(in

the present outpouring

in," rather

1

have

literary **

kept

than allowed any free flow) —after

retrospect of his

works and

odd-kind chiel" remains to

life,

my

as almost the tenderest, manliest,

the aforesaid

heart and brain

and (even

tradictory) dearest flesh-and-blood figure in

streams and clusters of by -gone poets.

tM»]

if

con-

all

the


H

TlXDlorb

Hbout XCenn^son

Beautiful as the song was, the original Locksley

Hall of half a century ago was essentially morbid, heart-broken, finding fault with everything, especi-

money's being made (as it ever must and perhaps should be) the paramount matter in

ally the fact of

be,

worldly *'

affairs;

Every door

First,

is

and opens but to golden

barr'd with gold,

keys.**

a father, having fallen in battle, his child (the

singer) '*

Was

left

Of course

a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward."

the ideal of

one

false

woman,

false

man."

for

**

one; and as

the chant or

far as

appears

Woman

America.

(The heart

best of the piece of

cluding

in

the poet's reflections,

in

— at any rate

**the lesser

The

The woman

love ensues.

monologue proves a

fifty

is

is

is

a

not

not the brain.)

years since

is its

con-

line,

For the mighty wind arises roaring seaward and

Then for this

I

current 1886-7, ^ just-out sequel,

(as an apparently authentic [143]

summary

says)

go."

which


flovember ÂŤou0b0 "reviews the

life

mankind during the past

of

and comes to the conclusion that

its

sixty years,

boasted progress

doubtful credit to the world in general and to

A

particular.

with the

Among

of

England

in

cynical vein of denunciation of democratic opin-

ions and aspirations runs throughout the trast

is

spirit

poem

in

mark'd con-

of the poet's youth."

the most striking lines of this sequel are the

following: **

mask of love, and, laughing sober fact to scorn, weakest as to strongest, Ye are equals, equal born,'

Envy wears

Cries to

*

Equal-born!

Charm Till

the

Oh

us, orator,

yes, till

if

yonder

be level with the

hill

the lion look

no

flat.

larger than the cat:

the cat, through that mirage of overheated language, loom

Larger than the lion

Demo — end

in

working

its

own doom.

Tumble Nature heel o'er head, and, yelling with the yelling street,

Set the feet above the brain, and swear the brain

Bring the old dark ages back, without the

is in

faith,

the feet,

without the

hope Beneath the

down I

State, the

Church, the Throne, and

roll their

ruins

the slope."

should say that

all

this

is

a legitimate

consequence

of the tone and convictions of the earlier standards

and points of view.

Then some

reflections,

down

to the hard-pan of this sort of thing.

The course so certain and

Europe, that

of progressive politics (democracy)

is

America but

in

resistless,

we

not only

in

can well afford the warning

calls,

threats, checks, neutralizings, in imaginative literature,

or any department, of such deep-sounding, [144]



Doi^mber Sougbs icvicw>

inc

com«

and

{M

iiic

m«nKi

to die c^^^dtartm-

.

ttat

dou!

si;xiy

years,

boasted progress

Its

general

is

of

and to England

in

elation of democratic opin-

particular »

past

ihc

«.iLiiin|(

'

the

'

poem

in

mark'd con-

'h

tnfct

Am

^

cs ol

i^

mis sequel are the

folio WiiU '

Oie»

w.

sober fact to scom»

WW

!v

ilHl«f>»ym»

equal born,'

Ml the flat.

(

^'^cr

Lord Tennyson, />v., 0,e painting by G.

j8s9-

than the cat '

hn^uage, loom

^j^ffl^lfi^t^

OWn dOOm.

^HHng with Set the feet »

-m,

m4

<?

Bring the old dark aifm

brain

he

the yelling

is in

fiiith,

the feet,

without the

hope Beneath the

down I

State, the rhufc^h

fh^

TK.i.iii*.

and

roll their

ruins

the slope"

should say that

all t^'

te

of the tone and convi.v

and points of view.

consequence

arlier

TL

standards

reflections,

down

to the hard-pan of this sort

The course of so certain and Europe, that

progressive

resistless,

we

^

tk s

(democracy)

is

not only in America but in

can well afford the warning

calls,

threats, checks, neutralizings, in imaginative literature,

or

any department, of such deep-sounding, [144]




November Bougb0 and high-soaring voices as Carlyle's and Tennyson's. Nay, the blindness, excesses, of the prevalent ten-

dency—the dangers of the urgent trends of our times in my opinion, need such voices almost more

than any.

should, too,

I

call

a signal instance of

it

democratic humanity's luck that to contend with

But

why do

not Tennyson

I

— so

me assume

—a

—the

(like

is

an honest

true friend of our age ?

mo-

to pass verdict, or perhaps

the United States on this

for

remov'd and distant position giving some

What

advantages over a nigh one.

[should say

— or He

personal character.

at is

least

is in it)

— his

not forget

not to be mention'd as

a rugged, evolutionary, aboriginal force a great lesson

Tennyson's

is

and especially to America?

service to his race, times, First,

Upon the whole

?

— and was not Carlyle

mentary judgment, poet

has such enemies

candid, so fervid, so heroic.

say enemies

and stern physician) Let

it

— but

(and

he has been consistent through-

out with the native, healthy, patriotic spinal element

and promptings of himself. His moral line is and conventional, but it is vital and genuine. reflects

the uppercrust of his time,

thought

— even

friend John is

Burroughs

a glove of

silk,

is

He

pale cast of

its

Then the

ennui.

its

local

simile of

my

entirely true, ''His glove

but the hand

is

a

hand of

iron."

He shows how one can be

a royal laureate, quite

elegant and

and a

affected,

and

''aristocratic," at the

same time

VOL. VI.— lO.

[145]

little

perfectly

queer and

manly and


November Bougba As to his non-democracy, it fits him well, guess we all like and like him the better for it. do) some one who presents to have (I am sure natural.

I

I

I

those sides of a thought, or possibility, different

own — different and

from our

yet with a sort of

home-likeness— a tartness and contradiction offseting the theory as we view it, and construed from tastes and proclivities not all his own. To me, Tennyson shows more than any poet know (perhaps has been a warning to me) how much there is in finest verbalism. There is such I

charm

mere words, cunning collocutions, and in the voice ringing them, which he has caught as in the line, and brought out, beyond all others a latent

in

**And hollow, hollow, hollow,

all

delight,"

The Passing of Arthur, and evidenced in *' The Lady of Shalotty The Deserted House and many in

other pieces.

Among

the best

(1

often linger over

them again and again) are Lucretius, The Lotos His mannerEaters, and The Northern Farmer, ism is great, but it is a noble and welcome mannerism. in

His very best work,

to me,

is

contained

the books of The Idylls of the King, and

all

that

Though indeed we could Tennyson, however small or how-

has grown out of them. spare nothing of

ever the

peculiar— not Break, Break, nor Flower in Crannied Wall,

passion of

nor the

Edward Gray : [146]

old,

eternally-told


movember Bougbe **

Love may come and love may go, And fly like a bird from tree to tree. But

I

will love

Till Ellen

no more, no more,

come back

Adair

Yes, Alfred Tennyson's

is

to

me."

a superb character, and

through the long

will help give illustriousness,

of time, to our Nineteenth Century.

roll

bunch

In its

of orbic names, shining like a constellation of stars,

one of the brightest.

his will be

doubts,

swervings,

We

of a ship, casting off for

new

still

dwell

faults,

doublings upon himself, have

been typical of our age.

We would

His very

in

are like the voyagers seas,

distant shores.

the old suffocating and dead

haunts, remembering and magnifying their pleasant

experiences only, and more than once impell'd to

jump ashore

before

it

our fathers stay'd, and

Maybe

me

I

at least

in this

am

is

too

live as

non-literary

late,

they

and stay where lived.

and non-decorous

be human, and pay part of

word about Tennyson.

I

my

want him

(let

debt)

to real-

and ardent Nation that absorbs his songs, and has a respect and affection for him personally, as almost for no other foreigner. want this word to go to the old man at Farringford as conveying no more than the simple truth; and that truth (a little Christmas gift) no slight one either. have written impromptu, and shall let it all go at that. The readers of more than fifty ize

that here

is

a great

I

I

millions of people in the

New World

[147]

not only

owe


•November Bougbe him some of their most agreeable and harmless and healthy hours, but he has entered into the

to

formative influences of character here, not only

in

the Atlantic cities but inland and far West, out

in

Missouri, in Kansas, and

away in Oregon,

in farmer's

house and miner's cabin. Best thanks,

anyhow,

thanks and appreciation

in

to

Alfred

Tennyson

America's name.

ri4ÂŤi

—


Slana in Hmerica View'd

freely,

the English language

is

the accre-

and growth of every dialect, race, and range of time, and is both the free and compacted composition

tion of

From

all.

Language

in

the

this point of view,

largest

greatest of studies.

It

sense,

involves so

The scope

man and

not only of

Nature

in all

its

is

really the

much;

etymologies

civilization,

indeed

is

is

the scope

but the history of

departments, and of the organic Uni-

brought up to date;

verse, in

of

stands for

combiner, and con-

a sort of universal absorber, queror.

and

it

for all are

words, and their backgrounds.

comprehended This

is

when

words become vitalized, and stand for things, as they unerringly and soon come to do, in the mind that enters on their study with fitting spirit, grasp, and appreciation.

Slang, profoundly considered, nal

element, below

behind

all

rankness

poetry,

all

is

the lawless germi-

words and sentences, and

and proves a

and protestantism

United States inherit by

far

[Z49]

in

certain

perennial

speech.

As the

their

most precious


flovembex BouQba possession— the language they talk and write— from the Old World, under and out of its feudal institutes,

1

allow myself to borrow a simile even of

will

those forms farthest removed from American

mocracy.

Considering

mighty potentate,

Language then

as

De-

some

into the majestic audience-hall of

the monarch ever enters a personage like one of Shakspere's clowns, and takes position there, and plays a part even in the stateliest ceremonies. is

Slang, or indirection, an attempt of

manity to escape from bald

literalism,

Such

common

hu-

and express

which in highest walks produces poets and poems, and doubtless in pre-historic times gave the start to, and perfected, the whole immense itself inimitably,

tangle of the old mythologies.

may

appear,

is

it

the same thing.

strictly

For, curious as

it

the same impulse-source,

Slang, too,

is

the

wholesome

fer-

mentation or eructation of those processes eternally

by which froth and specks are mostly to pass away; though occasion-

active in language,

thrown up,

ally to settle

To make

and permanently it

plainer,

it

is

crystallize.

certain that

words we generated from the daring and oldest

and

solidest

use,

many

were

of the

originally

license of slang.

In

the processes of word-formation, myriads die, but

here and there the attempt attracts superior mean-

becomes valuable and indispensable, and lives forever. Thus the term right means literally only straight. Wrong primarily meant twisted, distorted. ings,

[ISO]


IRovember ffiougba

A

flame.

meant breath, or person was one who rais'd

means oneness.

Integrity

supercilious

To

Spirit

was to leap against. If you influenced a man, you but flowed into him. The Hebrew word which is translated prophesy his eyebrows.

insult

meant to bubble up and pour forth as a fountain. The enthusiast bubbles up with the Spirit of God within him, and it pours forth from him like a fountain. The word '' prophecy " is misunderstood. Many suppose that it is limited to mere prediction; that

is

greater

The

but the lesser portion of prophecy.

work

ous enthusiast

Every true

to reveal God.

is is

religi-

a prophet.

Language, be

it

remember'd,

not an abstract

is

construction of the learn'd, or of dictionary-makers,

but

is

something arising out of the work, needs,

ties,

joys, affections, tastes, of long generations of hu-

manity, and has the ground.

Its

its

bases broad and low, close to

final

decisions are

made by the

masses, people nearest the concrete, having most to

do with actual land and

sea.

It

impermeates

the Past as well as the Present, and

triumph of the human

works of

we

call

art,"

intellect.

is

all,

the grandest

''Those mighty

says Addington Symonds, ''which

languages, in the construction of

which

whole peoples unconsciously co-operated, the forms of which were determined not by individual genius, but by the instincts of successive generations, acting to one end, inherent in the nature of the race [151]

—


November Bouoba those poems of pure thought and fancy, cadenced not

in

words, but

in living

imagery, fountain-heads of

mind of nascent nations, which we call Mythologies— these surely are more marvellous in their infantine spontaneity than any more mature production of the races which evolv'd them. Yet we are utterly ignorant of their embryinspiration, mirrors of the

ology; the true science of Origins

Daring as

guage

it is

it

is

is

yet

to say so, in the

in its cradle."

growth of Lan-

certain that the retrospect of slang from

the start would be the recalling from their nebulous conditions of

human

utterance.

of late years, in

all

that

is

poetical in the stores of

Moreover, the honest delving, as

by the German and

British

workers

comparative philology, has pierc'd and dispers'd

many

of the falsest bubbles of centuries; and will

disperse

many

more.

It

was long recorded

Scandinavian mythology the heroes

in

that in

the Norse

Paradise drank out of the skulls of their slain enemies.

Later investigation proves the

word taken

for

mean horns of beasts slain in the hunt. And what reader had not been exercis'd over the traces of that feudal custom, by which seigneurs warmed their feet in the bowels of serfs, the abdomen being open'd for the purpose ? It now is made to appear that the serf was only required to submit his unharm'd abdomen as a foot cushion while his lord supp'd, and was required to chafe the skulls to

legs of the seigneur with his hands.


mopcmber Bougba It

curiously, in

is,

embryons and childhood and

among the illiterate, we always find the groundwork and start of this great science, and its noblest

What a relief most people have in speakman not by his true and formal name, with

products.

ing of a

a ''Mister" to

it,

but by some odd or homely ap-

The propensity

pellative.

to approach a

meaning

not directly and squarely, but by circuitous styles of expression, seems indeed a born quality of the

common

everywhere, evidenced by nick-

people

names, and the

inveterate

masses to bestow

sometimes very during

Mac"

sub-titles,

apt.

the secession

determination

sometimes

ridiculous,

Always among the war, one

of the

soldiers

heard of

**

Little

(Gen. McClellan), or of "Uncle Billy" (Gen.

Sherman).

''The old

man"

was, of course, very

common. Among the rank and file, both armies, it was very general to speak of the different States they came from by their slang names. Those from Maine were

call'd

Foxes;

New

Hampshire, Granite

Boys; Massachusetts, Bay Staters; Vermont, Green

Mountain Boys; Rhode necticut,

bockers;

Island,

Gun

Wooden Nutmegs; New

New Jersey, Clam

Flints;

Con-

York, Knicker-

Catchers; Pennsylvania,

Logher Heads; Delaware, Muskrats; Maryland, Claw

Thumpers; Virginia, Beagles; North Carolina, Tar Boilers; South Carolina, Weasels; Georgia, Buzzards; Louisiana, Creoles; Alabama, Lizards; Kentucky, Corn Crackers; Ohio, Buckeyes; Michigan, [153]


flopcmber Bouflbe Wolverines;

Indiana,

Hoosiers;

Illinois,

Suckers;

Missouri, Pukes; Mississippi, Tadpoles; Florida, Fly

up the Creeks; Wisconsin, Badgers; Iowa, HawkIndeed am not sure eyes; Oregon, Hard Cases. but slang names have more than once made Presidents. *'01d Hickory" (Gen. Jackson) is one case ** Tippecanoe, and Tyler too," another. in point. I find the same rule in the people's conversations I

everywhere. city horse-cars,

**snatcher"

among

heard this

I

where the conductor

men

the is

of the

often caird a

because his characteristic duty

(/. e,

is

to constantly pull or snatch the bell-strap, to stop or

go

on).

Two young

fellows are having a friendly

amid which, says ist conductor, you do before you was a snatcher?"

talk,

2d conductor, *'Naird."

''What

says

one editor

to

another.

temporary," says the other,

"Barefoot whiskey"

is

the undiluted stimulant.

the

is

did

Answer of of answer:

(Translation

*M work'd as carpenter.")

What

*'

a

'boom?'"

" Esteemed

"a boom

is

con-

a bulge."

Tennessee name

In the slang of the

for

New

common restaurant waiters a plate of ham and beans is known as " stars and stripes," codfish balls York

as "sleeve-buttons," and hash as "mystery."

The Western ever,

as

States of the

may be

slang, not only in localities, ler

towns,

Union

are,

how-

supposed, the special areas of

names of Oregon travel-

conversation, but in

rivers, etc.

says: [154]

A

late


IRovember ffiouaba way

'*0n your

to

Olympia by

Shookum-Chuck; your

rail,

you

cross a river called the

train stops at places

named Newaukum,

Tumwater, and Toutle; and if you seek further you will hear Wahkiakum, or Snohomish, or Kitsar,

of whole counties labell'd

or Klikatat; and Cowlitz,

Hookium, and Nenolelops greet and

offend you.

They complain

tory gets but

little

in

Olympia that Washington

immigration; but what wonder

?

Terri-

What man,

having the whole American continent to choose from, would willingly date his letters from the county of

up

his children in the city of

water

as

is,

am

I

Nenolelops

?

Snohomish or bring

The

village of

Tum-

ready to bear witness, very pretty indeed;

but surely an emigrant would think twice before he establish'd himself either there or at Toutle.

Seattle

no better; and

is

sufficiently barbar-

suspect that the Northern

ous; Stelicoom

is

Pacific Railroad

terminus has been fixed

I

at

Tacoma because

it is

one of the few places on Puget Sound whose name does not inspire horror."

Then a Nevada paper

chronicles the departure

of a mining party from Reno: *'The toughest set of roosters that ever shook the dust off

any town

left

Cornucopia.

were four three

Reno yesterday for They came here from

New

York

new mining district of Virginia. Among the crowd the

cock-fighters,

Baltimore bruisers,

two Chicago

murderers,

one Philadelphia prize-fighter, four

San Francisco hoodlums, three Virginia beats, two Union roughs, and

Among

two check

Pacific

guerrillas."

the far-west newspapers, have been, or are,

The Fairplay (Colorado) Flume, The Solid Muldoon, of Ouray, The Tombstone Epitaph, of Nevada, The fimplecute, of Texas, and The Ba^oo, of Missouri. Shirttail Bend, Whiskey Flat, Puppytown, [155]


November Bougba Wild Yankee Ranch, Squaw Loafer's Ravine,

Flat,

Rawhide Ranch,

Squitch Gulch, Toenail

Lake, are

names of places in Butte County, CaL Perhaps indeed no place or term gives more

a few of the

luxuriant illustrations of the fermentation processes I

have mentioned, and

their froth

and specks, than

those Mississippi and Pacific /Coast regions, at the

Hasty and grotesque as are some of

present day.

the names, others are of an appropriateness and originality

This applies to the In-

unsurpassable.

dian words, which are often perfect.

proposed

new

in

Congress

the

for

Hog-eye,

Territories.

Oklahoma

name

is

of one of our

Rake-pocket

Lickskillet,

and Steal-easy are the names of some Texan towns. Miss Bremer found among the aborigines the following names: Men's, Horn-point; Round-Wind

The - Cloud- that- goes - aside Seek -the -sun; Iron -flash; Red -bottle

Stand- and- look- out; Iron -toe;

White-spindle;

Black-dog;

Gray -grass; Bushy

Two-feathers-of-honor

Thunder

-tail;

the- burning-Sod; Spirits-of- the Keep-the-fi re

;

Spiritual-woman

-

-face;

Go-on-

IVomen's,

dead.

Second-daughter-

;

of-the-house; Blue-bird. Certainly philologists have attention to this element repeat, can probably

to-day,

and

and

not its

given

results,

enough which,

be found working everywhere

amid modern conditions, with as much

activity as in far-back

prehistoric ones.

I

Greece or

Then the wit [IS6]

— the

India,

life

under

rich flashes


movember Bougba of humor and genius and poetry

— darting out often

from a gang of laborers, railroad-men, miners, drivers or boatmen!

How

often have

I

hover'd at the edge

of a crowed of them, to hear their repartees and im-

promptus!

You

get more real fun from half an hour

with them than from the books of

all

'*

the American

humorists."

The

science of language has large and close an-

alogies in geological science, with lution,

its fossils,

layers

and hidden

the present.

and

ceaseless evo-

numberless

its

strata,

its

submerged

the infinite go-before of

Or, perhaps

Language

is

more

like

some vast living body, or perennial body of bodies. And slang not only brings the first feeders of it, but is

afterward

the start of fancy,

humor, breathing into

its nostrils

[157]

imagination and

the breath of

life.


Hn

IFnbian

Bureau IReminiscence

After the close of the secession war work'd several months

(until

Department

Bureau.

Along

at

1865,

Mr. Harlan turn'd

out for having written Leaves of Grass) terior

in

Washington,

this time there

in

came

in

'

me

the In-

the

Indian

to see their

Great Father an unusual number of aboriginal

visit-

ors, delegations for treaties, settlement of lands, &c.

— some young or middle-aged, but mainly old men, from the West, North, and occasionally from the

South

— parties

of from five to twenty each

— the

most wonderful proofs of what Nature can produce, (the survival of the fittest, no doubt all the frailer samples dropt, sorted out by death) as if to show how the earth and woods, the attrition of storms and elements, and the exigencies of life at first hand, can train and fashion men, indeed chiefs, in heroic massiveness, imperturbability, muscle, and that last and highest beauty consisting of strength the full exploitation and fruitage of a human identity, not from the culmination-points of ''culture" and arti-

— —

ficial civilization,

with giant,

but tallying our race, as

vital, gnarl'd,

enduring

C158]

it

trees, or

were,

mono-


November Boufiba liths

ing

of separate hardiest rocks, and humanity hold-

its

own

with the best of the said trees or rocks,

and outdoing them. There were Omahas,

Poncas,

Winnebagoes,

Cheyennes, Navahos, Apaches, and many others. see and Let me give a running account of what I

hear through one of these conference collections at the Indian Bureau, going back to the present tense.

Every head and face

impressive, even artistic;

is

Nature redeems herself out of her crudest recesses.

Most have red paint on their cheeks, however, or some other paint. C' Little Hill " makes the opening speech, which the interpreter translates by scraps.) Many wear head tires of gaudy-color'd braid, wound around thickly some with circlets of eagles' feath-

—

ers.

Necklaces of bears' claws are plenty around

Most of the

their necks.

chiefs are

blankets of the brightest scarlet.

have blue, and ''the Flesh"

I

see one black.

now makes

wrapt

Two

(A wise

man

All the principal chiefs

some

of

them very

costly.

Plaid shirts

clean.

Now

speaking.

call'd

a short speech, apparently

swers him, and the interpreter translates hatchets,

or three

Indian Commissioner Dole an-

asking something.

again.)

in large

scraps

have tomahawks or

ornamented and are to be observed none too

a tall fellow,

He has

in

richly

—

''

Hole-in-the-Day,"

is

composed under which appears

a copious head-dress

of feathers and narrow ribbon, a countenance painted

all [159]

over a bilious

yellow.


flovembcr Bouobe Let us note this

young

'*

" is a

Hole-in-the-Day

calm, dress'd surtout,

and a

in

For

chief.

handsome

his paint,

all

Indian, mild

drab buckskin leggings, dark gray His costume will bear

soft black hat.

would accept him. and scant enough to show

observation, and even fashion

full

His apparel

is

worn

loose

his superb physique, especially in neck, chest,

C'The Apollo Belvedere!" was

legs.

saw

first

One empty

one

when

young Choctaw.)

a full-grown

— a wild, lean-looking the black woolen wrapper — has an

of the red visitors

dian, the

and

the involun-

tary exclamation of a famous European artist

he

and

in

In-

buffalo head, with the horns on, for his per-

sonal surmounting.

1

see a markedly Bourbonish

countenance among the chiefs

common among

them,

I

am

(it is

told).

not very un-

Most of them

avoided resting on chairs during the hour of their ''talk" sit

the Commissioner's office;

in

around on the

floor, leaning against

they would something,

by the walls, partially wrapt in their Though some of the young fellows were,

or stand up blankets.

as

I

have

said,

magnificent and beautiful animals,

think the palm of unique picturesqueness,

in

I

body,

physiognomy, &c., was borne by the old or elderly chiefs, and the wise men.

limb,

My

here -alluded -to experience

in

the

Indian

Bureau produced one very definite conviction, as follows:

There

Americans,

is

in their

something about these aboriginal highest characteristic representa[i6o]


movembet asougbe and the ensemble of their something very rephysique and physiognomy essential

tions,

mote, very

traits,

comparisons

arousing

lofty,

ow^n civilized ideals

— something that our

portrait painting, &c.,

literature,

have never caught, and that

even as a reminiscence.

future,

historian,

no

not grasp

it.

has grasp'd

artist, It

No it

so different, so

is

paint

— even

say the

many

I

have seen

saw many of the look'd at them ments, as

certainly

to

not, to

me

than

in

(at

any

rate, in

the description of

whom

I

There were mo-

or studied them,

when

exemplification of personality, dignity^ he-

roic presentation

society, or

even

sickly,

The

word

best.

I

seem'd

— did

specimens,

great aboriginal

outside our

in civilized society.

should not apply the word savage

the usual sense) as a leading

could

Their feathers,

seem any more ludicrous

of the fashions

own

far

the empty buffalo skull

least,

of those

biographer, no

— perhaps

standards of eminent humanity.

our

our

almost certainly never be transmitted to the

w^ill

I

w^ith

anyhow in

(as in the conventions of

the accepted

puny,

poems and

plays),

inferior.

interpreters, agents

of the

Indian Depart-

ment, or other whites accompanying the bands,

in

were always interesting

positions of responsibility,

me; had many talks with them. Occasionally I would go to the hotels where the bands were quarter'd, and spend an hour or two informally.

to

I

Of course we could not have much conversation VOL. VI.— II.

^

,

,

[i6i]


flovcmber Bouflba though (through the interpreters) more of this than might be supposed sometimes quite animated and

significant.

and treated by

receiv'd cordial

had the good luck to be invariably

I

of them

all

most

their

in

manner.

[Letter to

W. W.

from an

who

H.,

artist, B.

has

been much among the American Indians:] "I have

just receiv'd

little

paper on the Indian delega-

paragraph you say that there

In the fourth

tions.

about the essential

your

traits

certainly never be transmitted to the future.

nate as to regain

my

health

I

hope

statement, at least in so far as

mit

I

intend to spend

some

my

to

If

'

weaken

talent

It

life.

will certainly

certainly

and training

the Indian.

know them

I

of

up

stirr'd

beauty,

it

shall

en-

both

My

artistic

en-

by the

Indians.

and

nobility

Neither black nor Afghan, Arab nor all

pretty well), can hold a candle to

All of the other aboriginal types

— the blacks, thin-hipped, as perfect in form

seem

to be

human form

more

— as we

with bulbous limbs, not well

mark'd; the Arabs large-jointed, &c.

young Indian

as

dignity,

or less distorted from the model of perfect

know

will per-

wild individuality, than any of the other

indigenous types of man.

Malay (and

so fortu-

finer types,

be well worth the while.

own

am

I

of the characteristic features of their

have more

mingled with their

will almost

among them, and

years

thusiasm was never so thoroughly

They

*

the force of that

deavor to perpetuate on canvas some of the

men and women, and some

something

is

of our aborigines which

and

But

I

have seen

many

a

feature as a Greek statue —

very different from a Greek statue, of course, but as satisfying to the artistic perceptions and demand.

"

And

the worst, or perhaps the best of [i63]

it all

is

that

it

will


movember Bougb0 require an artist

impressions.

— and a good one — to record the

value of one really finely

No

one but an

real facts

and

Ten thousand photographs would not have the artist

felt

painting.

knows how much.

Color

An

is

all-important.

Indian

an Indian without the blue-black hair and the

is

only half

brilliant

eyes

shining out of the wonderful dusky ochre and rose complexion."

[163]


Some Wmx^ Botes I

CAN myself almost remember negro slaves

^^^ ^^^^

in^New Yoric '"

State, as

great-grandfather (at

New

County,

TRanbom

at

my grandfather and West

Suffolk

Hills,

The hard

York) own'd a number.

the floor of the

was mostly done by them, and on big kitchen, toward sundown, would

be squatting a

circle of

labor of the farm

twelve or fourteen

'*

picka-

ninnies," eating their supper of pudding (Indian corn

mush) and milk. A friend of my grandfather, named Wortman, of Oyster Bay, died in 1810, leaving ten slaves.

Jeanette Treadwell, the last of them, died

suddenly

in

Flushing

last

of ninety-four years. of the liberated

I

West

summer

remember Hills

(1884), at the age ''

slaves,

old Mose," one well.

He was

very genial, correct, manly, and cute, and a great friend of

Canada

my

childhood.

Three wondrous nights.

Effects of

moon,

Nights—

clouds, stars, and night-sheen, never sur-

Latein

pass'd.

^"'^"' all.

already

how

1

am

out every night, enjoying

The sunset begins long

moon, an hour high

evening

it.

lingers

just after eight, [164]

(I

have said

here.) is

past

The her


IBovember Bouflbe and looks somehow more

half,

As

there than ever before.

it

like a

grows

human later,

up we have face

such gorgeous and broad cloud-effects, with Luna's

tawny

halos, silver edgings

— great

fleeces,

depths of

blue-black in patches, and occasionally long, low bars

hanging silently a while, and then gray bulging masses rolling along stately,

The moon

sometimes

in

long procession.

travels in Scorpion to-night,

and dims

all

the stars of that constellation except fiery Antares,

who

keeps on shining just to the big one's

Sept, 30, '82, 4.30 A.M. Country Days in Camden County,

New

^

^^

I

side.

am down

Jersey, at the

— have comet — have

^""farmhouse of the Staffords

looking a long while at the

been

in

my

time seen longer-tail'd ones, but never one so pro-

nounc'd fierce

the

— so

air

cometary character, and so spectral-

in

like

or sea.

some great, pale, living monster of The atmosphere and sky, an hour or

so before sunrise, so cool,

still,

translucent, give the

whole apparition to great advantage. It is low in the east. The head shows about as big as an ordinary good-sized saucer is a perfectly round and

defined disk

— the

not a

stripe,

but quite broad, and gradually expand-

ing.

Impress'd with the silent, inexplicably

tional sight, in

I

tail

linger

some

and look

sixty or seventy feet

till all

begins to

emoweaken

the break of day.

October

2.

— The

third

day of mellow,

[16S]

delicious,


Tlovember Souoba sunshiny weather.

my

of the old woods,

back against a

the

in

writing this

the recesses

in

on a big pine

seat

Am down

tree.

change, to bask

am

I

Autumn

log,

my

here a few days for a

sun, to idle lusciously

and simply, and to eat hearty meals, especially my Warm mid-days the other hours of the breakfast. twenty-four delightfully fresh and mild—cool evenThe scent of the ings, and early mornings perfect. woods, and the peculiar aroma of a great yet unreap'd

maize-field near

by

— the white butterflies

in

every

— the golden-rod, the wild night. and sunflowers — the song of the katydid direction

by day

asters,

all

Every day

in

Cooper's Woods, enjoying simple

and the passing hours — taking short — exercising arms and chest with the saplings, walks

existence

or

my

perfect

voice with

week

army songs

or

recitations.

weather; seven continuous days

for

bright and dry and cool splendid, with

full

star-shows up

in

The

and sunny.

moon — about

the east and south, Jupiter, Saturn,

Am

Am

Notes

pXJLn's

Prtnt

feeling

— am outdoors most of the time, absorb-

ing the days and nights

American Society

nights

lo the grandest of

Capella, Aldebaran, and great Orion.

pretty well

A

all

I

can.

New

visit York City, upper part Central Park almost every day (and have for the last three weeks) off and on, taking observations or short rambles, and

in

sometimes riding around. [166]

1

talk quite a


November

ffiougbe

good deal with one of the Park policemen, C. C, up toward the Ninetieth Street entrance. One day in particular got him a-going, and it proved deeply I

Our

interesting to me.

and

politics.

was

1

talk floated into sociology

curious to find

how

my friend,

appear'd on their surfaces to

these things

for

he plainly

possess'd sharp wits and good nature, and had been seeing, for years, broad streaks of

what out

of

my

latitude.

1

humanity some-

found that as he took

such appearances the inward caste-spirit of European **

aristocracy " pervaded rich America, with cynicism

and

artificiality at

the fore.

Of

the bulk of

official

persons. Executives, Congressmen, Legislators, Al-

dermen, Department Heads, &c., &c., or the candidates for those positions, nineteen in twenty, in the

policeman's judgment, were just players Liberty, Equality, Union,

and

all

in

a game.

the grand words of

the Republic, were, in their mouths, but lures, decoys, chisel'd likenesses of dead

wood, to catch the masses.

Of fine afternoons, along the broad tracks for many years, had swept by my friend, on guard, the

carriages, &c., of

of the Park, as he stood

American Gentility,

not by dozens or scores, but by hundreds and thousands.

Lucky brokers,

cery-men, successful dry goods'

folk,

&c.

capitalists,

contractors, gro-

political strikers,

And on

rich butchers,

a large proportion of

these vehicles, on panels or horse-trappings, were

conspicuously borne heraldic family this really

be true

?)

In

crests.

(Can

wish and willingness (and

ÂŁ167]


•Wovember Bougbe if

were

that

so,

what matter about the

of nobility, with a court and spheres talists,

reality ?) titles

fit

for

the capi-

the highly educated, and the carriage-riding

— to fence them from "the common peo-" ple — were the heart's desire of the *'good society — aye, of North and South. of our great So much speculations — my police which rather took me aback — and which have classes

off

"

cities

friend's

for

I

would just print doctor records symptoms).

thought

St. Louis, Missouri, Plate Glass

them

as he gave

I

November,

'79,

(as a

—What

^q y^^ think find manufactur'd out here and of a kind the clearest and largest, I

best,

and the most

finish'd

and luxurious

in

the world

— and with ample

demand for it too? Plate glass! One would suppose that was the last dainty outcome

of an old, almost effete-growing civilization; and yet

here

a few miles from St. Louis, on a charming

it is,

little river, in

sippi.

I

the wilds of the West, near the Missis-

went down

Mountain Railroad

that

way

to-day by the Iron

— was switch'd off on a side-track

four miles through

woods and

ravines,

to

Swash

Creek, so-call'd, and there found Crystal City, and

immense Glass Works,

built

(and evidently built to

stay) right in the pleasant rolling forest.

Spent most

of the day, and examined the inexhaustible and peculiar

made of— the original whitybanks saw the melting in the pots

sand the glass

gray stuff

in

the

is

[x68]


movember BouQba (a

wondrous

process, a real

poem)

undergoes

preparation the clay material great pots

(it

— saw the delicate

has to be kneaded finally by

no machinery answering, and

feet,

these

for

human

watch'd the

I

picturesque bare-legged Africans treading

it)

— saw

the molten stuff (a great mass of a glowing pale yel-

low

color) taken out of the furnaces

forget that pot, beautiful than

shall

never

shape, color, concomitants,

more

any antique

adjoining casting-room,

pour'd out on

study

its

bed

statue), pass'd into the

glowing, a newer, vaster

indescribable, a pale red-tinged

for colorists,

yellow, of tarry consistence,

heavy feet

by

roller into

by powerful machinery,

lifted (all

(I

all

rough plate

lambent),

glass,

I

roll'd

by a

should say ten

fourteen, then rapidly shov'd into the anneal-

ing oven, which stood ready for

it.

The

polishing

and grinding rooms afterward the great glass slabs, hundreds of them, on their flat beds, and the see-

saw music of the steam machinery constantly at work polishing them the myriads of human figures (the works employ'd 400 men) moving about, with

swart arms and necks, and no superfluous clothing

— the vast, rude

halls,

with immense play of shifting

shade, and slow-moving currents of smoke and steam,

and

shafts of light,

above with

sometimes sun,

effects

that

striking in from

would have

fill'd

Michel

Angelo with rapture.

Coming back down, and

for

to St. Louis this evening, at sun-

over an hour afterward, [169]

we

followed


flopembcr BouQba the Mississippi, close by

an ampler view of the

from any yet.

different

river,

In

me

western bank, giving

its

and with

effects a little

the eastern sky

hung the

planet Mars, just up, and of a very clear and vivid

yellow.

It

was

a soothing and pensive

spread of the river off there glints of the

in

hour—the

the half-light—the

down-bound steamboats plodding along

—and that yellow orb (apparently twice as large and significant as usual)

above the

Illinois

shore.

(All

along, these nights, nothing can exceed the calm, fierce,

golden, glistening domination of Mars over

the stars

in

all

the sky.)

As we came nearer St. Louis, the night having well set in, saw some (to me) novel effects in the zinc smelting establishments, the tall chimneys 1

belching flames at the top, while inside through the

openings (in

at the facades of the great

tanks burst forth

regular position) hundreds of fierce tufts of a

peculiar blue

(or green)

intensity, like electric

flame,

of a

vivid.

and

lights— illuminating not only

the great buildings themselves, but side,

purity

far

and near out-

hues of the aurora borealis, only more remembering the pot from the (So that

like

crystal furnace

— my jaunt

seem'd to give

revelations in the color line.)

[XTO]

me new


Some Mat HDemoranba 5otte^ 2)own at tbe

I

'*

FIND this incident in

my

chinning" in hospital with

who knew of it): When Kilpatrick and

Utme

notes

some

(I

suppose from

sick or

wounded

soldier

Brandy Station

(last

his forces

of September,

abouts), and the bands struck up

''

were cut '63,

off at

or there-

Yankee Doodle,"

enough in the Southern Confederacy to keep him and them ''in." It was when Meade fell back. K. had his large cavalry

there were not cannon

division (perhaps 5,000 men), but the rebs, in superior

had surrounded them. Things look'd exceedingly desperate. K. had two fine bands, and ordered them up immediately they join'd and play'd '' Yankee Doodle " with a will! It went through the men like Every lightning but to inspire, not to unnerve.

force,

;

—

man seem'd

They charged like a cyclone, and cut their way out. Their loss was but 20. It was about two in the afternoon. a giant.

[171]


'Hovcmbcr JSouflbe April Washington

^ft^^ the

forenoon,

storm of the past few days.

Street Scenes Walking Down

— Warmish

1864,

7,

xt.

See, passing up, in the

t_

I

j

broad space be-

tween the curbs, a big squad of a couple of hundred conscripts, surrounded by a strong cordon of arm'd guards, and others interspersed between the ranks. The Government has

Ij^e''*^

learned caution from

hundreds of

''

its

many as am

experiences; there are

bounty jumpers," and already,

I

Next (also passing up the Avenue,) a cavalry company, young, but evidently well drill'd and service-harden'd men.

told, eighty

thousand deserters!

Mark the upright posture in their saddles, the bronzed and bearded young faces, the easy swaying to the motions of the horses, and the carbines by their right knees; handsome and reckless, some eighty of them, riding with rapid gait, clattering along. Then the tinkling bells of passing cars, the

(some with

large

many shops

show-windows, some with swords,

straps for the shoulders of different ranks, hat-cords

with acorns, or other

insignia), the military patrol

marching along, with the orderly or second-lieuten-

passes— the forms, the faces, all sorts crowded together, the worn and pale, the pleas'd, some on their way to the railroad depot going home, the cripples, the darkeys, the long trains of government wagons, or the sad ant stopping different ones to examine

strings

many

of ambulances officers'

conveying wounded

— the

horses tied in front of the drinking or


movember

ffiougbe

by black men or boys, or

oyster saloons, or held orderlies.

Tuesday, Aug, The 195th

^j^j^

Pennsylvania

75^5.

i,

— About

3

o'clock

afternoon (sun broiling ^ o hot)/ in

Fif-

teenth Street, by the Treasury building, a

and handsome regiment, 195th Pennsylvania, were marching by as it happen 'd, receiv'd orders just here to halt and break ranks, so that they might large

rest

themselves awhile.

finer set of

looks,

all

men

I

thought

never saw a

I

— so hardy, candid, bright American warm

weather-beaten, and with

Every man was home-born.

My

heart

clothes.

was much

drawn toward them. They seem'd very tired, red, and streaming with sweat. It is a one-year regiment, mostly from Lancaster County, Pa.; have been

Shenandoah

Valley.

their knapsacks,

Some

and

On

halting, the

sat

down

men

in

unhitch'd

to rest themselves.

The fine physical appearance of the whole body was remarkable. Great, very great, must be the State where such young farmers and mechanics are the practical average. went around for half an hour lay flat

on the pavement or under

trees.

1

and

talk'd

with several of them, sometimes squatting

down with

the groups.

April Uft-Hand

"

^°^

by Soldiers

30, 1866.

^^j^^ fact,

— Here

is

a single signifi-

from which one

may judge

of

the character of the American soldiers in this just

concluded war

:

A

gentleman

[173]

J

in


Tlovcmbcr Bouflbe

New

York City, a while

since, took

it

into his

head

who had and afterwards learned

to collect specimens of writing from soldiers lost their right

to use the

and

hands

in battle,

He gave

left.

ofier'd prizes for

public notice of his desire,

the best of these specimens.

come

and by the time specified for awarding the prizes three hundred samples of such left-hand writing by maimed soldiers had Pretty soon they began to

in,

arrived. I

have just been looking over some of

A

ing.

great

many

a beautiful manner.

nearly

One

all

this writ-

of the specimens are written in All are

The

good.

writing in

cases slants backward instead of forward.

piece of writing, from a soldier

who had

both arms, was made by holding the pen

in

lost

his

mouth. Culpepper, where Centa-^

am

stopping, looks

two or three thousand inMust be one of the pleasantest

like a place of

habitants.

iQ ,5^

towns fences,

1

all

remains of

in Virginia.

Even now, dilapidated

broken down, windows out,

much

beauty.

1

am

it

standing on an emi-

nence overlooking the town, though within

To

its limits.

the west the long Blue Mountain range

plain, looks quite near,

distant,

is

is

very

though from 30 to 50 miles

with some gray splashes of snow yet

The show

has the

varied and fascinating.

I

visible.

see a great

eagle up there in the air sailing with pois'd wings, C174]


flovember ffiougb^ Squads of red-legged soldiers are drilling; I suppose some of the new men of the Brooklyn 14th; they march off presently with muskets on their shoulquite low.

ders.

In

another place, just below me, are some

soldiers squaring off logs to build a shanty

— chop-

ping away, and the noise of the axes sounding sharp. I

hear the bellowing, unmusical screech of the mule.

mark the thin blue smoke rising from camp fires. Just below me is a collection of hospital tents, with a yellow flag elevated on a stick, and moving lanI

guidly

the breeze.

in

them both)

Two

One

are just leaving.

hardly walk; the other

is

men (1 know so weak he can

discharged is

stronger,

and

carries his

They move slowly along the muddy road toward the depot. The scenery is full

comrade's musket.

of breadth, and spread on the most generous scale

(everywhere sights,

in Virginia this

thought

fill'd

me).

The

the scenes, the groups, have been varied

and picturesque here beyond description, and main so. I

heard the

men

return in force the other night

re-

—

heard the shouting, and got up and went out to hear

That night scene of so many hundred tramping steadily by, through the mud (some big flaring torches of pine knots), shall never forget. like to go to the paymaster's tent, and

what was the

matter.

I

I

watch the men getting paid off. Some have furloughs, and start at once for home, sometimes amid great chaffing and blarneying. There is every day [175]


flopember Bouflba the sound of the wood-chopping axe, and the plentiful

and mud.

sight of negroes, crows,

I

note large

The teamsters have camps go often among them. The offi-

droves and pens of cattle. of their own, and

1

me

cers occasionally invite

The

headquarters.

to dinner or supper at

fare is plain,

but you get some-

thing good to drink, and plenty of is

absent; Sedgwick

One Payingthe '

'

*

of

is

made

first

now no

there

was

Gen. Meade

command.

my war

time reminiscences com-

pnses the quiet side scene of a '

Troops, at their of their

is in

it.

visit

1

Regiment U. S. Color'd encampment, and on the occasion

to the First

paying

off,

July

1

1,

1863.

difference of opinion

Though

there

worth mentioning,

a powerful opposition to enlisting blacks

during the earlier years of the secession war. then, however, they had their champions.

Even '*That

the color'd race," said a good authority, 'Ms capable of military training and efficiency,

is

demonstrated

by the testimony of numberless witnesses, and by the eagerness displayed

and

in

the raising, organizing,

drilling of African troops.

make a

Few white

regiments

better appearance on parade than the First

and Second Louisiana Native Guards. The same remark is true of other color'd regiments. At Milliken's Bend, at Vicksburg, at Port Hudson, on Morris Island,

and wherever bravery,

tested, they

have exhibited determin'd

and compell'd the plaudits [176]

alike

of the


IRopember Bougbe thoughtful and thoughtless soldiery.

Hudson the question was

of Port

During the siege often ask'd those

who beheld their resolute charges, how behav'd under

fire;

'

! '

bully

1 '

to them.

were the usual

out to argue the case

start

niggers

'

and without exception the answer

was complimentary rate

the

'

O, tip-top

'

! '

first-

But I did not

replies. "

— only to give my remin-

iscence literally, as jotted on the spot at the time.

write this on Mason's (otherwise Analostan)

I

Island,

under the fine shade trees of an old white the white stucco

stucco house, with big rooms;

house, originally a fine country seat (tradition says

the famous Virginia Mason, author of the Fugitive Slave Law,

was born

here).

I

reach'd the spot from

my

Washington quarters by ambulance up Pennsylvania Avenue, through Georgetown, across the Aqueduct Bridge, and around through a cut and winding road, with rocks and many bad gullies not lacking. After reaching the island,

midst of the

The

camp

we

get presently in the

of the ist Regiment U. S. C. T.

tents look clean

and good; indeed, altogether,

locality especially, the pleasantest

The spot

seen.

is

camp

I

in

have yet

umbrageous, high and dry, with

distant sounds of the city,

and the puffing steamers of the Potomac, up to Georgetown and back again. Birds are singing in the trees, the

able here in this moist shade,

and

freshness.

The

town. VOL.

VI.

— 12.

A hundred

river

between

is

[177]

warmth

is

endur-

with the fragrance

rods across swell'd and

is

George-

muddy from


Vlopcmber Bougba So quiet

the late rains up country. vitality, all

sweep

my

around eye, of

in

here, yet

the far distance glimpses, as

I

verdure-clad, and with plen-

hills,

teous trees; right where

I

and many other

a few with

vines; just at

of

full

trees,

sit,

locust, sassafras, spice,

huge

hand the banks sloping

parasitic

to the river,

wild with beautiful, free vegetation, superb weeds,

growth and forms, than the Lots of luxuriant grape vines and

better, in their natural

best garden.

trumpet flowers; the

river

flowing

far

down

in

the

distance.

Now

the paying

to begin.

is

The Major (pay-

master) with his clerk seat themselves at a table the

rolls are

before

them

— the money box

is

open'd

— there

are packages of five, ten, twenty-five cent

pieces.

Here comes the

82 men,

all

first

Certes,

blacks.

Company

we

with the appearance of this crowd

They

they be. look as

if

name

many

up

after

some fault

— negroes though

manly enough, bright enough, of

The paying,

are march'd off*

cannot find

they had the soldier-stuff

hardy, patient, fellows.

are

(B),

I

in close

in

them, look

handsome young The men say, has begun. proximity. The clerk calls

them

real

name, and each walks up, receives

money, and passes along out of the way. It is a real study, both to see them come close, and to see them pass away, stand counting their cash (nearly all of this company get ten dollars and three cents each). The clerk calls George Washington. his

£178]


November Bougbe That distinguished personage steps from the ranks, in the shape of a very black man, good sized and shaped, and aged about 30, with a military mustache; he takes his *'ten three," and goes off evidently (There are about a dozen Washingwell pleas'd. tons

in

Let us hope they will do

the company.

honor to the name.) Major handles the

At the bills,

table,

counts

how

quickly the

without

trouble,

everything going on smoothly and quickly.

regiment numbers to-day about 1,000

men

The

(includ-

ing 20 officers, the only whites).

Now

These get $5.36 each. The men look well. They, too, have great names; besides the Washingtons aforesaid, John Quincy another company.

Adams, Daniel Webster, Calhoun, James Madison, Alfred Tennyson, John Brown, Benj. G. Tucker, Horace Greeley, &c. their

money with

The men

step off aside, count

a pleas'd, half-puzzled look.

casionally, but not often, there are

Oc-

some thoroughly

African physiognomies, very black in color, large,

low forehead, &c. But have to say that do not see one utterly revolting face. Then another company, each man of this getting $10.03 also. The pay proceeds very rapidly (the calculation, roll-signing, &c., having been arranged beforehand). Then some trouble. One company, by the rigid rules of official computation, gets only protruding

lips,

I

I

23 cents each man.

and

after

two

The company (K)

is

indignant,

or three are paid, the refusal to take [179]


flopcmber BouQba

sum

the paltry ofif

is

and the company marches

universal,

to quarters unpaid.

Another company

sullen, lowering, disappointed look

refuse

it

this case.

in

The

gets only 70 cents.

(I)

is

Half

general.

Company G,

in

full

dress,

with brass scales on shoulders, looked, perhaps, as well as any of the companies the men had an

unusually alert look.

These, then, are the black troops,

ginning of them.

under these circumstances, its

novitiate

—or

the be-

Well, no one can see them, even

— without

— their military career

feeling

well

in

pleas'd with

them.

As we

entered the island,

we saw

scores at a

washing their clothes, &c. The officers, as far as looks go, have a fine appearance, have good faces, and the air military. Altogether it is a significant show, and brings up some little

distance, bathing,

''abolition" thoughts.

The

scene, the porch of an

Old Virginia slave-owner's house, the Potomac

down

pling near, the Capitol just

rip-

three or four miles

through the pleasant blue haze of this

there, seen

July day. After a couple of hours

a ramble.

1

I

get tired, and go off for

write these concluding lines on a rock,

under the shade of a tree on the banks of the It

is

solitary here, the birds singing, the

island.

sluggish

muddy-yellow waters pouring down from the rains of the upper

late

Potomac; the green heights on [180]


November

ffiouaba

the south side of the river before me.

cannon from a neighboring to signal high

noon.

Analostan, enjoying in this solitary spot.

its

I

fort

have walk'd

is

all

luxuriant wildness,

A

single

has just been

fringed with a dense

vines, &c.

[xSi]

fired,

around

and stopt

water snake wriggles

the bank, disturbed, into the water.

by

The

down

The bank near

growth of shrubbery,


five (Tbousanb Ipoems There have been collected in a cluster nearly five thousand big and little American poems all that diligent and long-continued research could lay hands on The author of Old Grimes is Dead commenced it, more than fifty years ago; then the cluster was

—

I

passed on and accumulated

by C. F. Harris; then further pass'd on and added to by the late Senator Anthony, from whom the whole collection has been bequeathed to Brown University. A catalogue (such as it is) has been made and published of these five thousand poems and is probably the most curious and suggestive part of the whole affair. At any rate it has led me to some abstract reflection

—

like I

the following.

should

devout

like,

for myself, to

acknowledgment

not

put on record

only

of the

my

great

masterpieces of the past, but of the benefit of all poets, past in

its

and present, and of all poetic utterance

entirety

the dominant

—

moral factor of hu-

view of that progress, and of evolution, the religious and esthetic elements, the distinctive and most important of any, seem to me manity's progress.

In

[183]


November Bouaba more indebted to poetry than to all other means and influences combined. In a very profound sense Then the points religion is the poetry of humanity. of union and rapport among all the poems and poets of the world, however wide their separations of time and place and theme, are much more numerous and weighty than the points of contrast. Without relation as they may seem at first sight, the whole the Oriental, earth's poets and poetry en masse the oldthe Greek, and what there is of Roman the interminable ballad-romances of the est myths the hymns and psalms of worship Middle Ages the epics, plays, swarms of lyrics of the British Islands, or the Teutonic old or new or modern or what there is in America, Bryant's, for French

instance, or Whittier's, or Longfellow's

of

all

tongues and ages,

primitive times to our

combine

in

one

universe, with

all its

it,

all

forms,

own day

aggregate

held together by a repeat

all

and

all

— the

verse

subjects, from

inclusive electric

— really

globe or

numberless parts and radiations

common

To

centre or verteber.

poetry' thus has (to the point of

view

comprehensive enough) more features of resemblance than difference,

and becomes

essentially,

like

the

compact and orbic and whole. Nature seems to sow countless seeds makes incessant crude attempts thankful to get now and then, even at rare and long intervals, something approxiplanetary globe

itself,

mately good. [183]


Bowery

XTbe Šlb

B

l^emtnidcence ot Tlew

l?orft p[a)(>0

an

In

not long since,

article

Lady Macbeth,"

in

describing the bitter

the loss of those

an^ Hcttitd

Ego

fitt^ Ueatd

**

Mrs. Siddons as

The Nineteenth Century, after regretfulness to mankind from

first-class

poems, temples, pictures,

gone and vanished from any record of men, the writer (Fleeming Jenkin) continues: "

what

If

this

nature, last

be our feeling as to the more durable works of

we

shall

say of those triumphs which,

by

art,

very

their

— the

no longer than the action which creates them

triumphs of the orator, the singer, or the actor?

There

anodyne

and there

in the

words, *must be

even some absurdity

in

'inevitable,'

so,'

longing

for

the

feel

when,

after hearing

is

now

left

of

it is

which memory bors'; as

when we from the

we

'

great performance,

we

send along

upon

my

my

nerves,

longer the print and

thrill

brain, the

mine and

must be

we

leave the

Well, this great thing has been, and

the feeble print

will

live

some

is

This

impossible.

anodyne and our sense of humor temper the unhappiness theatre and think,

an

is

all

that

little thrill

my

neigh-

feebler,

and

away the impress of the great artist will vanish The regret that a great art should in its world.'

pass

Cxa4l


IRovember BouQba nature be transitory, explains the lively interest

which many

feel

in reading anecdotes or descriptions of a great actor."

All this is emphatically

my own

feeling

and remi-

niscence about the best dramatic and lyric artists

have seen

bygone days

in

for instance,

I

Marietta

Alboni, the elder Booth, Forrest, the tenor Bettini,

the baritone Badiali, '*old

man Clarke"

(I

could

write a whole paper on the latter's peerless render-

Hamlet

ing of the Ghost in I

was

who

a

young

fellow)

— an

at the

actor

when

Park,

named Ranger,

appeared in America forty years ago in genre

Henry Placide, and many others. But will make a few memoranda at least of the best one knew. characters; I

1

For the elderly

New

Yorker of to-day, perhaps,

up memories of his early manhood than the mention of the Bowery and the elder Booth. At the date given, the more stylish and select theatre (prices, 50 cents pit, |i boxes) was '' The Park," a large and well-appointed house on Park Row, opposite the present Postoffice. English opera and the old comedies were nothing were more likely to

often given

in

capital

stars appeared here,

start

style; the

with

Italian

principal

foreign

opera at wide in-

The Park held a large part in my boyhood's and young manhood's life. Here heard the English

tervals.

I

actor,

Anderson,

in

fine part of Gisippus. ble, Charlotte

Charles de Moor, and

Here

I

heard Fanny

Cushman, the Seguins, Daddy [185]

in

the

KemRice,


Hopcmber »ouaba Hackett as

and

Nimrod

Falstaff,

in his

Yankee

Specimen Days.)

Wildfire, Rip

(See vol.

characters. It

iv., 25, 26,

was here (some years

the date in the headline) times, and at his best. in LucreJlia Borgia,

Van Winkle.

1

later

also heard Mario nnany

such parts as Gennaro,

In

— the

he was inimitable

est of voices, a pure tenor, of considerable

and respectable power. him, no longer

though, to the

Perhaps

than

sweet-

compass

was with fine Norma,

His wife, Grisi,

young

first-class or

—a

last.

my dearest amusement

those musical ones.

I

doubt

emotions of the future

ever the senses and

if

be

will

reminiscences are

thrill'd

as

were the

by the deep passion of Alboni's contralto (at the Broadway Theatre, south or by the trumpet notes side, near Pearl Street) of Badiali's baritone or Bettini's pensive and incomauditors of a generation ago

Fernando

parable tenor in

bass

in Faliero,

among

in

Favorita, or Marini*s

the Havana troupe, Castle

Garden.

But getting back more specifically to the date

and theme

1

started from

— the

heavy tragedy busi-

ness prevailed more decidedly at the Bowery Theatre,

where Booth and Forrest were frequently

heard.

ranging

Though Booth in

pdre, then

in

his

to be

prime,

age from 40 to 44 years (he was born

was the

and continuer of the traditions of orthodox English play-acting, he stood out '* himself alone" in many respects beyond any in

1796)

loyal child

[x86]


IRovember Bougba

ways traditions. He an actor '' whose in-

of his kind on record, and with effects and that broke through

has been well

all

rules

and

described as

all

and tremendous concentration of passion in delineations overwhelmed his audience, and

stant his

wrought

into

it

such enthusiasm that

partook of

it

own

the fever of inspiration surging through his

He seems

veins."

very honorable,

character, tured,

to have been of beautiful private affectionate,

good-na-

no arrogance, glad to give the other actors

He knew

the best chances.

stage points thor-

all

oughly, and curiously ignored the mere dignities.

I

man who had seen him do the Second Actor in the mock play to Charles Kean's Hamlet in Baltimore. He was a marvellous linguist. He play'd Shylock once in London, giving the dia-

once talk'd with a

Hebrew, and

logue

in

cine's

Andromaque)

habits,

was once

I

New

in

in

Orleans Oreste (Ra-

One

French.

have heard, was

strict

trait

vegetarianism.

exceptionally kind to the brute creation. in a

while he would

make

(He

He

Every

a break for solitude

or wild freedom, sometimes for a

times for days.

of his

few hours, some-

illustrated Plato's rule that to

the forming an artist of the very highest rank a dash

what the world calls insanity is indispensable.) He was a small-sized man yet sharp observers noticed that however crowded the stage of insanity or

—

might be

in

certain

overtopt or hidden.

scenes,

Booth never seem'd

He was

singularly spontaneous

[187]


fiovembcr Bouflba and

fluctuating;

in

from any and

differed

the same part each rendering all

He had no

others.

stereo-

typed positions and made no arbitrary requirements

on

his fellow-performers.

known to old play-goers, Booth's most effective part was Richard HI. Either that, or lago, or Shylock, or Pescara in The Apostate, was sure to draw a crowded house. (Remember heavy pieces were much more in demand those days than now.) He was also unapproachably grand in Sir Giles Overreach, in A New Way to Pay Old Debts, and As

is

well

the principal character in The Iron Chest. In

any

portraiture

Bowery Theatre, with lessee left

Booth, those years, the

of

leading lights, and the

its

and manager, Thomas Hamblin, cannot be

out.

It

Forrest (the

was

Bowery first saw Edwin play was John Howard Payne's Brutus, at the

I

or the Fall of Tarquin, and or rather

I

it

affected

might say permanently

me

weeks;

for

filtered into

my

whole

nature), then in the zenith of his

ability.

Sometimes (perhaps a veteran's benefit the Bowery would group together five or six

night),

of the first-class actors of those

days— Booth,

Cooper, Hamblin, and John R. Scott, that time and here George Jones

was a young, handsome remember seeing him I

Ccesar,

To

and a return

capital

actor, in

the

('*

to the [188]

At

Count Joannes")

title it

Forrest,

for instance.

and quite a

performance

specially

fame and

role

favorite. in

Julius

was.

manager.

Thomas


November Hamblin made a

ffiouoba

first-rate foil to

Booth, and

He had

quently cast with him.

was

fre-

a large, shapely,

imposing presence, and dark and flashing eyes.

remember well

I

rendering of the main role in

his

Maturin's Bertram, or the Castle of St. Aldobrand,

But

I

thought

Tom

Hamblin's best acting was

in

the comparatively minor part of Faulconbridge in

—

he himself evidently revell'd in the part, King John and took away the house's applause from young Kean (the King) and Ellen Tree (Constance), and everybody else on the stage some time afterward Some of the Bowery actresses were at the Park. remarkably good. remember Mrs. Pritchard in Tour de Nesle, and Mrs. McClure in Fatal Curiosity, (I wonder and as Millwood in George Barnwell. what old fellow reading these lines will recall the fine comedietta of The Youth that Never Saw a Woman, and the jolly acting in it of Mrs. Herring

—

1

and old Gates.)

The Bowery, now and

then,

was the

place, too,

such as The Last Days of The Lion-Doom'd and the yet undying

for spectacular pieces,

Pompeii,

At one time Jonathan Bradford, or the Murder at the Roadside Inn, had a long and crowded

Ma:(eppa.

run; John Sefton and his brother William acted in it.

I

remember well the Frenchwoman

splendid pantomimist, and her emotional

Wish-ton-Wish. for

Celeste, a

Wept

of

But certainly the main ''reason

being", of the

Bowery Theatre those years [189]


Tlovember ffiouQbe

was

to furnish the public with Forrest's and Booth's

performances

— the

latter

admirers and

circles of enthusiastic

to the former

having a popularity and

— though

critics fully

equal

people were divided as

al-

For some reason or other, neither Forrest nor

ways.

Booth would accept engagements

And

ionable theatre, the Park.

at the

it is

more

fash-

a curious remi-

niscence, but a true one, that both these great actors

and

their

society" in

**

performances were taboo'd by

New

York and Boston

probably as being too robustuous.

at

polite

the time

But no such

scruples affected the Bowery.

Recalling from that period the occasion of either Forrest or Booth,

any good night

pack'd from ceiling to pit with of

alert,

at the old its

well-dress'd, full-blooded

Bowery,

audience mainly

young and mid-

dle-aged men, the best average of American-born

—the emotional nature of the whole mass arous'd by the power and magnetism of as mighty mimes as ever trod the stage — the whole crowded mechanics

auditorium, and its

faces

as any

what

and eyes, to

seeth'd in

me

— bursting forth

much

as

in

it,

and flush 'd from

a part of the

show

one of those long-kept-up

tempests of hand-clapping peculiar to the Bowery

no dainty kid-glove business, but electric force and (the muscle from perhaps 2,000 full-sinew'd men inimitable and chromatic tempest of one of those ovations to Edwin Forrest, welcoming him back after

an absence, comes up to

me

[190]

this

moment)

— such


November

ffiou^ba

sounds and scenes as here resumed to

many I

old

New

Yorkers some

can yet remember (for

1

will surely afford

fruitful recollections.

always scann'd an

audience as rigidly as a play) the faces of the leading authors, poets, editors, of those times

Cooper,

Bryant,

Paulding,

Watson Webb, N.

P.

Charles

Irving,

Willis,

— Fenimore

Hoffman,

King,

Halleck,

Mumford, Morris, Leggett, L. G. Clarke, R. A. Locke and others, occasionally peering from the first tier boxes; and even the great National Eminences, Presidents Adams, Jackson, Van Buren and Tyler, all made short visits there on their Eastern tours. Awhile after 1840 the character of the Bowery as hitherto described completely changed. prices

who pit

and vulgar programmes came of after years

in.

saw the pandemonium

Cheap People of the

and the doings on the boards must not gauge

by them the times and characters am describing. Not but what there was more or less rankness in the crowd even then. For types of sectional New York those days the streets east of the Bowery, that intersect Division, Grand, and up to Third Avenue types that never found their Dickens, or Hogarth, or Balzac, and have pass'd away unportraitured the young ship-builders, cartmen, I

butchers, firemen, (the old-time ''soap-lock" or ex-

''Mose" or ''Sikesey," of Chanfrau's plays,) they, too, were always to be seen in these audiences, racy of the East River and the Dry Dock. aggerated

[191]


November Bougba Slang, wit, occasional shirt sleeves, and a pictur-

esque freedom of looks and manners, with a rude good-nature and restless movement, were generally Yet there never were audiences that

noticeable.

good actor or an interesting play the compliment of more sustained attention or quicker rapport. Then at times came the exceptionally decorous and paid a

intellectual congregations

1

have hinted

at;

for the

Bowery really furnish'd plays and players you could get nowhere else. Notably, Booth always drew the best hearers; and to a specimen of his acting

now

attend

some

in

I

will

detail.

happen'd to see what has been reckoned by experts one of the most marvellous pieces of histrionism I

must have been about 1834 or '35. A favorite comedian and actress at the Bowery, Thomas Flynn and his wife, were to have a joint benefit, and, securing Booth for Richard, advertised the fact ever known.

many days

It

The house fill'd early from There was some uneasiness behind

beforehand.

top to bottom.

the scenes, for the afternoon arrived, and Booth had

not

come from down

in

Maryland, where he

lived.

However, a few minutes before ringing-up time he

made

his appearance in lively condition.

After a one-act farce over, as contrast and prelude,

the curtain rising for the tragedy,

good seat

in

the

pit,

I

Booth's quiet entrance from the side, bent, he slowly

and

can, from

my

pretty well front, see again

in silence [192]

as,

with head

(amid the tempest of


movember Bougba boisterous hand-clapping), walks

down

the stage to

the footlights with that peculiar and abstracted ges-

musingly kicking his sword, which he holds

ture,

from him by

its

Though

sash.

fifty

off

years have

can hear the clank, and

the

pass'd since then,

I

perfect following

hush of perhaps three thousand

people waiting.

(I

make more audience

in

never

saw an

actor

feel

who

could

of the said hush or wait, and hold the

an

indescribable,

half-delicious,

half-

irritating

suspense.)

And

play,

parts, voice,

atmosphere, magnetism, from

all

so throughout the entire

"Now is the winter of our discontent," to the closing death fight with Richmond, were of

The latter character was young fellow named Ingersoll.

the finest and grandest. play'd

by a stalwart

Indeed,

all

the renderings were wonderfully good.

upon the mass of hearers came from Booth. Especially was the dream scene very impressive. A shudder went through every nervous system in the audience; it certainly did But the great

spell cast

through mine.

Without question Booth was royal

heir

and

legit-

imate representative of the Garrick-Kemble-Siddons dramatic traditions; but he vitalized and gave an un-

namable race to those traditions with his tric

personal idiosyncrasy.

was the

(As

own

elec-

in all art-utterance it

subtle and powerful something special to the

individual that really conquered.) VOL. VI.—13.

[193]


flovember Bouobe

To me, theatricals.

too, I

Booth stands

my seeing

consider that

years glimpsed for me, beyond

and form

spirit

vacity,

but

— the

intrinsic

— crystallizing

much

for

else besides

man

the

that inner

else,

all

those

unquestionable charm and

and

sophistication

vi-

artificiality

upon the English stage and literature at and after Shakspere's time, and coming on accumulatively through the seventeenth and rapidly

eighteenth centuries to the beginning,

or forty

fifty

years ago, of those disintegrating, decomposing processes

now

authoritatively going on.

Booth must be

Yes; although

classed in that antique, almost extinct

school, inflated, stagy, rendering Shakspere (perhaps inevitably, appropriately) from the

and often cockney conventions,

growth of arbitrary

his genius

my

one of the grandest revelations of of artistic expression.

''abandon/' found I

in

The words

''

was

to

me

life,

a lesson

**

energy,''

fire,"

him unprecedented meanings.

never heard a speaker or actor

a sting to hauteur or the taunt.

who 1

could give such

never heard from

any other the charm of unswervingly perfect vocalization without trenching at all on mere melody, the province of music.

So much

for a

Thespian temple of

New

York

years since, where ''sceptred Tragedy went

by

"

fifty

trailing

under the gaze of the Dry Dock youth, and both

players and auditors were of a character and like shall

never see again.

histrion of

modern

And

so

much

times, as near as [194]

I

for the

we

grandest

can deliberately


November SSougbe judge (and the phrenologists put

— grander,

I

believe, than

electric passion, the artist.

fine

Kean

prime

For though those

my

caution " at 7) in the expression of

eligibility of

brilliant

and even magnificent

''

actors,

the tragic

years had

undoubtedly

Booth's death (in 1852) went the last and by noblest

Roman

of them

all.

[195]

many far

at

the


Tlotes to Xate lEnoHsb Boofts you will only take the following pages, ^s you do some long and gossipy letter written for you by a relative or friend traveling through distant scenes and incideuts, and jotting them down lazily and If

the Reader in the

f?^^ _ specuncn

Lys

t^on^^on, informally, June. 1887.

but

ever veraciously

(with

occasional diversions of critical thought

about somebody or something),

it

might remove

all

formal or literary impediments at once, and bring

you and me close together in the spirit in which the You have had, jottings were collated to be read. and have, plenty of public events and facts and genin the following book is eral statistics of America; a common individual New World private life, its

—

birth

and growth,

its

struggles for a living,

its

goings

and comings and observations (or representative portions of them) amid the United States of America the

last thirty or forty years,

and peace,

their

local

with their varied war

coloring,

the

unavoidable

egotism, and the lights and shades and sights and

joys and pains and sympathies ity.

Further introductory light [196]

common to humanmay be found in the


IRovember BouQb^

Happy Hour's Command," and the

paragraph, ''A

bottom note belonging to it, at the beginning of the book. I have said in the text that if were required to give good reason-for-being of Specimen Days, I should be unable to do so. Let me fondly hope that I

it

has at least the reason and excuse of such off-hand

gossipy

letter as just alluded to,

life-sights

portraying American

and incidents as they actually occurred

making additions as far as it goes, to the simple experience and association of your soul, from a comrade soul; and that also, in the volume, as below any page of mine, anywhere, ever their presentation,

remains, for seen or unseen basis-phrase, good-will

BETWEEN THE COMMON PEOPLE OF ALL NATIONS.

Additional

^^

Note, 1887

ing

'^Zn^'^LT'

Coming

^"^'

on

my

rest, as

1875,

broke

as

my

Camden,

in

porary I

Write these lines

'

I

this

way

supposed)

down

In the

how, during those 1876) from

my

Timber Creek,

New

still

continue

Jersey,

liv-

America.

from Washington City,

road to the sea-shore (and a tem-

all

the early

in

disabled,

central residence,

14 years.

I

and have dwelt

the time

preceding pages years,

I

summer

I

of

here,

since — almost

have described

partially recuperated (in

worst paralysis by going

down

to

and domiciling with my dear friends George and Susan Stafford. From 1877 or '8 to '83 or '4 was well enough to travel around, considerably— journey 'd westward living close to Nature,

I

[197]


Tiovcmber ffiouoba to Kansas, leisurely exploring the Prairies, and on to

another time Denver and the Rocky Mountains north to Canada, where spent most of the summer with my friend Dr. Bucke, and jaunted along the great lakes, and the St. Lawrence and Saguenay ;

I

another time to Boston, to properiy print the

rivers;

of

edition

final

my poems

months, and had a

'*

(I

good time

was

").

1

two

there over

have so brought

out the completed Leaves of Grass during this period; also Specimen Days, of which the foregoing is a

and re-edited the Democratic yistas cluster (see companion volume to the present) commemorated Abraham Lincoln's death, on

transcript;

collected

the successive anniversaries of delivering

"put

lecture

on

it

occurrence,

ten or twelve times

;

by and

many a month and season, the and resultless ways of most human lives.

in,"

aimless

my

its

through

Thus the

last 14

years have pass'd.

(end-days of March, 1887— 1 69th year)

I

find

am

At present

nigh entering

my

myself continuing on here, quite

dilapidated and even wreck'd bodily from the paralysis,

&c.— but

in

good heart (to use a Long Island

country phrase), and with the same mentality as ever.

The worst

of

it

is,

I

feebler quite rapidly for a year,

around—hardly from one room forced to stay in-doors and in

the time.

and

it

We

have been growing

and now

can't

to the next.

my

walk I

big chair neariy

am all

have had a sharp, dreary winter too,

has pinch'd me.

I

am

[198]

alone most of the time;


movember Bou0b0 every week, indeed almost every day, write some

—reminiscences, essays, sketches,

for the

magazines;

and read, or rather I should say dawdle over books spend half the day at and papers a good deal

that.

Nor can record

I

finish this note

—wafting

over sea from

without putting on

hence— my deepest

thanks to certain friends and helpers

them

all

(I

would

specify

and each by name, but imperative reasons,

outside of

my own

wishes, forbid) in the

Islands, as well as in America.

abstract,

such

is

to the soul

been, and

!

am

flattering unction

Nigher

if

still,

British

Dear, even in the

always no doubt

possible,

I

myself have

to-day indebted to such help for

my

very sustenance, clothing, shelter, and continuity.

And

I

would not go to the grave without

but plainly, as

I

Preface to

Mainly

Democratic

^q

other PaEngush

Edition,

—may

here do, acknowledging

say even glorying

pers—

briefly,

in

I

it

I

not

?

think

I

should base the request

Weigh the followiug pages on^ the assumption that they present, however indirectly, some views of the West and ^odem, or of a distinctly western and

modern (American) tendency, about

certain matters.

Then, too, the pages include (by attempting to

illus-

a theory herein immediately mentioned.

For

trate

it)

another and different point of the issue, the Enlight-

enment, Democracy and Fair-show of the bulk, the [199]


November Bougbe

common

people of America (from sources represent-

ing not only the British Islands, but

means,

at

least,

people of

the world,)

to Enlightenment,

eligibility

mocracy and Fair-show

all

for

De-

common

the bulk, the

civilized nations.

all

That positively ''the dry land has appeared/'

at

any rate, is an important fact. America is really the great test or trial case for all the problems and promises and speculations of humanity, and of the past and present. 1

say, too,

we*

are

changes, ameliorations, and adaptations as to those I

in

to

Politics

and (thence) domestic

of Literature

Sociology.

much

not to look so

have accordingly

in

the following

melange introduced many themes besides

political

ones.

Several of the pieces are ostensibly in explanation

my own

of

writings; but in that very process they

best include and set forth their side of principles and generalities

pressing vehemently for consideration

our age.

in

Upon are born

the whole, in,

and

(I

on the atmosphere they

is

hope) give out, more than any

specific piece or trait, I

it

I

would

think Literature— a new,

literature

—

is

We who in

superb,

to be the medicine

Art) the chief influence in *

care to rest.

many

departments, ways,

and

modern

make

lever,

book.

[200]

and (with

civilization.

the building

I

up of the masses, by is the marrow of

building up grand individuals, our shibboleth: and in brief that this

democratic


IRopcmber ffiougbe have myself not so much made a dead theory, or attempted to present

mitted

it

had to

say.

serried

phalanxes

political

claims

to color In

:

directly, as ad-

and sometimes dominate what

both Europe and America

I

who promulge and go

for

we have

defend the

Walt Whitman.

New Jersey,

I

an equal force to uphold the

other.

Camden,

it

set at this

April, 1888.

[201]


Hbrabam Xincoln Glad am

to

I

—even the most ham

give— were anything

and shorn testimony of AbraEverything heard about him authen-

Lincoln.

brief

1

and every time

tically,

better lacking

I

was my pass a word

saw him (and

fortune through 1862 to '65 to see, or

it

with, or watch him, personally, perhaps twenty or thirty times),

added to and anneal'd

my

respect and

dwell on what moment. And as myself heard or saw of the mighty Westerner, and love at the

blend

it

with the history and

and of what

I

can get of

with his death, superior to

1

1

all

all

seems

it

else

my

age,

ages, and conclude

like

some

tragic

it

play,

know— vaster

I

more convulsionary,

literature of

for this

and fierier and America of ours, than

Eschylus or Shakspere ever drew for Athens or for England. ing

all!

And then

the Moral permeating, underly-

the Lesson that none so

illiterate— no

age,

remote— none so

no class— but may

directly

or

indirectly read

Abraham ters,

Lincoln's

was

the best of which

is

really

one of those charac-

the result of long trains of

cause and effect— needing a certain spaciousness of [203]


IRovcmber Bougba and perhaps even remoteness, to properly enhaving unequal'd influence on the shapclose them time,

—

ing of this Republic (and therefore the world) as

more important in the future. Thus the time has by no means yet come for a thorough measurement of him. Nevertheless, we who live in his era who have seen him, and heard him, face to face, and are in the midst of, or just parting from, the strong and strange events which he and we have had to do with can in some to-day, and then far

—

—

respects bear valuable, perhaps indispensable testi-

mony I

concerning him.

should

first like

teristic likeness

to give a very

of Lincoln, as

him one afternoon

in

I

fair

and charac-

saw him and watch 'd

Washington,

hour, not long before his death.

for nearly half

It

was

an

as he stood

on the balcony of the National Hotel, Pennsylvania Avenue, making a short speech to the crowd in front, on the occasion either of a set of new colors presented to a famous

regiment, or of the

Illinois

daring capture, by the Western men, of

from ''the

enemy" (which

was not used by him

at

the picture happen'd to be 1

bought

it

latter phrase,

all in

some flags by the by,

his remarks).

made

I

How

do not know, but

a few days afterward in Washington, and

was endors'd by every one to whom show'd it. Though hundreds of portraits have been made, by painters and photographers (many to pass on, by it

copies, to future times),

I

I

have never seen one yet

[203]


l^ovember Bougba

my

that in

opinion deserved to be called a perfectly

good likeness; nor do

one is

in existence.

no

entirely

Abraham

I

believe there

May

I

is

competent and emblematic likeness of

cannot be

—any

is

to think

to-day,

if

way

is

not

fully appropriate literary

statement or summing-up of him yet best

such a

not say too, that, as there

Lincoln in picture or statue, there

—perhaps The

really

in

existence ?

to estimate the value of Lincoln

what the condition

of America

would be

he had never lived— never been President.

were mainly accidents, experiments. Severely view'd, one cannot think very much of American Political Parties, from His nomination and

first

election

the beginning, after the Revolutionary War, to the present time.

down

Doubtless, while they have

had their uses have been and are '*the grass on which the cow feeds " and indispensable economies of growth it is undeniable that under flippant names they have merely identified temporary passions, or

sometimes prejudice, ignorance, or hatred. The only thing like a great and worthy idea vital-

freaks, or

izing a party,

asm

and making

in '64 for re-electing

heroic,

was the

enthusi-

Abraham

Lincoln,

and the

it

reason behind that enthusiasm.

How ledged

**

does this

man compare with

Father of his country "

?

the acknow-

Washington was

modeled on the best Saxon, and Franklin age of the Stuarts (rooted

— was

in

— of the

the Elizabethan period)

essentially a noble Englishman,

and just the


movember

ffiougba

kind needed for the occasions and the times of 1776Lincoln, underneath

'83.

his

practicality,

was

far

European, was quite thoroughly Western, orig-

less

inal, essentially

non-conventional, and had a certain

outdoor or

sort of

prairie

One

stamp.

of the best

of the late commentators on Shakspere (Professor

Dowden) makes the

height and aggregate of his

quality as a poet to be, that he thoroughly blended

the ideal with the practical or I

realistic.

If

should say that what Shakspere did

pression,

Abraham Lincoln

sonal and

official

life.

this

be

in poetic

so,

ex-

essentially did in his per-

should say the invisible

I

foundations and vertebra of his character, more than

any man's and

in history,

spiritual

out of

all

of

were mystical,

— while upon them

all

radiated,

of

abstract, moral

them was

and a

life

often bent

urgent materialistic and

He seems

and

under the control of the

average of circumstances, what the vulgar sense,

built,

call horse-

by temporary but most

political reasons.

to have been

a

man

of indomitable

firmness (even obstinacy) on rare occasions, involving great points; but he flexible, tolerant,

matters.

I

was

generally very easy,

almost slouchy, respecting minor

note that even those reports and anec-

dotes intended to level him down,

all

leave the tinge

of a favorable impression of him.

As

to his religious

nature,

it

seems to

me

to have certainly been of the

amplest, deepest-rooted, loftiest kind.

Already a

new

generation begins to tread the [205]


1Ro\>ember

Bouaba

and events of the secession war. I have more than once fancied to myself the time when the present century has closed, and a new stage, since the persons

one opened, and the men and deeds of that contest fanhave become somewhat vague and mythical cied perhaps in some great Western city, or group

where the days of old, of 1863, and '4 and '5 are discuss'd some ancient soldier sitting in the background as the talk goes on, and betraying himself by his emotion and collected together, or public festival,

moist eyes

like

the journeying Ithacan at the ban-

quet of King Alcinous,

when

the bard sings the con-

tending warriors and their battles on the plains of

Troy:

"So from Fast

I

fell

the sluices of Ulysses' eyes

the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs."

have fancied,

I

say,

some such venerable

of this time of ours, preserv'd to the next or

next generation of America.

I

relic

still

the

have fancied, on such

young men gathering around; the awe, the eager questions: ''What! have you seen Abraham Lincoln and heard him speak and touched his hand ? Have you, with your own eyes, look'd " on Grant, and Lee, and Sherman ? occasion, the

Dear to Democracy, to the very

last!

And among

the paradoxes generated by America, not the least curious

was

that spectacle of

and emperors of the

earth,

all

the kings and queens

many from remote

dis-


movem&er

ffiougba

tances, sending tributes of condolence

memory age of

of one rais'd through the

life

—a

rail-splitter

and sorrow

commonest

and flat-boatman

aver-

!

Consider'd from contemporary points of view

who knows what

may

the future

decide

the

man was

like

The

passion or infatuation in

the passion for the Union of These

Abraham Lincoln seems to me the grandest yet, on all the crowded canvas of the Nine-

States),

figure

?—and from

the points of view of current Democracy and

Union (the only thing

in

teenth Century.

[207]


flew Štleans

1848

in

umalt Mbttman (3os0tps ot Dis Sojourn Dcre Uears Uqo as a flcwspaper Mritcr. flotes of Dts XTrip up tbc /IMs8t59ippi anb to "flew Borft

Among the

New Jersey, carrier,

J.

letters

brought

by

Jan. 15, 1887,)

G.,

is

this

morning (Camden,

my faithful

post-office

one as follows:

—

'*New Orleans, Jan. 11, '87. We have been informed that when you were younger and less famous than now, you were in

New

Orleans and perhaps have helped on the Picayune.

If

you have any remembrance of the Picayune's young days, or of journalism in

New

Orleans of that

era,

and would put

writing (verse or prose) for the Picayune's Jan. 2$,

we

shall

be pleased,"

fiftieth

it

in

year edition,

etc.

went down to New Orleans early in 1848 to work on a daily newspaper, but it was not the Picayune, though saw quite a good deal of the editors of that paper, and knew its In

response to which:

I

I

personnel and ways.

some gossipy

But

let

me

indulge

recollections of that time

my journal

my and

pen

in

place,

up the Mississippi and across the great lakes to the Hudson. Probably the influence most deeply pervading with extracts from

[3081


movember Bougba everything at that time through the United States,

both

was the

physical facts and in sentiment,

in

Mexican War, then just ended. Following a brilliant campaign (in which our troops had march'd to the capital

we were

city,

Mexico, and taken

full

From the

returning after our victory.

ation of the country, the city of

been our channel and entrepot

and returning.

It

possession),

New

situ-

Orleans had

for everything,

going

had the best news and war cor-

had the most to say, through its leading papers, the Picayune and Delta especially, and its voice was readiest listened to; from it *' Chapparal " had gone out, and his army and battle letters were copied everywhere, not only in the respondents;

it

United States, but

and

results;

in

no one

Europe.

who

Then the

social cast

has never seen the society

of a city under similar circumstances can understand

what a strange vivacity and rattle were given throughout by such a situation. remember the crowds of soldiers, the gay young officers, going or 1

coming, the receipt of important news, the discussions, the returning

wounded, and so

on.

remember very well seeing Gen. Taylor with

I

his staff

and other

one evening

officers at

(after talking

the

St.

Charles Theatre

with them during the day).

There was a short play on the stage, but the cipal ''

many

performance was of Dr. Colyer's troupe of

Model

larity.

princi-

Artists," then in the full tide of their

They gave many

fine

VOL. VI.— 24.

[209]

popu-

groups and solo shows.


flovember Bougba

The house was crowded with uniforms and shoulderstraps. Gen. T. himself, if remember right, was almost the only officer in civilian clothes; he was a I

man, with a wrinkled and, in ways and manners,

jovial, old, rather stout, plain

and dark-yellow

show'd the quette

face,

least of conventional

ever saw;

I

ceremony or

eti-

he laugh'd unrestrainedly

at

everything comical. (He had a great personal resemblance to Fenimore Cooper, the novelist, of New remember Gen. Pillow and quite a cluster York.) I

of other militaires also present.

One

New

of

my

Orleans

choice amusements during

was going down

my

to the old French

The show

Market, especially of a Sunday morning.

was

a varied and curious one;

stay in

among

the

rest,

Indian and negro hucksters with their wares.

the

For

there were always fine specimens of Indians, both

men and women, young and

old.

remember

I

I

nearly always on these occasions got a large cup of delicious coffee with a biscuit, for

my

breakfast, from

the immense shining copper kettle of a great Creole

mulatto I

woman

(I

believe she weigh'd 230 pounds).

About nice

never have had such coffee since.

drinks,

anyhow,

my

recollection of the

snow on top

(with strawberries and

'*

cobblers'*

of the large

tumblers), and also the exquisite wines, and the perfect

and mild French brandy, help the

reminiscence of

those days.

my New

And what

Orleans experiences of

splendid and

[210]

regretful

roomy and


movember Bougba grand ones of

leisurely bar-rooms! particularly the

the

St.

Charles and

St. Louis.

Bargains, auctions,

appointments, business conferences,

etc.,

were gen-

erally held in the spaces or recesses of these bar-

rooms. I

used to wander a midday hour or two

now and

then for amusement on the crowded and bustling levees,

on the banks of the

river.

The

diagonally

wedg'd-in boats, the stevedores, the piles of cotton

and other merchandise, the etc., I

carts,

afforded never-ending studies and sights to me.

made acquaintances among the

or other characters,

them

mules, negroes,

— sometimes

captains, boatmen,

and often had long finding a real

among my chance

encounters.

talks with

rough diamond

Sundays

I

some-

times went forenoons to the old Catholic Cathedral in

the French quarter.

in this

I

used to walk a good deal

arrondissement ; and

I

have deeply regretted

had such a good opportunity, the chance of better knowledge of French and Spanish Creole New Orleans people. (I have an idea that there is much and of importance since that

about the

did not cultivate, while

I

Latin

race

nationality in the

contributions

I

to

American

South and Southwest that

will

never be put with sympathetic understanding and tact on record.)

Let

me

say, for better detail, that through several

months (1848) Crescent;

my

I

work'd on a new daily paper, The

situation rather a pleasant one. [211]

My


flovember Âťoufib0

young brother, Jeff, was with me; and he not only grew very homesick, but the climate of the place, and

especially the water, seriously disagreed with

From

and other reasons (although was quite happily fix'd) made no very long stay in the him.

this

I

I

South.

In

due time

we

took passage northward

the Pride of the IVest steamer, which

St.

Louis

left

her wharf just at dusk.

in

for

My

brother

was unwell,

moment we left till the next morning; he seem'd to me to be in a fever, and felt alarm'd. However, the next morning he was all right again, much to my relief. Our voyage up the Mississippi was after the same sort as the voyage, some months before, down it. The shores of this great river are very monotonous and

lay in his berth from the

i

and

— one

dull

continuous and rank

exception of a meagre stretch of

flat,

bluff,

neighborhood of Natchez, Memphis, &c.

we had good

with the

about the Fortunately

weather, and not a great crowd of

passengers, though the berths were

all

full.

The

Pride ]ogg' A along pretty well, and put us into Louis about noon Saturday. a

little

I

St.

After looking around

secured passage on the steamer Prairie Bird,

bound up the Illinois where we were to take canal for

(to leave late in the afternoon,)

River to La Salle,

Chicago.

During the day

I

rambled with

over a large portion of the town, refectory,

getting

and,

some

after

much

dinner. [aia]

my brother

search'd after a

trouble,

succeeded

in


November Bougba Our

Prairie Bird started out at dark^ and a couple

of hours after there

was

quite a rain and blow,

which

made them haul in along shore and tie fast. We made but thirty miles the whole night. The boat was excessively crowded with [passengers, and had withal so much freight that we could hardly turn around. slept on the floor, and the night was uncomfortable enough. The Illinois River is spotted I

with

little

ples,

&c.;

villages its

banks are low, and the vegetation

excessively rank.

pleasant town;

back

is all

with big names, Marseilles, Na-

I

went over the

distance up,

$4 an acre.

first

am

(I

is

a

place; the country

rich land, for sale cheap.

miles from P., land of the for $3 or

some

Peoria,

Three or four

quality can be

bought

transcribing from

my

notes written at the time.)

Tuesday morning, we went on board a canal-boat, had a detention by sticking on a mud bar, and then jogg'd along at a slow trot, some seventy of us, on a moderate-sized boat. (If the weather had n't been rather cool^ particularly at night, it would have been insufferable.) Illinois is the most splendid agricultural country ever saw; Arriving at La Salle

I

the land

is

of surpassing richness; the place par

excellence for farmers.

We

stopt at various points

along the canal, some of them pretty villages. It

was

10 o'clock A.M.

when we

too late for the steamer; so

got

we went

in

Chicago,

to an excellent

public house, the ''American Temperance," and [213]

I


Tlovember Bouflbe spent the time that day and

till

next morning, look-

ing around Chicago.

At 9 the next forenoon fith, (on board of which

1

we started on the am now inditing

Grif-

these

memoranda,) up the blue waters of Lake Michigan. was delighted with the appearance of the towns went on shore, along Wisconsin. At Milwaukee and walk'd around the place. They say the country back is beautiful and rich. (It seems to me that if we should ever remove from Long Island, Wisconsin would be the proper place to come to.) The towns have a remarkable appearance of good living, without any penury or want. The country is so good naturally, and labor is in such demand. About 5 o'clock one afternoon heard the cry of 1

1

I

woman overboard." It proved lady, who had become so from the *'a

a couple of weeks before.

to be a crazy loss of her

son

The small boat put

off,

and succeeded in picking her up, though she had been in the water 15 minutes. She was dead. Her husband was on board. They went off at the next While she lay in the water she stopping' place. probably recover'd her reason, as she toss'd up her arms and lifted her face toward the boat. Sunday Morning, June 11. We pass'd down Lake Huron yesterday and last night, and between 4 and 5 o'clock this morning we ran on the *' flats," and have been vainly trying, with the aid of a steam

—

tug and a lumbering

lighter, to get clear again.

[ÂŤ4]

The


IRovember ffiougba day

is

beautiful

Night before

last

and town,) and

and the water clear and calm. we stopt at Mackinaw, (the island

went up on the old

I

the oldest stations

get to Buffalo by to-morrow.

one of

expect to

The tug has

fasten'd

but some have been snapt and the others

lines to us,

have no

We

the Northwest.

in

fort,

We

effect.

seem to be firmly imbedded

(With the exception of a larger boat and better accommodations, it amounts to about the same thing as a becalmment I underwent on the Montauk voyage, East Long Island, last summer.) in

the sand.

Later,

— We

— expect to reach Detroit

are off again

before dinner.

We Lake

We

did not stop at Detroit.

Erie,

jogging along at a good round

we were on

couple of hours since Detroit seem'd to especially

are

liked

me

now on pace. A

the river above.

a pretty place and thrifty.

I

the looks of the Canadian shore

opposite and of the

village of

little

Windsor, and,

From the shrubbery and the neat appearance of some of the cottages, think it must have been settled by indeed,

along the banks of the

all

river.

I

the French.

While

distance ahead, Perry's fleet

England.

I

write

we

can see, a

little

the scene of the battle between

and the

The

now

British during the last

lake looks

to

me

a fine

We are having a beautiful day. June 12. —We stopt last evening at

war with sheet of

water.

and though

it

was

dark,

I

Cleveland,

took the opportunity of

[215]


flovcmbcr Bouflba rambling about the place; went up in the heart of the city and back to what appeared to be the

The

court-house.

wide, and

streets are unusually

the buildings appear to be substantial and comfortable.

We went down

some

distance along, several squares of ground very

with trees and looking attractive

prettily planted

Returned to the boat by

enough.

house on the imagine, a

way

of the light-

hill.

This morning I

through Main Street and found,

little

we

making

are

more than

for Buffalo, being,

half across Lake Erie.

The water is rougher than on Michigan (On St. Clair it was smooth as glass.) is

and dry, with a

bright

We

stiff

arriv'd in Buffalo

on Monday evening; spent

Then got

to Niagara;

went under the

pool and

the other sights.

all

Tuesday night night.

falls

started for

vated.

in

late

we

exploring.

I

started

Albany; traveled

arriv'd safely in

From

view

and well

culti-

rich

the

New

the

1

all

afforded us a

There was a

down

went

the whirl-

political

meet-

by.

Next

pass'd

Hudson

villages.

Spent the

arriv'd at Albany.

ing (Hunker) at the capitol, and

morning

— saw

Every few miles were large towns or

Wednesday evening

seem'd very

all

day going round the cars and

in

From the time daylight

of the country

The day

head wind.

that night and a portion of next

the city exploring.

or Huron.

it

in

the Alida;

York that evening.

New Orleans

Picayune, Jan, 2^, 1887.

[2X6]


Small ^emoranba UbousanOe Xost—l)ere One ox XTwo pre5ert>*5

Attorney General's Office, IVashington, Aug. write this, about noon, the suite of 22, i86^.—ks rooms here is fill'd with Southerners, standing in squads, or streaming in and out, some talking with the Pardon Clerk, some waiting to see the Attorney General, others discussing in low tones among themI

selves.

All are

The famous

1

mainly anxious about their pardons.

3th exception of the President's

nesty Proclamation of

,

makes

every secessionist, whose property

it

Am-

necessary that

worth $20,000 or over, shall get a special pardon, before he can transact any legal purchase, sale, &c. So hundreds and thousands of such property owners have either sent up here, for the last two months, or have been, or are

dons.

now coming They

Mississippi,

personally here, to get their par-

are from

Virginia, Georgia,

Alabama,

North and South Carolina, and every

Some

Southern State. very abject. adier

is

General

of their written petitions are

Secession officers of the rank of Brigor

higher, also [217]

need these special


flovember Bouobe

come here. see streams of the talk $20,000 men (and some women), every day. now and then with them, and learn much that is They

pardons.

also

I

I

and

interesting

All the

significant.

Southern

women

come (some splendid specimens, mothers, &c.)

that

are dress'd in deep black.

Immense numbers

(several thousands) of these

pardons have been pass'd upon favorably; the Par-

don Warrants

(like great

deeds) have been issued

from the State Department, on the requisition of

But

office.

yet

lie

for

some reason

me.

I

— as

and then

1

1

all

He seems

them wait. come here make a curious study get along, very sociably, with any of let them do all the talking; only now

The crowds them

or other, they nearly

awaiting the President's signature.

to be in no hurry about

for

this

it,

but

lets

that

have a long confab, or ask a suggestive

question or two. If

the thing continues as at present, the property

and wealth of the Southern States rest, for

one

is

going to legally

is

the future, on these pardons.

made out with

the condition that the grantee

shall respect the abolition of slavery,

an attempt to restore

Every single

and never make

it.

IVashington, Sept. 8,

9,

S-c, 7565. —The arrivals,

swarms, &c., of the $20,000 men seeking pardons, still continue with increas'd numbers and pertinacity. I

yesterday

(I

am

eral's office here)

a clerk in the U. S. Attorney

made out

a long

[J18]

list

Gen-

from Alabama,


IRovember ffiougbe nearly 200,

recommended This

ional Governor.

list,

pardon by the Provis-

for in

the shape of a requisi-

tion from the Attorney General, goes to the State

Department. out,

There the Pardon Warrants are made

brought back here, and then sent to the Presi-

dent,

where they await

He

his signature.

signing

is

them very freely of late. The President, indeed, as at present appears, has fix'd his mind on a very generous and forgiving He will course toward the return'd secessionists. not countenance at all the demand of the extreme Philo-African element of the North, to

make the

right

qua

of negro voting at elections a condition and sine

non of the reconstruction of the United States South, and of their resumption of co-equality in the Union.

While of

AbrlS?^

suspense

in

One Item

who

should be appointed Secretary of the In-

Ap- the choice

pointments.

^^^^^^ ^^^

was very (.^,

Caleb Smith),

close

j^^^^ •'

of

j^

between Mr.

Dubois, of '

IIH-

had many friends. He was competent, he was honest, and he Hois.

many

was

was hanging

terior (to take the place of

Lincoin's

Cabinet

it

a man,

The

latter

Mr. Harlan, in the race, finally gain'd

the Methodist interest, and got himself to be considered as identified

with

it;

and

his

appointment was

apparently ask'd for by that powerful body.

Bishop

Simpson, of Philadelphia, came on and spoke

for

selection.

The

President

was much

[219]

perplex'd.

the

The


November Bougba reasons for appointing Col. Dubois were very strong,

— yet the

argument for Mr. Harlan, under the adroit position he had plac'd himself, was heavy. Those who pressed him adduced the almost insuperable

magnitude of the Methodists as a body, their loyalty, more general and genuine than any other sect that

they represented the West, and had a right to be heard

— that

inations

had

all

or nearly

all

the other great denom-

their representatives in the

heads of the

that they as a body and the great secgovernment tarian power of the West, formally asked Mr. Harlan's appointment— that he was of them, having been that it would not do to offend a Methodist minister

them, but was highly necessary to propitiate them. Mr. Lincoln thought deeply over the whole matter.

He was

in

Let

it

subject.

more than usual tribulation on the be enough to say that though Mr.

Harlan finally received the Secretaryship, Col. Dubois

came

as near being appointed as a

The

not be.

decision

about 10 o'clock.

men and

was

finally

man could, and made one night

Bishop Simpson and other clergy-

leading persons in Mr. Harlan's behalf, had

been talking long and vehemently with the President.

A member

of

Dubois's claims,

Congress

was

told the Bishop that

who was

The President had he would make a decision that in waiting.

evening, and that he thought press'd

caird in

pressing Col.

it

unnecessary to be

any more on the subject. That night he the M. C. above alluded to, and said to him: [aao]


November Bougba ''Tell

Uncle Jesse that

I

want

pointment, and yet cannot. I

I

to give

will

him

this ap-

do almost anything

him am able. have thought the matter all over, and under the circumstances think the Methodists too good and too great a body to be slighted. They have stood by the government, and help'd us their very best. have had no better friends; and as the case stands, have decided to else in the

world

for

I

I

I

I

appoint Mr. Harlan." Pete, do

^ Friend^ Written on the flya copy Specimen Days, sent to Peter Doyle

^^ ^^''' those great long jovial walks we had at times for years (i866-'72), out ^

of^,,»,.

leaf of

at

you remember— (of course you do

Washington,

^^.

t-t

^

Washmgton City ofteu moonlight n r^ uights Way to Good Hope or, Sundays, up and down the Potomac of

.

;

sometimes ten miles at a stretch ? Or when you work'd on the horse-cars, and waited for you, coming home late together shores, one side or the other,

I

or resting and chatting at the Market, corner 7th Street

and the Avenue, and eating those nice musk or

Or during my tedious sickness and first paralysis ('73) how you used to come to my solitary garret-room and make up my bed, and enliven watermelons

me, and chat

?

for

an hour or so

— or perhaps go out

and get the medicines Dr. Drinkard had order'd for me before you went on duty ? Give my love to dear Mrs. and Mr. Nash, and tell them have not forgotten them, and never will. W. W.

.

.

.

I

[221]


November Bouabe Germantown, Phila., Dec, 26, *8}, In memory of these merry Christmas days to my friends Mr. and Mrs. ^"^ nights Aib^ Williams, Churchie, May, Gurney, and A heavy snow-storm blocking little Aubrey. ... im-

Written

^^

up everything, and keeping us thoughts, unloosed. big

And

so

But souls, hearts,

in.

— one and

— hav'n't we had a good time

all, little

and

W. W.

?

Scene,—k large family supper party, a night or two ago, with voices and laugh-

The Place

*^''

in a Fhie

^^

^^

young, mellow faces of the

and a by-and-by pause

Character

in

old,

the general

Srp.«~v: joviality. "Now, Mr. Whitman," spoke 'i^^:^^' up one of the girls, " what have you to say about Thanksgiving give us a sermon

The sage nodded blaze of the great

in

Won't you

?

down ? " moment at the

advance, to sober us

smilingly, look'd a

wood

fire,

ran his forefinger right

and left through the heavy white mustache that might have otherwise impeded his voice, and began: '*

Thanksgiving goes probably

folks suppose.

I

am

not sure but

the highest poetry — as kin, indeed,

far

makes the

in

deeper than you it is

the source of

central source of

all

to be praise (gratitude) to the Almighty for

the universe with **

We

its

I

great art life,

and

objects and play of action.

Americans devote an

year; yet

Rus-

parts of the Bible.

sometimes

official

day to

it

fear the real article is [223]

every

almost


November dead or dying public.

half

in

our

Gratitude,

ffiougb0

independent Re-

self-sufficient,

anyhow, has never been made

enough of by the moralists;

to a complete character,

it

indispensable

is

man's or woman's

That

disposition to be appreciative, thankful.

main matter, the element, gists call the trend.

inclination

Of my own

life

estimate the giving thanks part, with as essentially the best item. ity of gratitude I

it.

is

the

— what geoloand writings

what

it

I

infers,

should say the qual-

rounds the whole emotional nature;

should say love and

without

I

— the

faith

would

quite lack vitality

— shall them as things go — who have no

There are people

even religious people,

I

?

such trend to their disposition."

[223]

call


Xast of tbe WLnv Cases /l>cmoranM3e5 at tbe Xlimc, TOasbtnaton, 1865-^66

[Of reminiscences of the secession war, after the have thought it remains to give a few rest is said, I

—

in some respects at the time the words typical words of all, and most definite of the samples of the kill'd and wounded in action, and of soldiers who linger'd afterward, from these wounds, or were laid up by obstinate disease or prostration. The general statistics have been printed already, but can bear to be briefly stated again. There were

special

—

over 3,000,000 large

men

(for

all

periods of enlistment,

and small) furnish'd to the Union army during

New

York State furnishing over 500,000, which was the greatest number of any one State.

the war.

The

by disease, wounds, kill'd in action, accidents, &c., were altogether about 600,000, or approximating to that number. Over 4,000,000 cases were losses

treated in the main and adjudicatory

The number sounds

strange, but

it

army is

hospitals.

true.

More

than two-thirds of the deaths were from prostration or disease.

To-day there

lie

[324]

buried over 300,000 sol-


IRovember ffiouabe

army Cemeteries, more of them (and that is really most signifi-

diers in the various National

than half

cant and eloquent bequest of the war) mark'd ''un-

known."

In full

mortuary

statistics of

the war, the

greatest deficiency arises from our not having the

even as

rolls,

far

most of a gap which proba-

were

as they

the Southern military prisons

kept,

of

bly both adds to, and helps conceal, the indescribable horrors of those places;

however

it is,

(restricting

one vivid point only), certain that over 30,000 Union soldiers died, largely of actual starvation, in them.

And now, I

feel

leaving

all

sure a few genuine

— some at the

and

figures

memoranda

down

cases jotted

their

'64, '65,

time and on the spot, with

all

''sum

totals,"

of such things

and

'66

— made

the associations

of those scenes and places brought back, will not

only go directest to the right spot, but give a clearer

and more actual sight of that period, than anything Before

else.

I

give the last cases

batim extracts from

letters

home

I

to

Brooklyn the second year of the war.

Washington, Oct,

new

lot

of

three days.

13, 1863.

I

I

in

has been a

Yesterday the worst, inevitably long

was cooler and more used to of some cases brought tears into my

thought

but the sight

eyes.

mother

—W. W.]

— There

many with bad and bloody wounds, it,

my

wounded and sick arriving for the last The first and second days, long strings

of ambulances with the sick.

neglected.

begin with ver-

I

had the luck yesterday, however, to do

VOL. VI.— 15.

[225]

lots


flcvcmbcr Bougba

Had provided many nourishing articles for the men for another quarter, but, fortunately, had my stores where could use them at once for of good.

I

these new-comers, as they arrived,

hungry,

faint,

fagg'd out from their journey, with soil'd clothes,

and

bloody.

all

distributed these articles, gave

I

knew, or to those in charge. found fed myself Then As many as possible a lot of oyster soup handy, and bought it all at partly to the nurses

I

I

1

once.

are

the most

is

It

first

brought

when the men from some camp hospital broke sight, this,

pitiful

in,

up, or a part of the

army moving.

were

like devils,

Kilpatrick's cavalry;

Meade's

retreat,

ar-

Our troops had but got the worst of it. They

rived yesterday are cavalry

fought

who

These

men.

were

in

the rear, part of

and the reb cavalry, knowing the

ground and taking a favorable opportunity, dash'd in between, cut them off, and shelPd them terribly. But Kilpatrick turn'd and brought them out mostly. It

was

sights

Sunday.

last

and tasks

Oct. 27,

is

(One of the most

terrible

of such receptions).

1863,— \{ any of the

their parents or folks) should call

are often anxious to have

my

soldiers

I

know

(or

—as they Brooklyn —

upon you

address

in

you know how, and if you happen to have pot-luck, and feel to ask them to have a take a bite, don't be afraid to do so.

you

just use

them

as

I

friend,

Thomas

Neat, 2d N. Y. Cavalry, [236]

wounded

in


movember Bougba

now home

leg,

probably

some

Jamaica, on furlough;

in

Then

call.

possibly a Mr.

deal.

and ask'd

(When

of the letters will

How

I

left

in

down

show you some &c.

sisters, fathers,

To

think

it is

over

home suddenly — and have mostly The year has

front since.

And

me

cry.)

and oh, what scenes

that time!

occasionally

will

I

the time passes away!

down

swiftly,

come home

make you

a year since

been

was

get from mothers,

1

have written

his wife

York, and

I

or

York: he had

Brooklyn address; he said he had

New

children in there.

I

me my

will

Haskell,

was with the boy a good

and The old man and

a son died here,

They

New

of his folks, from western

he

the

war

I

vanish'd

have witnessed during

not settled yet; and one

is

does not see anything certain, or even promising, of a settlement.

But

I

do not lose the

myself, that the Union triumph it

be sooner or whether

roundabout

way we may

it

is

be

solid feeling, in

whether

assured, or

later,

whatever

be led there; and

I

find

don't change that conviction from any reverses

One

meet, nor delays, nor blunders. in

Washington the great

ones, of Lincoln; that

labors, is

it

its

throat cut.

any doubt of the 8th September,

army

hospital

I

even the negative

a big thing to have just

case:

down and

have not waver'd or had

issue, since

Gettysburg.

— Here,

'63.

we

realizes here

kept the United States from being thrown

having

I

now,

is

Lorenzo Strong, [227]

a specimen

Co.

A,

9th


November Bougba United States Cavalry, shot by a

shell last

Sunday;

amputated on the field. Sent up here Monday night, 14th. Seemed to be doing pretty well till Wednesday noon, 16th, when he took a turn for the right leg

worse, and a strangely rapid and ensued. all.

It

soldiers'

fatal

termination

Though had much to do, staid and saw was a death-picture characteristic of these 1

I

hospitals— the perfect specimen of phy-

the one of the most magnificent ever saw convulsive spasms and working of muscles, mouth, and throat. There are two good women nurses, one sique,

1

on each little

The doctor comes

side.

One

chloroform.

him, for

it is

for

Mark

ebbs, runs

asks to be raised up,

He

call'd

" repeatedly, half-deliriously, all day.

Life

now

with the speed of a it

lays

his eyes turn back. offers a prayer, in

the bed; and

many

He

in a half-sitting posture.

splendid neck, as

cluding

and gives him a

of the nurses constantly fans

fearfully hot.

and they put him **

in

two

in

all

A

mill race; his

open, works

still,

religious person

subdued tones, bent

the space of the

slightly;

coming

in

at the foot of

aisle,

a crowd, in-

or three doctors, several students, and

soldiers,

has silently gathered.

It

is

very

still

and warm, as the struggle goes on, and dwindles, a little

more, and a

little

more

oblivion, painlessness, death.

drops away, a white bandage

— and A is

then welcome

pause, the

crowd

bound around and

under the jaw, the propping pillows are removed, the limpsy head

falls

down, the arms [aaS]

are softly placed

by


IRovember ISougba the side,

composed,

all

all still,

—and the broad white

thrown over everything. April 10, /5^^.— Unusual agitation

sheet

is

all

around

The

Exciting times in Congress.

concentrated here.

Copperheads are getting furious, and want to recog''This is a pretty nize the Southern Confederacy. time to talk of recognizing such sylvania officer in hospital to

what has

me

to-day,

''after

transpired the last three years.''

Fredericksburg

first

Penn-

," said a

I

doubted whether our

felt

discouraged myself, and

rulers could carry

But that has pass'd away.

After

on the war.

The war must be

carried

would willingly go in the ranks myself if thought it would profit more than as at present, and don't know sometimes but shall, as it is. Then on.

1

I

I

I

there

is

certainly

form'd or arous'd

name;

it

in

deep,

fervid

feeling

the land, hard to describe or

not a majority feeling, but

M., you don't

know what

it

will

make

a nature a

fel-

gets, not only after being a soldier a while,

but

itself felt.

low

is

a strange,

and influences of the camps, the wounded, &c. a nature he never experienced before. The stars and stripes, the tune of "Yankee Doodle," and similar things, produce such an effect on a fellow as never before. have seen them bring tears on some men's cheeks, and others turn pale with emotion. have a little flag (it belong'd to one of our cavalry regiments), presented to me by one of the wounded; it was taken by the secesh in after living in the sights

—

I

I

[229]


Tlopcmbcr fiouaba a fight, and rescued following.

It

in a

bloody skirmish

cost three men's lives to get back that

four-by-three flag

dead rebel —

by our men

— to

tear

from the breast of a

it

name of getting their little ** rag " back again. The man that secured it was very badly wounded, and they let him keep it. was with deal; him a good he wanted to give me some keepfor the

1

sake, he said,— he

me

gave

didn't expect to live,— so he

that flag.

The

there isn't a regiment,

would

n't

April it is

last

do the 1

like,

2th, —

I

best of

cavalry

on the

will finish

it all

or

night.

not

my

letter this

men

army

is

May

You ought

to

do) the soldiers talk; they are excited to

We

true 6,

morning;

that proposed rec-

shall

probably have hot times here,

the military fields alone.

in

that

like occasion.

ognizing the Southern Confederacy.

madness.

infantry,

1

session about expelling the

1

dear M.,

was up in Congress very late The House had a very excited night

a beautiful day.

hear (as

is,

and firm as the North

'64.— lA,, the poor

The body of the Star.

soldier with diarrhoea,

what a looking object Death would be a relief to him he cannot last many hours. Cunningham, the Ohio soldier, with leg amputated at thigh, has pick'd up beyond expectation; now looks indeed like getting well. (He died a few weeks afterwards.) The hospitals are very is still living,

but, oh,

!

am very May 2}, '6^.

full.

I

well indeed.

— Sometimes

Hot here to-day. I

think that should

it


movember Bougbe come when

it

must, to

over a son or brother

much

wounds

suffering from

worse than death in latter has no terrors

Then

concerned.

might be temper'd with Lingering and extreme

kill'd

to take the edge

off.

or sickness

battle.

for

anguish

in battle, one's

fall

seem to me

far

can honestly say the

I

me, as

far as

I

myself

am

should say, too, about death

I

in

and imaginations make a thousand times too much of the whole matter. Of war, that our feelings

many

the

I

have seen

or

die,

known

have not seen or known one

year,

I

with

terror.

welcome

relief

Yesterday

most cases and release. spent a good

In

I

I

of,

the past

who met

should say

it

death

was a

part of the afternoon

with a young soldier of seventeen, Charles Cutter, of Lawrence City, Massachusetts, ist Massachusetts

Heavy

Artillery,

Battery M.

one of the hospitals mortally Well,

I

thought to myself, as

ought to be a

how

relief to

he really

little

He was brought to wounded in abdomen. I

sat looking at him,

his folks

suffered.

He

if

they could see

lay very placid, in

As

a half lethargy, with his eyes closed.

extremely hot, and

I

sat a

it

good while

it

was

silently fan-

ning him, and wiping the sweat, at length he open'd

wide and clear, and look'd inquiringly around. said, ''What is it, my boy? Do you want anything?" He answered quietly, with a good-natured smile, '' Oh, nothing; was only looking around to see who was with me." His his eyes quite I

I

[231]


November Boiigba mind was somewhat wandering, yet he lay in an evident peacefulness that sanity and health might had to leave for other engagements. have envied. heard afterward, without any special He died, I

1

agitation, in the course of the night.

iVashingtan, thing of

May

commencing

talks, &c.,

'6^.— M.,

'26,

1

think some-

a series of lectures, readings,

through the

the North, to sup-

cities of

ply myself with funds for hospital ministrations.

do not

like to

be so beholden to others;

I

I

need a

money, and the work grows upon me, and fascinates me. It is the most magpretty free supply of

netic as well

as terrible sight:

the lots of poor

wounded and helpless men depending so much, in one ward or another, upon my soothing or talking to them, or rousing them up a little, or perhaps petting, or feeding is

them

their dinner or supper (here

a patient, for instance,

wounded

in

both arms),

—

anysome trifle for a novelty or change however trivial, to break the monotony of

or giving thing,

those hospital hours. It is

curious:

when

I

am

present at the most ap-

palling scenes, deaths, operations, sickening

(perhaps

full

of maggots),

give out or budge, although

much when

wounds

keep cool and do not

I

my

sympathies are very

excited; but often, hours afterward, perhaps 1

am home,

or out walking alone,

and actually tremble, when before me.

I

recall

I

feel sick,

the case again


IRovember Bougba Sunday

afternoon, opening of /(S65.— Pass'd this

among

afternoon

wounded and hands.

I

a collection of unusually bad cases,

spent the previous Sunday afternoon there

Two

At that time two were dying.

also.

upon our

sick secession soldiers, left

others

Several of them are have died during the week. partly deranged. went around among them elaboI

Poor boys, they

rately.

up.

of

As all

I

sat

down by any

was postage stamps, and paper

distributed

all

I

Nobody seem'd to wish or drink. The main thing

within their sight.

ask'd for

fix

steadily riveted as long as

anything special to eat

1

particular one, the eyes

the rest in the neighboring cots would

upon me, and remain sat

needed to be cheer'd

all

the stamps

I

for writing.

Tobacco was

had.

wanted by some.

One

call'd

me

over to him and ask'd

tone what denomination

I

belonged

to.

me

in a

He

low

said

he

was a Catholic wish'd to find some one of the same faith wanted some good reading. gave him something to read, and sat down by him a few minutes. Moved around with a word for each. They were hardly any of them personally attractive cases, and no visitors come here. Of course they were all destitute of money. gave small sums to two or three, apparently the most needy. The men

I

I

are from

quite

all

the Southern

States,

Georgia,

Mississippi, Louisiana, &c.

Wrote

several letters.

One

[233]

for a

young

fellow


Hovcmbcr Bougba named Thomas diarrhoea.

J.

Was from

out four years.

Russell County, Alabama; been

Wrote

taken prisoner

last

kept there a long time; to get

paroled, but

on

in

Christmas,

sent to Nashville, then to

enough

had neither nine months.

to his mother;

heard from her nor written to her

Was

wound and

Byrd, with a bad

Camp

all

in

Tennessee;

Chase, Ohio, and

the while not

money

paper and postage stamps. his

way home

the

Was

wound took gan-

grene; had diarrhoea also; had evidently been very

Demeanor cool, and patient. A dark-skinn*d, quaint young fellow, with strong Southern idiom; low.

no education. Another letter for John W. Morgan, aged i8, from Shellot, Brunswick County, North Carolina; been out nine months; gunshot wound in right leg, above knee; also diarrhoea; wound getting along well; quite a gentle, affectionate boy; wish'd

put

in

the letter for his mother to kiss his

brother and sister for him.

[I

me

to

little

put strong envelopes

on these, and two or three other letters, directed them plainly and fully, and dropt them in the Washington post-office the next morning myself.]

The

large

ward

soldiers exclusively.

I

am

in

used

One man, about

age, emaciated with diarrhoea,

he lay with

is

I

was

for

secession

forty years of

attracted to, as

his eyes turn'd up, looking like death.

His weakness

was so extreme

that

it

took a minute

or so, every time, for him to talk with anything like [334]


IRovember ffiougba consecutive meaning; yet he

was

evidently a

of good intelligence and education.

would

thing, he

lie

a

moment

with closed eyes,

answer

voice, quite correct

and

tone that wrung

and child

my

in

As

perfectly

a

low,

said any-

I

He had

then,

still,

very slow

way and

sensible, but in a

heart.

man

a mother, wife,

living (or probably living) in his

home

in

was long, long since he had seen them. Had he caus'd a letter to be sent them since he got Mississippi.

here

in

It

Washington

?

No

answer.

question, very slowly and soothingly. tell

him

whether he had or not

—things of

1

repeated the

He could not late

seem'd to

moment, said: ''Well, am going to walk down the ward a moment, and when come back you can tell me. If you have not written, will sit down and write." A few minutes after returned; he said he remember'd now that some one had written for him two or The presence of this man imthree days before. press'd me profoundly. The flesh was all sunken on face and arms; the eyes low in their sockets and glassy, and with purple rings around them. Two a dream.

like

After waiting a

I

I

I

I

I

or three great tears silently flow'd out from the eyes,

and

roll'd

down

his

temples (he was doubtless

unused to be spoken to as

I

was speaking

to him).

Sickness, imprisonment, exhaustion, &c., had con-

quered the body, yet the

mind held mastery still, and call'd even wandering remembrance back. There are some fifty Southern soldiers here; all [235]


November BouQba There

sad, sad cases.

some

distributed

is

paper,

a

good

deal of scurvy.

and

envelopes,

stamps, and wrote addresses

full

and

I

postage

on many

plain

of the envelopes. I

returned again Tuesday,

around

in

the

same manner

September 22,

'65.

W.

(Hiram

one of the

a couple of hours.

Dougbelonging to 2d New York

Frazee, Serg't),

compound

obstinate

and moved

i,

—Afternoon and evening

las hospital to see a friend

Artillery

August

at

down with an

fracture of left leg received in

last battles

near Petersburg.

After sitting

went through several neighboring one of them found an old acquaintance

a while with him,

wards.

In

transferred here lately, a rebel prisoner, in a

condition.

Poor fellow, the look was already on

He gazed long at me. knew me. After a moment he

his face.

but inarticulately.

I

in

left

I

ask'd

He has

leg,

him

if

he

utter'd something,

have seen him

the last five months.

bad wound

dying

off

and on

suffered very

for

much; a

severely fractured, several

operations, cuttings, extractions of bone, splinters,

&c.

I

remember he seem'd

with him, a

to me, as

specimen of the main

fair

I

used to talk strata of the

Southerners, those without property or education,

but

and

still

with the stamp which comes from freedom

him; Jonathan Wallace, of Hurd Co., Georgia, age 30 (wife, Susan F. Wallace, Houston, Hurd Co., Georgia). [If any good soul of that county should see this, hope he will send her equality.

I

liked

I

[236]


IRovem&er ffiougbe

He had

had not heard from them since taken prisoner, now six months. I had written for him, and done trifles for him, before he came here. He made no outward show, was mild in his talk and behavior, but knew he worried much inwardly. But now all would be over very half sat upon the little stand near the head soon. Wallace was somewhat restless. of the bed. I word.]

this

a family;

I

I

placed

my

hand

just sliding

he

fell

it

over the surface. a calm,

into

on his forehead and

lightly

In a

moment

face,

or so

regular-breathing lethargy or

and remain'd so while I sat there. It was hardly know why dark, and the lights were lit. (death seem'd hovering near), but I stay'd nearly an

sleep,

I

hour.

A

Sister of Charity, dress'd in black,

with a

broad white linen bandage around her head and

under her chin, and a black crape over

all

and flow-

down from her head in long wide pieces, came to him, and moved around the bed. She bow'd low and solemn to me. For some time she moved around ing

there noiseless as a ghost, doing

little

things for the

dying man. December,

now the

'65.

—The

''Hare wood," out

city.

I

have been

only remaining hospital in

is

the woods, northwest of

visiting there regularly every

Sunday during these two months. January 24, '66.— Went out to Hare wood early to-day, and remain'd all day. Sunday, February 4, 1866. Harewood Hospital

—

[237]


November Bougba Walked out this afternoon (bright, dry, ground Ward 6 is fiird frozen hard) through the woods. with blacks, some with wounds, some ill, two or three with limbs frozen. The boys made quite a Hardly any can picture sitting round the stove. again.

read or write.

I

some

lopes, give

write for three or four, direct envetobacco, &c.

Joseph Winder, a likely boy, aged twenty-three, belongs to loth Color'd Infantry (now

from

Eastville, Virginia.

Was

in

Texas);

is

a slave; belong'd to

The master was quite willing he should leave. Join'd the army two years ago; has been in one or two battles. Was sent to hosLafayette Homeston.

Has since been employ'd as His parents at Eastville he gets letters from cook. them, and has letters written to them by a friend. Many black boys left that part of Virginia and join'd the army; the loth, in fact, was made up of Virginia pital

with rheumatism.

;

As soon as discharged is to his parents and home, and

blacks from thereabouts.

going back to Eastville intends to stay there.

Thomas

King, formerly 2d District Color'd Regi-

ment, discharged

soldier.

(I

E, lay in a

dying

A

Catholic

was administering extreme unction

to him.

condition; his disease priest

Company

have seen

hospitals

;

was consumption.

this kind of sight several times in the

it is

very impressive.)

Harewood, April Poor Joseph Swiers,

29, 1866,

Sunday Afternoon.—

Company

H,

155th Pennsyl-


movember Bougba vania, a

mere

lad (only eighteen years of age); his

Reedsburgh, Pennsylvania.

folks living in

known him

for nearly a year, transferr'd

thigh at Hatcher's Run, February

States

E.

Infantry. ;

a singularly nervous state

I

;

came

into hospital

fever.

Walk slowly around if

the

6, '65.

2d United Union folks. Brother impress'd, now no folks, left alone in the world,

with intermittent see

in

Ragan, Atlanta, Georgia;

deserted, died is in

have

from hos-

He was badly wounded

pital to hospital.

James

1

the ward, observing, and to

Two

can do anything.

or three are lying

very low with consumption, cannot recover

with old wounds

;

one with both

:

some

feet frozen off, so

that on one only the heel remains.

being given out

;

The supper

the liquid call'd tea, a thick

some stew'd apples. That was about the last saw of the

slice

is

of

bread, and

I

hospitals.

[239]

regular

army




^'.^^^

^MJj


Notes (such as they are) founded on

lElias 1)ickd

Prefatory

much

Note.— As myself a

little

boy hearing so

of E. H., at that time, long ago, in Suffolk and

—and more than once seein^^fftf ^^#ian — and my dear, dear

Queens and Kings Counties personally

and motfiW Iflffftfdf' listeners to him at the remember how I dream'dto write permeetings haps a piece about E. H. and his look and discourses,

father

ho\

'

I

^2:

afterward

the dear riiends too

has

but

at last

tention never

There pared to

my

And

the following

!

for

.

,

.

a sort of nature of personf

is

little

few

rills

of water, fresh,

one)— persons not

certainly of

them

area of humanity,

men of this class up

what

all a>

.

^d

^ .

in-

indeed an appro-

^

some e

u*i

.ami-

>w presMit "^

.^

have com-

fiom perennial

rur

w<"

and

Is

I

so very pi nty. yet

all tir.es,

"

in E. H.,

the sort, in

f

is

—and

yet

springs— (and the comparison priate

parents' sake

— ^^e out of it—the feeling and

al^ io.

.^,

^,

t

and

U i^ a speciwould sum

^*"'^d for the class,

.^j, not numerous,



Notes (such as they are) founded on

]EUa8

Note.—As myself a

Prefatory

much

Ibicfts

little

boy hearing so

of E. H., at that time, long ago, in Suffolk and

—and more than once man — and my dear, dear

Queens and Kings Counties personally seeing the old father

and mother

meetings

haps a piece

faithful

him

listeners to

remember how dream'dto write perabout E. H. and his look and discourses, I

1

however long afterward

my

the dear Friends too

And

the following

has at

but

last

at the

all

!

for

come out of it

parents' sake is

—and what

—the feeling and

in-

tention never forgotten yet

There pared to

is

a sort of nature of persons

little

of water, fresh,

rills

springs— (and the comparison

is

1

have com-

from perennial

indeed an appro-

one)— persons not so very plenty, yet some few certainly of them running over the surface and priate

area of humanity,

men of this up

the sort, in VOL.

VI,

—16.

times,

all

lands.

would now present and make his case stand

class

in E. H.,

all

all

1

ages,

all

It is I

would sum

for the class,

lands, sparse, not [241]

a speci-

numerous,


November Bougba yet enough to irrigate the

soil

—enough to prove the

inherent moral stock and irrepressible devotional as-

growing indigenously of themselves, always advancing, and never utterly gone under or lost. Always E. H. gives the service of pointing to the fountain of all naked theology, all religion, all worship, all the truth to which you are possibly eligible namely in yourself and your inherent relations. pirations

Others talk of Bibles, vicarious atonements

saints, churches, exhortations,

— the

canons outside of your-

and apart from man— E. H. to the religion inside This he incessantly of man's very own nature. labors to kindle, nourish, educate, bring forward and self

strengthen.

He

is

the most democratic of the re-

ligionists—the prophets. I

have no doubt that both the curious

fate

and

death of his four sons, and the facts (and dwelling

on them) of George Fox's strange early life, and permanent *' conversion," had much to do with the peculiar

and sombre ministry and

style of E. H. from

and confirmed him all through. One must not be dominated by the man's almost absurd saturation in cut and dried biblical phraseology, and in the

first,

ways, talk, and standard, regardful mainly of the one need he dwelt on, above all the rest. This main need he drove home to the soul the canting and ;

sermonizing soon exhale realizes

what

E.

paper (a broken

H.

is

away

for

and

memorandum [243]

'\

A

to

any auditor that

after.

The

present

of his formation, his


movember Bougb6 earlier life), is

the cross-notch that rude wanderers

make in the woods, to remind them afterward of some matter of first-rate importance and full investi(Remember too, that E. H. was a thorough gation. believer in the

Hebrew Scriptures,

The following recall 'd to

way.)

are really but disjointed fragments

serve and eke out here the lank printed

pages of what ago.

in his

Now,

I

as

commenced unwittingly two months am well in for it, comes an old I

attack, the sixth or seventh recurrence, of paralysis, dulling

me from

action,

Camden, N.

To BEGIN with, my theme less.

The

is

head or body. J., July, 1888,

comparatively feature-

great historian has pass'd

Elias Hicks quite

war-

putting the notes in shape,

and threatening any further

W. W.,

my

by the

without glance or touch.

man might commence and

overhaul

it

life

of

Yet a

as furnishing

and biography's backgrounds. While the foremost actors and events from 1750 to 1830 both in Europe and America were crowding each other on the world's stage— While so one of the amplest

many

historic

kings, queens, soldiers, philosophs, musicians,

voyagers, litterateurs, enter one side, cross the boards,

and disappear— amid loudest reverberating names — Frederick the Great, Swedenborg, Junius, Voltaire,

— curiously contemof Goethe — through the

Rousseau, Linnaeus, Herschel porary with the long

occupancy of the

life

British throne [243]

by George the Third


November ISouobe

arfiid

stupendous

visible political

and

social revolu-

more stupendous invisible moral ones while the many quarto volumes of the Encyclopaedia Fran9aise are being published at fits and while Haydn and intervals, by Diderot, in Paris Beethoven and Mozart and Weber are working out and

tions,

far

their

harmonic compositions

— while

Mrs. Siddons

and Talma and Kean are acting— while Mungo Park explores Africa, and Capt. Cook circumnavigates the globe through all the fortunes of the American Revolution, the beginning, continuation and end,

the battle of Brooklyn, the surrender at Saratoga, the

final

peace of

'83

— through the lurid tempest of

the French Revolution, the execution of the king and

— through the whole Washof the meteor-career of Napoleon —through Madison's, and Monington's, Adams's, — amid so many flashing of roe's Presidentiads queen, and the Reign of Terror

all

Jefferson's,

lists

names (indeed

seems hardly, in any department, any end to them. Old World or New), Franklin,

Sir

there

Joshua Reynolds, Mirabeau, Fox, Nelson, Paul

Jones, Kant, Fichte, and Hegel, Fulton, Walter Scott,

Byron, Mesmer, Champollion

— Amid

pictures that

upon me even as speak, and glow and mix and coruscate and fade like aurora boreales Louis the i6th threaten'd by the mob, the trial of Warren dart

1

Hastings, the death-bed of Robert Burns, Wellington at Waterloo,

Decatur capturing the Macedonian, or

the sea-fight between the Chesapeake and the Shan[244]


November BouQba non

— During

and though on grade, running parallel and contem-

all

a far different

these whiles,

—a

porary with

all

centred in a

little

say,

I

quiet yet

curious,

busy

life

country village on Long Island,

and within sound on still nights of the mystic surfbeat of the sea. About this life, this Personality

neither soldier, nor scientist, nor litterateur

pose to occupy a few minutes to give

in

I

fragmentary

protalk,

some few melanges, disconnected impresthoughts

sions, statistics, resultant groups, pictures,

of him, or radiating from him. Elias Hicks

was born March

stead township.

19,

1748, in

Queens County, Long

Hemp-

Island,

New

York

State, near a village bearing the old Scripture

name

of Jericho (a mile or so north and east of the

present Hicksville, on the

L.

I.

Railroad).

and mother were Friends, of that their

own

working with

hands, and mark'd by neither riches nor

actual poverty.

education

class

His father

from

Elias as a child letters,

and youth had small

but largely learn'd from

He grew up even in his ladhood a thorough gunner and fisherman. The farm of his parents lay on the south or sea-shore side of Long

Nature's schooling.

had early removed from Jericho), one of the best regions in the world for wild fowl and for fishing. Elias became a good horseman, too, and Island (they

knew

the animal well, riding races

;

also a singer

fond of ''vain songs," as he afterwards a dancer, too, at the country balls. £245]

them a boy of

calls

When


flopcmber Bou9b9 he had gone to live with an elder brother; and when about 17 he changed again and went as ap13

The time

prentice to the carpenter's trade. this

was

before the

great-grandfather,

all

Revolutionary War, and the

40 miles from

locality 30 to

of

New

Whitman, was

York City.

My

often with Elias at

these periods, and at merry-makings and sleigh-rides in

winter over *'the plains."

How well

remember the region the flat plains of the middle of Long Island, as then, with their I

prairie-like vistas tion,

and the

''

and grassy patches

kill-calf "and

in

every direc-

herds of cattle and sheep.

Then the South Bay and shores and the salt meadows, and the sedgy smell, and the numberless little bayous and hummock-islands in the waters, the habitat of every sort of fish and aquatic fowl of North America. And the bay men a strong, wild, peculiar race

now

And the sometimes many miles

extinct, or rather entirely

beach outside the sandy at a stretch,

bars,

changed.

with their old history of wrecks and

— the weird, white-gray beach — not without tales of pathos — too, of grandest heroes

storms its

tales,

and heroisms. In

such scenes and elements and influences

in

the midst of Nature and along the shores of the sea

— Elias

Hicks was fashion'd through boyhood and

manhood, to maturity. But a moral and mental and emotional change was imminent. Along at this early

time he says:


movem&er Bougba My

now

apprenticeship being

from the company of

my

expir'd,

I

gradually withdrew

former associates, became more ac-

and was more frequent in my attendance of meetings; and although this was in some degree profitable to me, yet I made but slow progress in my religious with

quainted

Friends,

The occupation of

improvement.

part of

my

time

me

and fowling had frequently tended to preserve into hurtful associations; but

reproofs of divine grace in

manner

in

which

not without sin

while waiting

was

;

tunities

falling

through the rising intimations and

my heart, now I

began to

feel that

the

sometimes amus'd myself with my gun was for although I mostly preferr'd going alone, and I

in stillness for the

were seasons of

other occasions,

after

fishing

coming of the

fowl,

my mind

times so taken up in divine meditations, that the oppor-

at

ances,

in

from

and comfort to me;

instruction

when accompanied by some

of

my

yet,

on

acquaint-

and when no fowls appear'd which would be useful to us

being obtain'd,

we

sometimes, from wantonness or for

mere diversion, would destroy the small no service to us. This cruel procedure penning these

birds

which could be of

affects

my

heart while

lines.

was

by the Friends' ceremony, to Jemima Seaman. His wife was an only child; the parents were well off for common people, and at their request the son-in-law mov'd home with them and carried on the farm which at their decease became his own, and he liv'd there all his reIn his

23rd year Elias

married,

—

maining

life.

Of this matrimonial

part of his career,

continued, and with unusual happiness, for 58

(it

years),

On

he says, giving the account of his marriage:

this

important occasion,

evidence of divine truth, and

our

spirits,

it

we

felt

the clear and consoling

remain'd with us as a seal upon

strengthening us mutually to bear, with becoming [247]


flovcmbcr Bouabe and

fortitude, the vicissitudes

which state.

we had a My wife,

trials

mother of eleven

Our second

weak

and of

four sons

constitutions,

seven

was

rest all arriv'd to years of discretion,

to be in a

however, were of

All our sons,

children.

dutiful

and

liv'd

the small-pox, and the youngest

The

birth.

children,

and afforded us considerable comfort, as they proved

good degree

lot,

daughter, a very lovely, promising child,

when young, with its

to our

although not of a very strong constitution,

to be the

not living at

fell

large share in passing through this probationary

daughters. died

which

and were not able to take care of themselves,

being so enfeebl'd as not to be able to walk

The two

tenth year of their age.

after the ninth or

eldest died in the fifteenth year

of their age, the third in his seventeenth year, and the youngest

was

nearly nineteen

when

the innocency of their

lives,

But, although thus helpless,

he died.

and the resign'd cheerfulness of their

dispositions to their allotments,

made

care of them agreeable and pleasant

serv'd from to be in

murmuring or

the labor and ;

and

1

trust

toil

we were

himself

wisdom, and according

And when

I

to the will

and gracious

have observ'd the great anxiety and

favour'd with health, especially their sons,

exceed ours.

exercises,

much

out of the

temptations of the world; and

we

to

afflic-

who

are

could perceive very

on that account, did not

The weakness and bodily

tended to keep them

I

dis-

known

which many parents have with undutiful children

few whose troubles and

pre-

repining, believing the dispensation

posing of an all-wise providence, for purposes best

tion

of taking

far

infirmity of our sons

way

of the troubles and

believ'd that in their death

they were happy, and admitted into the realms of peace and joy: a reflection, the most comfortable and joyous that parents can

have

in regard to their tender offspring.

Of

a serious and reflective turn,

by

nature,

and

from his reading and surroundings, Elias had more [248]


IRovember Bougbe than once markedly devotional inward intimations.

soon the following

until

About the twenty-sixth year of

by

although

and was

many remaining

were not yet aton'd

God

for,

again brought,

him

I

must walk,

and as

;

I

abode

This

my

in

to the heavenly

call, if it

Nevertheless, as

much weightiness

me

to

open a way before me,

to

seem'd, for

had

I

my mouth

I

in public

my mind

was, soon

future,

be

and resign'd

me

to

be

my

a meeting,

of spirit, a secret, though clear, intimation

speak a few words, which were then given

time, to cover

I

felt

my

I

did not yield to the

close rebuke,

mind; but as

he would pass by this

faithful, if

meetings was a

quiet

after, sitting in

of his countenance upon me, and enabl'd if

darkness

some time spoken on

for

under the Lord's mighty hand, he again

with him, that

my

should be made clear to

For this omission,

some

with

under close exercise and deep

to utter, yet fear so prevail'd, that

intimation.

self

me

endeavor'd to keep

me

which

monthly and preparative meetings, yet

the prospect of opening I

of,

I

began to have openings leading to

of spirit; for although

accompanied

guilty

now felt the judgments caus'd me to cry earnestly to

and

cry,

I

subjects of business in

duty.

still

youth,

watchfulness and deep humiliation be-

as the noon-day.

close trial; but

was

I

see, that

my

in order to experience reconciliation

the ministry, which brought travail

that

which

for

broke forth out of obscurity, and

fore him, light

became

and vanities of

sins

pardon and redemption, and he graciously

condescended to hear

wherein

and

upon me.

to rest

the Most High for

to

I

through adorable mercy, to

led,

had ceas'd from many

I

yet there were

in

my age was

the operative influence of divine grace, under deep concern

of mind;

of

and strength,

feelings increas'd in frequency

These

me

my

and judgment I

humbl'd my-

lifted

to

up the

light

renew covenant

offence,

I

would, in

he should again require such a service of me. [249]


•November BouQbe

of

The Revolutionary War Friends more than any. between

steer

following, tried the sect

The

difficulty

their convictions as patriots,

Here

pledges of non-warring peace.

is

was

to

and

their

the

way

they solv'd the problem:

A

war, with

its

all

and destructive

cruel

raged for several years between the British Colonies

America and the mother

were expos'd colony of ples,

many

to

New

period at

York, Friends,

where the

who

stood

during the war, on

king's party had the rule

armies to attend

The

yearly

Long

Island,

ruled,

;

yet Friends from the Main,

had

passage through both

free

and any other meetings they were desirous

it,

of attending, except parties

in a

few

This

instances.

would not grant

were of a warlike

was

six times

I

to their best friends,

all

of this

during the war, without molestation, both parties

me

had to pass over a

with openness and

tract of country,

sometimes more than

much

who

pass'd myself through the lines of both armies

generally receiving I

a favor

which shows what great ad-

disposition;

vantages would redound to mankind, were they pacific spirit.

yet, in the

faithful to their princi-

in the controversy, had, after a short

steadily,

where the American army

which the

and sufferings;

trials

considerable favor allow'd them.

first,

meeting was held

North

in

country, Friends, as well as others,

severe

and did not meddle

having

effects,

and although

between the two armies,

thirty miles in

frequented by robbers, a

civility;

extent,

set, in

and which was

general,

of cruel, un-

principled banditti, issuing out from both parties, yet, excepting

once,

I

met with no

interruption even from them.

Friends in general experienc'd yet those scenes of

and provings 1

am

many

favors

But although

and deliverances,

war and confusion occasion'd many

in various

ways

willing to mention, as

to the faithful. it

caus'd

[250]

me

trials

One circumstance

considerable exercise


movember BouQbe There was a large

and concern.

house belonging to Friends

When

let as a store.

took possession of stores

new

and ascertaining what Friends had the care of

;

want of due

those Friends, for

meeting-

purpose of depositing their warlike

commissary came forward and

their

under the

York, which was generally

the king's troops enter'd the city, they

for the

it

cellar

New

in

offer'd to

letting

consideration, accepted

This

it.

who

caus'd great uneasiness to the concern'd part of the Society,

apprehended

not consistent with our peaceable principles to

it

payment

receive

The

houses.

the depositing of military stores in our

for

subject

and engag'd

1779,

had been active

its

was brought

in the reception of the

money

inconsistent, nor to return the

was

and

receiv'd;

referr'd to the

was

in order to justify

conduct of

money, and some few their proceedings to

to those from

whom

be it

themselves therein, they

Friends in Philadelphia in similar

unitedly concluded to refer the final determination thereof

to the yearly meeting of Pennsylvania; and several Friends

whom

was one

I

of the number.

We

accordingly set out on

the 9th day of the 9th month, 1779, and

from home by

my

dangers

two

much

we were

We

lay

grown up

expos'd

took a solemn leave of our

Believing

it,

families,

having to pass not only the

to,

between them,

in the streets,

mind was so

was accompanied who was likewise

anxiety at parting with us, on account of the

armies, but the deserted

try that

I

beloved friend John Willis,

on the appointment. they feeling

were

among

appointed to attend that meeting in relation thereto,

the

who

Matters thus appearing very difficult and embarrassing,

cases. it

before the yearly meeting in

careful attention; but those Friends,

were not willing to acknowledge

others,

it,

pay the rent; and

however, settled

many

places the

grass being

and many houses desolate and empty.

my

and

in

lines of

and almost uninhabited coun-

duty to proceed

in the

trust-fix'd in the divine

that faith seem'd to banish

all

fear,

[251]

service,

my

arm of power,

and cheerfulness and quiet


Vlovcmber resignation were,

We

journey.

believe,

I

my

ffiouijbe

constant companions during the

got permission, with but

the outguards of the king's

We

to Westchester.

army

little difficulty,

to pass

Kingsbridge, and proceeded

at

afterwards attended meetings at Har-

rison's Purchase,

and Oblong, having the concurrence of our

monthly meeting

to take

some meetings

leading thereto having for sometime

We

mind. their

in

our way, a concern

previously attended

monthly meeting, and then turn'd our faces towards

delphia, being join'd

New

attended

my

pass'd from thence to Nine Partners, and attended

by

Phila-

several others of the Committee.

We

Mariborough, Hardwick, and Kingswood meet-

ings on our journey, and arriv'd at Philadelphia on the 7th day

of the week, and 25th of 9th month, on which day

we

attended

the yearly meeting of Ministers and Elders, which began at the

eleventh hour.

meeting

I

also attended

until the 4th

the sittings of the yearly

all

day of the next week, and was then so

indispos'd with a fever, which had been increasing on several days, that

was

therefore

I

was not

not present

when

companion, that

matter

tum'd

was

was

into the office

from whence

for so

I

I

was discuss'd, was inform'd by

a very solemn opportunity, and the

resulted in advising that the

with our reasons

by the

it

for

the subject

which came from our yearly meeting; but

my

me

able to attend after that time.

it

was

doing: and this

money should be receiv'd,

was

re-

accompanied

accordingly done

direction of our yearly meeting the next year.

Then, season

pendence

after season,

when peace and

reign'd, year following year, this

Inde-

remains

to be (1791) a specimen of his personal labors: from home on this journey four months and eleven I was days; rode about one thousand five hundred miles, and attended forty-nine particular meetings

meetings,

six

among

monthly meetings, and

other people. [25a]

Friends, three quarterly forty meetings

among


IRovember Bougb6

And

again another experience

:

my mind was

In the forepart of this meeting,

such a state of great weakness and depression, that almost ready to that

I

was

experienc'd.

myself

to

doubting,

of

In this state

that

all

wound

myself to reproach, and

heavens seem'd

coldness and hardness,

I

I

baptism mind,

however

meeting a ray of in

nevertheless, as

;

in this conflicting dispensation,

allotment,

which the Shepherd of

Israel

was

opposition.

Then

ability

open the way of

was

works

his marvellous

glorious kingdom,

and

life

which

and by the clouds of

and the mysteries of

salvation,

are hid from the wise

and reveal'd only unto those

who

his

and prudent of

are reduc'd into

children and babes in Christ.

And concluding another jaunt was from home

in

this

in

1794

:

journey about five months, and

by land and water about two thousand two hundred

and eighty-three Friends in the

miles

having visited

;

New England

those of other professions

States, ;

all

the meetings of

and many meetings amongst

and also

visited

many

Friends and others, in the upper part of our

meeting

of the

redemption of souls, and

in the

little

among

my

and utterance given, to

receiv'd,

this world,

travell'd

latter part

scatter those

the state of

I

endeavor'd to quiet

and be resign'd to

pleas'd to arise,

glorious countenance, to

to

of

broke through the surrounding darkness,

light of his

speak of

I

was the depth

towards the

distressing,

light

in;

iron; such

thought, could scarcely have ever been

I

time

at this

wish

was embark'd

and the earth as

experienc'd before by any creature, so great

my my

to

should only expose

I

the cause

like brass,

heart, so

had ever before

was ready

I

home, from an apprehension that

at

for the

question

in

call

was

faith

which produc'd great searchings of

fail,

led

reduc'd into

my

;

and found

real

peace in

my

[253]

labors.

meetings,

own

yearly


flopembcr Bouflba Another ''tramp

" in 1798

was absent from home

I

journey about five months

in this

and two weeks, and rode about sixteen hundred

and

miles,

attended about one hundred and forty-three meetings.

Here are some memoranda of First day.

Our meeting

this

181

day pass'd

3,

near

in silent labor.

cloud rested on the tabernacle; and, although

much

rain

appear'd to

outwardly, yet very

among

distil

was witness'd towards

of the

little

home

was

it

dew

:

The

a day of

Hermon

of

Nevertheless, a comfortable calm

us.

we must

the close, which

render to the

account of unmerited mercy and love.

Most of

Second day. sick friend,

who

day was occupied

this

in a visit to a

appear'd comforted therewith.

Spent part of

the evening in reading part of Paul's Epistle to the Romans.

Third day. vocations.

was busied most

I

Spent

ians

;

in

evening

the

Found considerable

of this day in

principally

who were

knowledge of the

truth,

whom

all

in setting

without looking through and beyond first

cause and Author of every

month.

At our meeting to-day found

as usual, a very close steady exercise to keep the it

ought to

imperceptibly, as its

it

be.

What

were,

Felt a

little

mind

it,

center'd

a multitude of intruding thoughts

steal into the

proper object, whenever

against them.

too high

the praise and honor are due.

Fifth day, ist of 4th

where

Paul.

instrumental in bringing them to the

the instrument, to the great blessing, to

reading

satisfaction in his first epistle to the Corinth-

which he shows the danger of some

a value on those

in

my common

it

relaxes

mind, and turn

its

it

from

vigilance in watching

strength, just at the close, to remind

Friends of the necessity of a steady perseverance, by a recapitulation of the parable of the

unjust judge,

ought always to pray, and not to faint [3541

showing how men


November Bougb^ Nothing material occurr'd, but a

Sixth day.

much

cares of the world should engross too

Had an

Seventh day. friends,

whom

manual

in

But

we

I

have long

labor,

we

lov'd.

The

of

visit

my

time.

from two ancient

day

rest of the

I

employ'd

mostly in gardening.

find

shall lay

agreeable

fear lest the

if

we

attend to records and details,

We

out an endless task.

can briefly

whole life was a long religious missionary life of method, practicality, sincerity, earnestness, and pure piety as near to his time here, as one in Judea, far back or in any life, any age. The reader who feels interested must get with all its dryness and mere dates, absence of emotionality or literary quality, and whatever abstract say, summarily, that his

— —

attraction (with

even a suspicion of cant,

sniffling)

the Journal of the Life and Religious Labours of Elias Hicks, Written hy Himself, at

book-store.

(It

is

from this headquarters

extracted the preceding quotations.)

matured

life,

some Quaker

continued from

During

I

have

E. H.'s

to sixty years

fifty

while working steadily, earning his living and paying his

way without

intermission

— he

makes, as

previously memorandized, several hundred preaching of

visits,

not only through Long Island, but some

them away

into the Middle or Southern States, or

north into Canada, or the then

far

West

— extending

to thousands of miles, or filling several

sometimes

months.

These

religious

weeks and journeys

scrupulously accepting in payment only his trans[255]


I^ovcmbcr BouQbe portation from place to place, with his shelter,

and never receiving a

"salary" or preaching

dollar

through good bodily

Elias,

health and strength, continues

till

quite the age of

was thus at one of his Brooklyn city saw and heard him.

eighty.

It

latest jaunts in

This sight and

I

hearing shall

now

be described.

was

Elias Hicks

at this period in the latter part

(November or December) of tour of the

was

in

many

own food and of money for

1829.

was the

It

missions of the old man's

last

He

life.

the 8ist year of his age, and a few months

before he had lost

whom he

had

by death a beloved wife with

lived in unalloyed affection

and esteem

(But a few months after this meeting

for 58 years.

Though it is sixty and a little boy at the time in years ago since Brooklyn, New York can remember my father coming home toward sunset from his day's work as Elias

was paralyzed and

died.)

I

I

carpenter, and saying briefly, as he throws

down

armful of kindling-blocks with a bounce kitchen floor, night."

Then

''Come, mother,

my mother,

the table-cleaning

young woman, a keep house

for

ones to bed

on the

Elias preaches to-

hastening the supper and

afterward,

gets

a

neighboring

friend of the family, to step in

an hour or so

— and as

his

— puts

the

two

and little

had been behaving well that day, as a special reward was allowed to go also. We start for the meeting. Though, as said, the 1

1

1

stretch of

more than

half a century has pass'd over [356]


movember Bougba

me

war and peace, and all its joys and sins and deaths (and what a half century! how it comes up sometimes for an instant, like the since then, with

its

lightning flash in a storm at night!)

meeting

yet.

It is

buildings

— private

This time

it

anywhere

is

in

a

larly)

with ships

fill'd

respect to

handsome ball-room, on

New

and

sight of that great city,

rivers

— no

— anything that will accommo-

Brooklyn Heights, overlooking full

recall that

or public houses, school-rooms,

barns, even theatres date.

can

a strange place for religious de-

Elias preaches

votions.

I

is

its

York, and in

North and East

more

(to specify

particu-

the second story of ''Morrison's Hotel," used

most genteel concerts,

for the

balls,

and assemblies

a large, cheerful, gay-color'd room, with glass chandeliers bearing

myriads of sparkling pendants, plenty

of settees and chairs, and a sort of velvet divan run-

ning

and

all

all

round the side- walls.

Before long the divan

the settees and chairs are

ionables out of curiosity

;

all

fill'd

;

many

fash-

the principal dignitaries

of the town, Gen. Jeremiah Johnson, Judge Furman,

George

Hall, Mr.

Morse, Cyrus

Willoughby, Mr. Pierrepont, N. Smith, and

P.

F.

B.

Many women

C. Tucker.

young folks too some richly dress'd remember noticed with one party of ladies ;

;

I

a

group

of uniform'd officers, either from the U. S.

Navy

I

Yard, or fort.

some

On

ship in the stream, or

some adjacent

a slightly elevated platform at the head of

the room, facing the audience, VOL. VI.— 17.

[257]

sit

a dozen or more


November Bougbe most of them elderly, grim, and with their broad-brimmed hats on their heads. Three or four women, too, in their characteristic Quaker costumes and bonnets. All still as the grave. At length after a pause and stillness becoming almost painful, Elias rises and stands for a moment or Friends,

two without

A

a word.

tall,

stout nor very thin, dress'd

shaved

face,

straight figure, neither in

drab cloth, clean-

forehead of great expanse, and large and

clear black eyes,* long or middling-long

he was

at this

head

his

still

white

hair;

time between 80 and 81 years of age,

A moment

wearing the broad-brim.

looking around the audience with those piercing eyes,

amid the perfect stillness. (I can almost see him and the whole scene now.) Then the words come from his lips, very emphatically

a resonant, grave, chief end of

was I

melodious voice, IVhat

the

is

fervid,

it

I

cannot follow the discourse.

comes very

in

was told in my eariy youth, God, and seek and enjoy him forever.

man ?

to glorify

and slowly pronounced,

and

in

It

presently be-

the midst of

its

fervor he

takes the broad-brim hat from his head and almost

dashing

it

down with

violence on the seat behind,

continues with uninterrupted earnestness. say,

I

the differences and disputes of the formal di-

vision of the Society of Friends Walter Scott's reminiscences he speaks of

were even then under Bums

as having the

glowing, flashing, illuminated dark-orbed eyes he ever beheld in a I

I

cannot repeat, hardly suggest his sermon.

Though In

But,

think Elias Hicks's must have been like them.

[358]

most eloquent,

human

face

;

and


IRovember Bougb0 way, he did not allude to them

at

A

all.

pleading,

nearly agonizing conviction, and magnetic

tender,

stream of natural eloquence, before which

and natures,

all

all

emotions, high or low, gentle or

simple, yielded entirely without exception, cause, method, in tears.

minds

and

its

Many, very many were

effect.

Years afterward

was

in

Boston,

I

heard Father

Taylor, the sailor's preacher, and found in his passionate unstudied oratory the resemblance to Elias Hicks's

— not argumentative or ting — so different from anything

intellectual,

ferent as the fresh air of a

in

but so penetra-

the books

(dif-

May morning or a sea-shore

breeze from the atmosphere of a perfumer's shop).

While he goes on he falls into the nasality and singsong tone sometimes heard in such meetings; but in a moment or two more as if recollecting himself, he breaks off, stops, and resumes in a natural tone. This occurs three or four times during the talk of the evening,

Now

till all

concludes.

and then,

many

at the

scores and hundreds

— even thousands — of his discourses — as at one — he was very mystical and radical,* and *The

true Christian religion (such

was the teaching of

Elias

this

had

Hicks), consists

Sundays but in noiseless secret ecstasy and unremitted aspiration, in purity, in a good practical life, in charity to the poor and toleration to all. He said, " A man may keep the Sabbath, may belong to a church and attend all the observances, have regular family prayer, keep a well-bound copy neither in rites or Bibles or sermons or

of the

Hebrew

Scriptures in a conspicuous place in his house,

religious person at all."

E. believ'd little in a

with houses, ministers, or with vals,

&c.

salaries,

But he believ'd always

in

and yet not be a

church as organiz'd

— even

his

truly

own

creeds^ Sundays, saints, Bibles, holy festi-

the universal church, in the soul of man, invis-

ibly rapt, ever-waiting, ever-responding to universal truths.

[259]

— He was fond of pithy


November Bougba much

Very

to say of ''the light within."

likely this

same inner light (so dwelt upon by newer men, as by Fox and Barclay at the beginning, and all Friends and deep thinkers since and now), another

name

perhaps only

for the religious conscience.

opinion they have tors, the real

is

all

In

my

diagnos'd, like superior doc-

inmost disease of our times, probably

any times. Amid the huge inflammation call'd society, and that other inflammation call'd politics, what is there to-day of moral power and ethic sanity as antiseptic to them and all ? Though think the I

essential elements of the moral nature exist latent in

the good average people of the United States of to-day, and sometimes break out strongly,

it

is

cer-

any mark'd or dominating National Morality (if may use the phrase) has not only not yet been developed, but that at any rate when the point of view is turn'd on business, politics, competition, practical life, and in character and manners in our tain that I

—

New World — there seems

to be a hideous depletion,

almost absence, of such moral nature. throughout, as George Fox began ated and verified

it,

ideals of character,

He

proverbs.

once to

my

devil than

said,

father,

It

stake, are to be conformed

creeds. Bibles, legislative

matters not where you

"They

reiter-

of justice, of religious action,

conventionalities, "

or rather

the Platonic doctrine that the

whenever the highest is at to no outside doctrine of enactments,

it,

Elias taught

talk of the devil

—

man." [260]

I

or

live, tell

but

even decorums, how you

He said b no worse

live."

thee, Walter, there


IRovem&er

ffioufiba

but are to follow the inward Deity-planted law of the emotional soul.

has

Friend,

faith;

and

strainingly carrying

New

only the true Quaker, or

In this

it

from

is

it

rigidly,

out, that both the

perhaps

Old and

England records of Quakerdom show some un-

seemly and insane one of the

In

acts.

lives of

Ralph Waldo Emerson

is

a

of lessons or instructions (''sealed orders" the

list

biographer for his

Go them light

own

calls

them), prepar'd by the sage himself

Here

guidance.

forth with thy

that they

must

is

one:

message among thy fellow-creatures; te^ch guided by that inner

trust themselves as

which dwells with the pure

heart,

in

to

whom

it

was

promis'd of old that they shall see God.

How

Then

Hicks. 1

thoroughly

sent

my

in

it fits

the

and theory of

life

Elias

Omar Khayyam:

soul through the Invisible,

Some letter of that after-life to spell. And by-and-by my soul return'd to me. And answer'd, '* myself am Heaven and I

Hell."

Indeed, of this important element of the theory

and practice of Quakerism, the difficult-to-describe ** Light within" or ''Inward Law, by which all

must be

undertake where so

many have

making the statement of hension.

condemn'd,"

either justified or

We

it

for

fail'd

will not

the average compre-

will give, partly for the matter

partly as specimen of his speaking

what

I

— the task of

and writing

Elias Hicks himself says in allusion to [261]

it

and

style,

— one


Tlovember »ougb0

two of very many

or

Most of

passages.

his dis-

courses, like those of Epictetus and the ancient peri-

have

patetics,

no record remaining— they were

left

extempore, and those were not the times of reporters.

Of one, however,

deliver'd in Chester, Pa.,

the latter part of his career, there

and from

cript;

it

hidden wheat that

(even

is

toward

a careful trans-

presenting you a sheaf of

if

may need

to be pick'd

and thrash'd

out several times before you get the grain),

we

give

the following extract: don't

I

want to express

to be call'd

home

recommend

*'God

him.

walk

to this Comforter,

is light,

in the light, as

with another."

and he

dwell in

and

if

in

is in

him

is

no darkness

the light,

Because the light

we

one

is

— that love which casts out God dwell "walk

they

in love, in

it,

my

sin,

was

the

it.

life

life

we

in

and therefore

all,

is

it

not only

it

light,

who in it;

So

son cleanseth us from

his

Did Jesus

friends ?

The

all

sin."

Christ, the Saviour,

Not a drop of

it,

my

soul of

friends

of

all

life

man

has no

outward material blood, created from

the

life

of these bodies of flesh, so with

respect to the soul, the immortal

which God breath'd

As we

if

have fellowship one

all fear.

of the soul of Jesus.

is

and

in

they have fellowship one with another,

material blood; but as the

that

at all;

That blood which cleanseth from the

the dust of the earth,

all

and they are constrain'd to walk

ever have any material blood?

not a drop of

want you

that they

and the blood of Jesus Christ But what blood,

I

which was the hght

binds us together in the bonds of love; for

but love

but

For the Scriptures, and

do no more; Jesus could do no more

the books in the world, can

than to

many words;

a great

to the substance.

into

and

invisible spirit, its blood

is

it.

read, in the beginning, that [262]

"God

form'd

man

of the


IRovember ffiougbe dust of the ground, and breath'd into him the breath of life, and

man became became

He

a living soul."

alive to

breath'd into that soul, and

it

God.

Then, from one of his

many

he seems

letters, for

to have delighted in correspondence:

Some may answer. heart,

ble

It is

and

query,

it.

the cross of Christ

is

To

?

these

I

the perfect law of God, written on the tablet of the

every rational creature, in such indeli-

in the heart of

characters that

obliterate

What

the

all

Neither

is

power

oi mortals

cannot erase nor

any power or means given or

there

dis-

pens'd to the children of men, but this inward law and

light,

which the

obtained.

And by

true

this

and saving knowledge of God can be

inward law and

condemn'd, and left

all

made

to

light, all will

know God

be either

by

justified or

for themselves,

and be

without excuse, agreeably to the prophecy of Jeremiah, and

the corroborating testimony of Jesus in his

mand

to his

disciples,

counsel and com-

last

not to depart from Jerusalem

till

they

should receive power from on high; assuring them that they should receive power,

when

they had receiv'd the pouring forth

of the spirit upon them, which

would

qualify

them

to bear wit-

ness of him in Judea, Jerusalem, Samaria, and to the uttermost parts of the earth

;

which was

verified in a marvellous

manner

on the day of Pentecost, when thousands were converted to the Christian faith in one day.

By which law, as

it

is

it is

evident that nothing but this inward light and

heeded and obey'd, ever

true and real Christian

and

child of

God.

sors of Christianity agree to lay aside religion,

and

rally to this

did, or ever can,

all

And

make

a

until the profes-

their non-essentials in

unchangeable foundation and standard

of truth, wars and fightings, confusion and error, will prevail, and the angelic song cannot be heard in our land

God

in the highest,

— that of

and on earth peace and good [263]

**

will to

glory to

men."


November Bouaba when

But

law and then is

all

we

shall

And corded

is

faith,

above

then will

know and

through

all,

and they

be

fulfill'd

asp,

cockatrice's den.

They

lift

cow and

but

many

Lord,

people;

up the sword against na-

The wolf also

the bear shall feed

and the wean'd child put shall not hurt

for the earth," that is

his

nor destroy in

;

shall

and the

shall play

hand on the all

my

holy

our earthly tabernacle, "shall be

knowledge of the Lord,

as the waters cover the sea."

exposition in the last sentence, that the terms

of the texts are not to be taken ing,

— "He," the

straw with the ox; and the sucking child

on the hole of the

The

all.

they learn war any more. ;

of the

inward

and works,

swords into ploughshares, and their spears

dwell with the lamb and the

full

in

the nations, and shall rebuke

shall beat their

mountain;

this

believe alike, that there

and

all,

into pruning-hooks ; nation shall not

lion shall eat

make

their faith

those glorious and consoling prophecies re-

all

among

tion, neither shall

all

and but one baptism; one God and

in the scriptures of truth

"shall judge

willing to

and standard of

be brought to

but one Lord, one

Father, that

made

nations are

light the rule

in their spiritual

in their literal

mean-

one, and allude to a certain

wondrous exaltation of the body, through religious influences, is significant, and is but one ofa great number of instances of

much

that

is

obscure, to

*'

the world's

people,'* in the preachings of this remarkable

Then a word

nected with the preceding. there

is,

man.

about his physical oratory, conIf

there

is,

as doubtless

an unnameable something behind oratory, a

fund within or atmosphere without, deeper than

art,

deeper even than proof, that unnameable constitutional

something

Elias Hicks

emanated from

his very


IRovember ffiougba heart to the hearts of his audience, or carried with

him, or probed into, and shook and arous'd in them

—a

sympathetic germ, probably rapport, lurking

human

every

eligibility,

which no book, no

rule,

in

no

statement has given or can give inherent knowledge,

— not

intuition

even the best speech, or best put

human

but launched out only by powerful

forth,

magnetism Unheard by sharpest ear

Nor

lore,

in clearest eye, or

cunning-

mind,

est

And

— unform'd

nor fame, nor happiness, nor wealth.

yet the pulse of every heart and

life

throughout the world,

incessantly,

Which you and Open, but

a

still

I,

and

all,

pursuing ever, ever miss;

secret — the

real of the real

Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never

Which Which Which

poets vainly seek to put in

— an

man

rhyme

illusion;

the owner;

— historians

in prose

sculptor never chisel'd yet, nor painter painted; vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter' d.

aspiration

that mere worldly life towards the ideal, which, however over-

laid,

folded latent,

That remorse, lies

More

character.

(aided

by

my

too, for a

hidden,

perhaps every

in

definitely, as near as

I

remember

dear mother long afterward), Elias

Hicks's discourse there in the Brooklyn ball-room,

was one of

his old never-remitted appeals to that

moral mystical portion of light.

But

mainly

it is

personnel, that

I

recall

human

for the

scene

the incident. [265]

nature, the inner itself,

and

Elias's


November Bougba Soon afterward the old man died: On

day morning, the 14th of ad month (February, 1830,) in his room, writing to a friend, until a little

first

he was engaged

when he

after ten o'clock,

return'd to that occupied

by the fam-

apparently just attack'd by a paralytic affection, which nearly

ily,

deprived him of the use of his right side, and of the power

Being assisted to a chair near the

of speech.

by

signs, that the letter

which he had just

fire,

he manifested

finish'd,

and which had

been dropp'd by the way, should be taken care of; and on

its

be-

ing brought to him, appear'd satisfied, and manifested a desire that all

should

labours

sit

down and be

were brought

waiting the

to a close,

change.

final

still,

seemingly sensible that his

and only desirous of quietly

The solemn composure

manifest in his countenance,

was very

at this

time

impressive, indicating that

he was sensible the time of his departure was at hand, and that the prospect of death brought no terrors with illness, his

was

at times

him, that

During

it.

his last

mental faculties were occasionally obscured, yet he

all

enabled to give satisfactory evidence to those around

was

well,

and that he

nothing

felt

in his

way.

His funeral took place on fourth day, the 3d of 3d month.

was attended by a solid meeting was were

I

others,

It

and a

held on the occasion; after which, his remains

Friends' burial-ground at this place Qericho,

interr'd in

Qyeens County,

and

large concourse of Friends

New

York.)

have thought (even presented so incompletely,

with such

fearful hiatuses,

and waning

life)

and

in

one might well memorize

Though not eminent

Elias Hicks.

politics or inventions or business,

a few,

and

my own

is

significant. I2661

in

it is

feebleness this

life

of

literature or

a token of not

Such men do not cope


November with statesmen or soldiers

ffiougb^

— but

I

have thought they

deserve to be recorded and kept up as a sample that this one specially does.

pared

it

to a

little

flowing liquid

As

maintaining freshness.

smoke

I

if,

have already comrill

of Nature's

indeed,

— the

life,

under the

of battles, the blare of trumpets, and the

ness of contending hosts

mad-

screams of passion,

the groans of the suffering, the parching of struggles of

money and

politics,

and

all hell's

heat and noise

around — should

come and competition above and melting down from the mountains from sources of up there in God's hidden, untrodden recesses, and so rippling along among us low in the ground, at men's very feet, a curious little unpolluted snows,

brook of

clear

and

far

cool,

and ever-healthy, ever-living

water. Note.

— The Separation. — The

division vulgarly

between Orthodox and Hicksites in the Society of Friends took place in 1827, '8 and '9. Probably it had been preparing some time. One who call'd

was at a

present has since described to

meeting of Friends

in

me

Philadelphia

the climax,

crowded by a

great attendance of both sexes, with Elias as principal speaker.

In

the course of his utterance or argu-

ment he made use of these words: ''The blood of Christ— the blood of Christ— why, my friends, the actual blood of Christ in itself was no more effectual than the blood of bulls and goats not a bit more not a bit." At these words, after a momentary

[267]


flopcmber iSougba

commenced

Hundreds rose to Canes were thump'd upon the their feet. floor. From all parts of the house angry mutterings. Some left the place, but more remain 'd, with exclamations, flush'd faces and eyes. This was the definite utterance, the overt act, which led to the even husbands and Families diverged separation. wives, parents and children, were separated. hush,

.

a great tumult.

.

.

Of course what Elias promulg'd spread a great commotion among the Friends. Sometimes when he presented himself to speak

would be opposition unseemly

ures,

in

the meeting, there

— this led to angry words, gest-

noises, recriminations.

times,

was deeply affected—the tears

down

his cheeks ''

the dispute.

speak

!

silently

tried to bluff off

son objecting to the

new

some

such

roU'd in streams

waited the close of

Let the Friend speak;

he would say when

"

meeting

— he

Elias, at

let

the Friend

his supporters in the

violent orthodox per-

doctrinaire.

But he never

recanted.

A

reviewer of the old dispute and separation

made the

comments on them in a paper ten years ago 'Mt was in America, where there had been no persecution worth mentioning since Mary Dyer was hanged on Boston Common, that about following :

fifty

upon

years ago differences arose, singularly enough doctrinal points of the divinity of Christ

Whoever would know controversy, and how much of

the nature of the atonement.

how

bitter

was the

and

[a68]


IRovember Bougba

human

was found

infirmity

to be

lurking under

still

broad-brim hats and drab coats, must seek information in the Lives of Elias Hicks and of Shillitoe,

gifts as

a peacemaker with but

who little

Thomas

who

the latter an English Friend,

us at this unfortunate time, and

for the

visited

exercised his success.

The

meetings, according to his testimony, were some-

The

times turn'd into mobs.

disruption

was wide,

and seems to have been final. Six of the ten yearly meetings were divided; and since that time various sub-divisions have come, four or five in number.

There has never, however, been anything repetition of the

able state,

a

excitement of the Hicksite con-

troversy; and Friends of to have settled

like

down

all

kinds at present appear

into a solid, steady, comfort-

and to be working

their

in

own way

without troubling other Friends whose ways are different.

Note.— Old persons, who heard day, and

who

saw of him

man

this

glean 'd impressions from

(judg'd from their

own

in his

what they

points of views),

have, in their conversation with me, dwelt on another point.

They think

Elias Hicks

had a large

element of personal ambition, the pride of leadership, of establishing perhaps a sect that should reflect his

own name, and

which he should give especial form and character. Very likely. Such indeed seems the means, all through progress and civilization, by which strong men and strong convictions achieve to

[269]


November BouQba anything

But the basic foundation of Elias

definite.

was undoubtedly genuine religious fervor. He was He had the spirit of like an old Hebrew prophet.

What

one, and in his later years look'd like one. Carlyle says of John

He

is

comes

Knox

an instance to us

heroic;

it

is

how

a man, by sincerity

the grand gift he has.

good, honest, intellectual

talent,

him:

will apply to

We

itself,

find in

—a

no transcendent one;

row, inconsiderable man, as compared with Luther; but felt

instinctive

adherence to truth,

no superior; nay, one might of him

is

ask.

in sincerity as

What

of the true Prophet cast.

we

lies

a

nar-

in heart-

say, he has

equal he has

" He

be-

him

?

The

heart

there," said the Earl

of Morton at Knox's grave, **who never fear'd the face of man."

He

resembles,

Prophet.

more than any of the moderns, an

The same

inflexibility, intolerance, rigid,

old

Hebrew

narrow-look-

ing adherence to God's truth.

A

Note

under

all

The United States To-day,— ^hWt

Yet,

previous conditions (even convictions) of

society, Oriental, Feudal, Ecclesiastical,

past

(or

present)

past, there existed,

and

in

all

Despotisms, through the entire

and

exists yet, in ally

and fusion

with them, and frequently forming the main part of them, certain churches, fervid beliefs,

&c.,

institutes,

practically

priesthoods,

promoting religious

and moral action to the fullest degrees of which humanity there under circumstances was capable, and often conserving all there was of justice, art, say, literature, and good manners— it is clear I

that,

under the Democratic Institutes of the United [270]


movem&er States,

now and

ffiougba

henceforth, there are no equally

genuine fountains of fervid

beliefs,

duce similar moral and religious to our circumstances. sects,

I

consider that the churches,

by any

States, exist not

according

results,

present day, in the United

of the

pulpits,

adapted to pro-

but by a

solid convictions,

Few

sort of tacit, supercilious, scornful suffrance.

— none

speak openly

officially

— against them.

the ostent continuously imposing, that

any such

now utterly of men ?

not aware

is

them are and departed from the minds

living fountains of belief in

ceas'd

A Lingering Note.— In all

who

But

the making of a

full

man,

the other consciences, (the emotional, courage-

ous,

intellectual,

esthetic,

&c.,) are to be crown'd

and effused by the

religious

higher structure of a

human

conscience.

self,

or of

In

the

community,

the Moral, the Religious, the Spiritual,

is

strictly

analogous to the subtle vitalization and antiseptic play caird Health in the physiologic structure.

To

person or State, the main verteber (or rather the verteber)

is

Morality.

That

vitalization of character,

even heroic and ality.

parts,

It

is

to

artistic

is

and of

indeed the only all

real

the supersensual,

portions of

man

or nation-

run through and knit the superior

and keep man or State

vital

and upright, as

and blooming. Of course a really grand and strong and beautiful character is probably to be slowly grown, and adjusted health keeps the

body

straight

[271]


flovembcr Bouflba with reference to

strictly

— with

social sphere

own

itself, its

personal and

(paradox though

may

it

be)

the clear understanding that the conventional theoof

ries

worldly ambition, wealth,

life,

fame,

office,

&c., are essentially but glittering mayas, delusions.

Doubtless the greatest scientists and theologians will

sometimes

those

find themselves saying,

who know

God's glory.

who

most,

only

most to

contribute

these very

Doubtless

is n't

It

scientists

at

times stand with bared heads before the humblest lives

and

greater

(is

For

personalities.

there not?) than

— above

of the world ing eternal

— above

all

all

there

the science and like

else,

Shakspere's plays, or Concord

that shines elusive, like

prov'd by after its

all

own

— the

of divine love and faith

in a

acter—blending

for

mon, and the

at

even-

the vaunted wealth and pride—

concomitants

for

— something

beams of Hesperus

practical outcropping in

its

poems

the stars shin-

philosophy, or artof Angelo or Raphael

ing—high above

something

is

all,

life,

each case

intuitive blending

human emotional

char-

the unlearn 'd, the com-

poor.

know

what book once read, (possibly the remark has been made in books, all ages,) that no life ever lived, even the most uneventful, but, probed to its centre, would be found in itself as subtle a drama as any that poets have ever sung, I

don't

in

I

or playwrights

fabled.

weight, that

suppos'd obscure.

life

Often,

too,

in

For

it

size

and

isn't only


IRovember ffiougba the palpable stars; astronomers say there are dark, or almost dark, unnotic'd orbs and suns, (like the

dusky companions of as our

own

Sirius,

seven times as large

sun,) rolling through space, real and

— perhaps

potent as any

Yet none recks of them.

the most real and potent. In the bright lexicon

we

give the spreading heavens, they have not even

Amid ceaseless sophistications all times, the soul would seem to glance yearningly around names. for

— such cool,

such contrasts

While we

still

are about

it,

offsets.

we must

almost

go back to the origin of the Society of which Elias Hicks has so far spere) prov'd to be the most mark'd individual We must revert to the latter part of the result. 6th, and all, or nearly all of that 17th century, crowded with so many important historical events, changes, and personages. Throughout Europe, and especially in what we call our Mother Country, men were unusually arous'd (some would say de-

f^d^Shlk!

i^^vitably

1

mented).

It

was

a special age of the insanity of

witch-trials

and witch-hangings.

were hung

for

alone.

It

was

witchcraft in

In

one year 60

one English county

peculiarly an age of military-religious

conflict.

Protestantism and Catholicism were wrest-

ling like

giants

for

the

mastery,

straining

Only to think of — that age! — persons Shakspere just dead, (his nerve.

it

its

every events,

folios published,

VOL. VI.— 18.

[273]


November Bougba

— Charles

complete)

shadowy spirit and To sum up all, it was the age

the solid block!

First,

the

of Cromwell!

As indispensable foreground, indeed, for Elias Hicks, and perhaps sine qua non to an estimate of the kind of man, we must briefly transport ourselves back to the England of that period. As say, it is the time of tremendous moral and political agitation; I

ideas of conflicting forms, governments, theologies,

seethe and dash like ocean storms, and ebb and

flow

mighty

like

tides.

It

was, or had been, the

time of the long feud between the Parliament and the Crown.

George Fox

In

began

the midst of the sprouts,

— born

eight years after the death of

He was the son of a weaver, himself shoemaker, and was *' converted " before the age

Shakspere. a

of 20.

O

But

the sufferings, mental and physical,

through which those years of the strange youth

He

pass'd!

*M come," he

mission.

the

claim'd to be sent

spirit

that gave

said,

forth

by God

fulfill

a

''to direct people to

the

range of his thought, even

to

Scriptures."

The

then, covered almost

every important subject of after times, anti-slavery,

women's

among

Though

rights, &c.

in a

low sphere, and

the masses, he forms a mark'd feature in

the age.

And how,

indeed,

and perturbed age!

beyond

all

any, that stormy

The foundations

of the old, the

superstitious, the conventionally poetic, the credu[^74]


November lous,

all

and

science

mad,

breaking

fierce,

— the

ffiouQbe

light of the

democracy,

definitely

almost crazy age!

The

new, and of beginning

political strug-

the reigns of the Charleses,

gles of

and of the

by theo-

Protectorate of Cromwell, heated to frenzy

Those were the years following the advent and practical working of the Reformation but Catholicism is yet strong, and yet seeks logical struggles.

We

supremacy.

men and

think our age

full

doings, and culminations of

of the flush of

war and peace;

and so it is. But there could hardly be a grander and more picturesque and varied age than that. Born out of and in this age, when Milton, Bunyan,

Dryden and John Locke were still living amid the memories of Queen Elizabeth and James First, and the events of their reigns

— when

the radiance of

that galaxy of poets, warriors, statesmen, captains, lords, explorers, wits

and gentlemen, that crowded

the courts and times of those sovereigns

the atmosphere

— when America

explored and settled as

to gather in

a

overthrow

destin'd to

calculations

one

new

and domestic

new

effort,

in a

to be

also to be suspected

like a sunset,

and

seem'd

circles of that

sphere

before the advance of

— amid the social period — indifferent to

incipient genius

reverberations that seem'd

and

commencing

glories, reminiscences, personalisms,

gorgeous

day, a

filfd

the old standards

— when Feudalism,

all its

last

commenc'd

still

far

enough

to

wake

the dead,

from the pageants of the court, [275]


November Bouflbs the

awe

charm of

of any personal rank or

intellect,

or literature, or the varying excitement of Parlia-

mentarian or Royalist fortunes rustic

— this curious young

down was of

goes wandering up and

George Fox, born ordinary lower

decent stock,

in

— as he grew along toward manshoemaking, also farm labors —

life

hood, work'd at loved to be

1624,

England.

at

much by

himself, half-hidden in the

— went

about from town

to town, dress'd in leather clothes

— walk'd much at

woods, reading the Bible

C'the inward divine sometimes goes among the

night, solitary, deeply troubled

teaching of the Lord ")

ecclesiastical gatherings of the great professors,

and

though a mere youth bears bold testimony goes to and fro disputing (must have had great personality)

— heard the

voice of the Lord speaking articulately

to him, as he walked in the fields

commands stain

feels resistless

not to be explained, but follow'd, to ab-

from taking off his hat, to say thee and thou,

and not bid others Good morning or Good evening

— was

illiterate,

against

could just read and write

testifies

shows, games, and frivolous pleasures

enters the courts and warns the judges that they

see to doing justice

— goes

into public houses

and

market-places, with denunciations of drunkenness

and money-making services,

and gives

rises in the

his

ministers' explanations,

texts

— sometimes

for

own

midst of the church-

explanations of the

and of Bible passages and such things put [276]

in

prison,


movember Bougbe on the mouth on the spot, or knock'd down, and lying there beaten and bloody was of keen wit, ready to any question with the

sometimes struck

fiercely

was sometimes pressed most apropos of answers was indeed terrifor a soldier, {him for a soldier!)

— often sleeping hay stacks — forever

bly buffeted; but goes, goes, goes

under hedges, or

out-doors,

taken before justices

— improving such, and

all

occa-

sions, to bear testimony, and give good advice —

still

enters the ''steeple-houses," (as he calls churches,)

and though often dragg'd out and whipt till he faints away, and lies like one dead, when he comes to

stands up again, and offering himself

bloody, cries out to his tormenters, again, here

''

all

bruis'd

where you have not yet touch'dl

arms, my head, my cheeks," —

Is at

and

Strike — strike

my

length arrested

and sent up to London, confers with the Protector, Cromwell, is set at liberty, and holds great meetings in London.

Thus going fascinates

on, there

is

something

in

him that

one or two here, and three or four there,

were others who went about in the same spirit, and by degrees the Society of Friends took shape, and stood among the thousand religious until gradually there

sects of the world.

Women also catch

the contagion,

and go round, often shamefully misused. By such contagion these ministerings, by scores, almost hundreds of poor travelling men and women, keep on year after year, through ridicule, whipping, [277]


Tlovcmbcr Bouobe

— some of the Friend-ministers England — where their treatment

imprisonment, &c.

New

emigrate to

makes the

New

blackest part of the early annals of the

World.

Some were

par-burnt, and scourged

executed, others maim'd,

— two hundred die

— some on the gallows, or

in prison

at the stake.

George Fox himself visited America, and found a refuge and hearers, and preach'd many times on Long In the village of Oyster Bay Island, New York State. they will show you the rock on which he stood, (1672,) addressing the multitude, in the

open

air

thus rigidly following the fashion of apostolic times.

(I

have heard myself many reminiscences of him.)

Flushing also contains (or contained

I

have seen

them) memorials of Fox, and his son, in two aged white-oak trees, that shaded him while he bore his Yes, testimony to people gathered in the highway. althe American Quakers were much persecuted most as much, by a sort of consent of all the other sects, as the Jews were in Europe in the middle In New England, the cruelest laws were ages. As said, pass'd, and put in execution against them. some were whipt women the same as men. Some had their ears cut off— others their tongues pierc'd

— —

with hot irons still,

a

(1660).

— others their

woman

and three

faces branded.

Worse

men had been hang'd

— Public opinion, and the statutes, join'd to-

gether, in an odious union, Quakers, Baptists,

Catholics and Witches.

—Such

Roman

a fragmentary sketch


IRovember BouQba of George Fox and his time *'

the Society of Friends " in

Strange as

it

may

Fox, (think of them

!

bred of similar stock,

and

station in

life

himself

One

to radiate

all

of

art's, all

— a splendor so dazzling that he

splendor

— his

the same

America.

compare them !) were born and in much the same surroundings from the same England and

almost lost

is

the advent of

sound, Shakspere and George

at a similar period. literature's

— and

in

it,

and

his contemporaries

Othello,

fictitious

Romeo, Hamlet,

any lords of England or Europe then more real to us, the mind sometimes

Lear, as real as

and there

man Shakspere himself. Then the we indeed name him the same day?

thinks, than the

other — may

What

poor plain George Fox compared to William

is

Shakspere

— to fancy's

lord, imagination's heir ?

Yet

George Fox stands for something too a thought the thought that wakes in silent hours— perhaps the

most

deepest,

This

soul.

is

all else.

the

and the immortality of this thought aye, greater

When

is

the gorgeous pageant of Art,

refulgent in the sunshine, color'd with roses

— with

all

human

right

Great, great

identity.

in

the thought of God, merged in the

thoughts of moral than

thought latent

eternal

and gold

the richest mere poetry, old or new, (even

Shakspere's,) with

all

music,

architecture,

satisfy

and please

wealth

flags,

that statue,

can

oratory,

— When

and beauty

painting,

effect,

ceases to

the eager chase after

itself

[279]

play,

becomes a loathing—


floveinbcr Bouflba

and when

worldly or carnal or esthetic, or even

having done their

values,

scientific

human

all

and minister'd

character,

velopment—then,

if

to the

their part to its de-

not before, comes forward this

over-arching thought, germinations.

office

and brings

Most neglected

attributes, easily covered

eligibilities,

its

humanity *s deluded and

in life of all

with

crust,

abused, rejected, yet the only certain source of what all

are seeking, but

few or none

find

self clearly see the first, the last, the

and highest heights of purposes of

life.

1

art,

example

is

man

life

or death,

set§ an incarnated

dearest to humanity

after the rest are gone.

And

ful in life,

and

here,

was

for

him,

in

— as the man George Fox him — lived long, and died,

Elias Hicks

done years before

my-

for

deepest depths

these purposes, and up to the light that

the

I

say whoever labors here, makes all

— remains

it

of literature, and of the

contributions here, or best of here, of

in

had

faith-

faithful in death.

[a8o]


(Boob^Bi^e

m^

[a8i]

jfanct



En

ÂŽlb mban's IRejoinber

domain of Literature loftily consider'd (an accomplish'd and veteran critic in his just out work* now says), the kingdom of the Father has pass'd the kingdom of the Son is passing the kingdom of the Spirit begins.' Leaving the reader to chew on and extract the juice and meaning of this, I will proceed to say in melanged form what have had brought out by the English author's essay (he discusses the poetic art mostly) on my own, real, or by him supposed, views and purports. If give any answers to him, or explanations of what my books intend, they will be not direct but indirect and derivaOf course this brief jotting is personal. Sometive. thing very like querulous egotism and growling may break through the narrative (for have been and am rejected by all the great magazines, carry now my 72d annual burden, and have been a paralytic for i8 In the

'

;

;

I

I

I

years). *

Two new

volumes, Essays Speculative

and

Suggestive,

by John Adding-

and my which and cited and dissected. It is this part of the vols, that has caused the off-hand lines above (first thanking Mr. S. for his invariable cour-

ton Symonds.

books

One

of the Essays

is

on

**

are largely alluded to

—

tesy of personal treatment).

[283]

Democratic Art,"

in

1


No

great

poem

work

or other literary or artistic

of any scope, old or new, can be essentially considered

without weighing politics)

and aim,

first

the age, politics (or want of

visible forms,

unseen soul, and

current times, out of the midst of which

formulated spirit

— as

:

it

and

rises

as the Biblic canticles and their days

the Homeric,

is

and

Dante's utterance, or

or

Shakspere's, or the old Scotch or Irish ballads, or

Ossian,

or

Omar Khayyam.

So

1

have conceived

and launched, and work'd for years at, my Leaves personal emanations only at best, but of Grass

with specialty of emergence and background

— the

ripening of the nineteenth century, the thought and fact

and radiation of individuality, of America, the

and showing the democratic con-

secession war,

them or impedes their aggregate way. Doubtless my poems illustrate (one of novel thousands to come for a long

ditions supplanting everything that insults

period) those conditions

;

have to wait long before lated 1

with

and defined will

now

for

if it

*'

but it

is

ever

is.

art,

art " will

satisfactorily

formu-

one indicative moment lock horns

what many think the

question of

democratic

so-caird.

I

greatest thing,

the

have not seen without

learning something therefrom,

how, with hardly an

exception, the poets of this age devote themselves,

always mainly, sometimes altogether, to

fine

rhyme,

spicy verbalism, the fabric and cut of the garment,

jewelry, concetti, style,

art. Caa4]

To-day these adjuncts


6oo&*'B?e nD^ fatten

beyond

are certainly the effort,

lesson of Nature undoubtedly single purpose

toward the

which the time has

for

Yet the

else.

all

to proceed with

is,

arrived, utterly regardless of

which

the outputs of shape, appearance or criticism, are always

left

not bother'd

to settle themselves.

much about

more

confess to

sometimes caught myself

I

have not only

style, form, art, etc.,

or less apathy

believe

(I

— that

I

decided aversion

in

ward them throughout, asking nothing negative advantages

and

result necessitated,

of

have )

own

to-

them but

they should never im-

pede me, and never under any circumstances, or their

but

for

purposes only, assume any mastery over

me.

From the beginning

I

have watch'd the sharp and

sometimes heavy and deep-penetrating objections

and reviews against and audited them

my work,

hope entertained (for have probably had an advantage in constructing from a central and unitary principle since the first, but at long intervals and stages sometimes lapses of five or six years, or and

I

I

;

—

peace or war).

Ruskin, the Englishman, charges as

a fearful and serious lack that

humor.

A

profound German

my poems

have no

complains that,

critic

compared with the luxuriant and well-accepted songs of the world, there coldness, severity,

is

about

my

absence of spice, polish, or of

(The book is autobottom, and may-be do not exhibit

consecutive meaning and plot. biographic at

verse a certain

I

[285]


am partly and make ado about the stock passions of Quaker stock.) Then E. C. Stedman finds (or I

:

found) mark'd

me

with

fault

common

because while cele-

do not allow enough heroism and moral merit and good intentions

brating the

people en masse,

It

In the

matter.

the

first

quite probable that S.

is

main

looked, to the

United States even

I

myself look, and have from

bulky democratic torso of the

for esthetic

and moral attributes

— and refused to aim

anything

America

If

right in the

is

of serious account less.

the dtat-

the college-bred,

to the choicer classes,

major.

1

is

at or accept

only for the rule and

fashion and small typicality of other lands (the rule

of the Hat-major)

it

should to-day

that

feel

is

not the land

my

literary

I

take

it

for,

and

aim and theory

had been blanks and misdirections. Strictly judged, most modern poems are but larger or smaller lumps even of sugar, or slices of toothsome sweet cake

the banqueters dwelling on those glucose flavors as a main part of the dish.

Which perhaps

to have great heroic poetry

something:

leads to

we

great readers— a heroic appetite and audience.

we

at present

any such

Then the thought repeated.

Have

?

at

the centre, never too often

Boundless material wealth,

organization,

need

immense geographic

cedented ''business" and products

free political

area,

and unpre-

— even the most

and "culture'*— will not place this Commonwealth of ours on the topmost range of

active intellect

[286]


(Boob*»B?e flD? ffanc?

history

— or any eminence of " demo-

and humanity

art"— to say nothing of

cratic

Only

pinnacle.

its

the production (and on the most copious scale) of loftiest

moral, spiritual and heroic personal illustra-

tions—a

great

native

headed with a

Literature

Poetry stronger and sweeter than any yet.

If

there

can be any such thing as a kosmic modern and original song, In

my

America needs

and

it,

opinion to-day (bitter as

is

it is

worthy of

it.

to say so) the

outputs through civilized nations everywhere from the great words Literature, Art, Religion, &c., with their conventional administerers, stand squarely in

the

way

signify,

them

what the vitalities of those great words more than they really prepare the soil for of

— or plant the seeds, or cultivate or garner the My own

crop.

World

opinion has long been, that for

New

service our ideas of beauty (inherited from

the Greeks, and so on to Shakspere

them

verted from

and made anew standards.

But

if

— query — per-

need to be radically changed,

?)

for

to-day's purposes and finer

so,

it

will all

come

in

due time

the real change will be an autochthonic,

interior,

which our noare wondrous lovely,

constitutional, even local one, from

tions of beauty (lines

but character

is

lovelier) will

So much have rulity),

and colors

that there

I

is

now

branch or off-shoot.

rattled off (old age's gar-

not space for explaining the

most important and pregnant that

Art

is

one,

is

not

partial, [287]

principle of

but includes

all,

all

vi:(.,

times


and forms and sorts— is not exclusively

aristocratic

or democratic, or oriental or occidental.

My favorite

symbol would be a good

font of type,

impeccable long-primer rejects nothing.

Dutch flour-miller, self what road the wheat and rye."

The art

font

is

who

said,

folks

come

** I

—

where the Or the old

never bother 1

my-

only want good

about the same forever.

Democratic

results of democratic development, from tinge,

true nationality, belief, in the one setting up from

CÂťwi

it.


®lb ipoets Poetry (I am clear) is eligible of something far more ripen'd and ample, our lands and pending days, than it has yet produced from any utterance old or

Modern

new.

challenging

— while

it

or

new

with severe

poetry,

too,

criticism,)

is

(viewing or largely a void

the very cognizance, or even suspicion of

that void, and the need of filling

it,

proves a certainty

of the hidden and waiting supply.

Leaving other

lands and languages to speak for themselves,

can abruptly but deeply suggest

— going

first

it

best from our

we own

to oversea illustrations, and standing

on them.

Think of Byron, Burns, Shelley, Keats, (even first-raters, ''the brothers of the radiant summit," as William O'Connor calls them,) as having done only their precursory and 'prentice work, and all their best and real poems being left yet unwrought, untouched. Is it difficult to imagine ahead of us and them, evolv'd from them, poesy completer far than any they themselves fulfill'd? One has in his eye and mind some very large, very old, entirely sound and vital tree or vine, like certain hardy, everfruitful VOL.

specimens — 19.

in California

VI.

[289]

and Canada, or down


<5ooNB?c in

Mexico, (and indeed

chronological

flD?

in

fane? beyond the

lands)

all

records — illustrations of growth, con-

power, amplitude and exploitation, almost

tinuity,

beyond statement, but proving

and

fact

possibility,

outside of argument.

Perhaps,

indeed,

the rarest and most blessed

quality of transcendent noble poetry

— as

of law,

and of the profoundest wisdom and estheticism (I

would suggest,) from sane, completed,

is,

vital,

capable old age.

The

final

proof of song or personality

is

a sort of

matured, accreted, superb, evoluted, almost divine, impalpable diffuseness and atmosphere or invisible

magnetism, dissolving and embracing all— and not

any

special

form,

achievement of passion, pride, metrical

epigram,

plot,

thought,

what

or

is

caird

beauty.

The bud

flower

beautiful, of course, but only the perfected

is

bloom or apple or rest Completed

of the rose or the half-blown

finished

beyond the comes (in my

wheat-head

fruitage like this

opinion) to a grand age, in

man

or

is

woman, through

an essentially sound continuated physiology and

psychology (both important) and glorious aureole of

all

it

others,

its

style uniting

Let us diversify the matter a [a90]

Like

stands at last in a

power and productiveness of

and of a sort and proofs and adherences.

all

the culminating

and several preceding.

the tree or vine just mentioned, beauty,

is

little

own, above

all

criticisms,

by portraying


some

of the American poets from our

own

point of

view. Longfellow, reminiscent, polish'd, elegant, with

the

air

of finest conventional library, picture-gallery

or parlor, with ladies and gentlemen in them, and

plush and rosewood, and ground-glass lamps, and

mahogany and ebony and scented

and a

furniture,

silver inkstand

satin paper to write on.

Whittier stands for morality (not in any all-accepting philosophic or Hegelian sense, but)

filter'd

through a Puritanical or Quaker filter— is incalculably valuable as a genuine utterance, (and the finest,)

all

many

with

hued with

and Yankee and genre

local

anti-slavery

and

posite ideal

the

— no

Americanism.

scientize

spirit

— not universal try — don't wish

and comto be) for

Americanism would take and law, and democratize and Ideal

and (thence) truly Christianize them

whole, the globe, facts, all

all

Greek

enough (don't

Greek

all

rather a grand figure, but pretty lean

is

ascetic

— (the genre and precious — help.)

coloring

anti-slavery contributions

Whittier's

bits

all

history,

good and bad. Ah

twentieths of us

all

!

What

all

this

for the

ranks and lands,

^^i— this

all

nineteen-

a stumbling-block

it

re-

— what a chance (the strange, clear-as-ever inscription on the old dug-up tablet) yet being translated —

mains

for poets

and metaphysicians it

what can be universe, and

its all

offers

purpose

for

in

? [291]

the God-scheme of this


(5ooN«?c

flfttj

fancp

Then William Cullen Bryant— meditative, from

to last tending to

first

mainly

lyrical

— when

serious,

threnodies— his genius

reading his pieces

who

could

expect or ask for more magnificent ones than such as ''The

and

Battle-Field,"

"A

Hymn";

Forest

Bryant, unrolling, prairie-like, notwithstanding his

mountains and lakes— moral enough (yet worldly

a naturalist, pedestrian, garand conventional) dener and fruiter— well aware of books, but mixing am not sure but to the last in cities and society. his name ought to lead the list of American bards. thought Emerson pre-eminent (and as Years ago to the last polish and intellectual cuteness maybe think so still) but, for reasons, have been gradu1

1

I

ally

I

tending to give the file-leading place for Ameri-

can native poesy to

Of Emerson

1

W.

C. B.

have to confirm

my already avow'd

opinion regarding his highest bardic and personal

Of

attitude. leck,

the galaxy of the past

— of Poe,

Hal-

Mrs. Sigourney, Allston, Willis, Dana, John

Pierpont,

W.

G. Simms, Robert Sands, Drake,

Hill-

house, Theodore Fay, Margaret Fuller, Epes Sargent, Boker, Paul Hayne,

Lanier,

essaying such a theme as their memories,

on the

list

may

and others, this,

I

fitly,

and reverence

in

for

at least give a heart-benison

of their names.

Time and

New World

humanity having the venerable resemblances more than anything else, and being** the same subject continued," just here in


(Boob^Bi^e

fll>?

fane?

one gets a curious nourishment and lift (I do) from all those grand old veterans, Bancroft, Kossuth, and such typical specimen-reminisvon Moltke cences as Sophocles and Goethe, genius, health, beauty of person, riches, rank, renown and length 1890,

—

combining and centering in one case. Above everything, what could humanity and literature do without the mellow, last-justifying, averof days,

all

—

a great many, many years Every really first-class produc-

aging, bringing-up of

old age amplified ?

tion has likely to pass through the crucial tests of a

generation, perhaps several generations.

says the rate in

first

sight of

any work

really

Lord Bacon

new and

first-

beauty and originality always arouses some-

thing disagreeable and repulsive.

Voltaire term'd

the Shaksperean works ''a huge dunghill"; Hamlet

Academy, whose members listen'd with approbation) as ''the dream of a drunken savage, with a few flashes of beautiful thoughts." he described

And

(to the

not the Ferney sage alone; the orthodox judges

and law-givers of France, such as La Harpe, J. L. Geoffroy, and Chateaubriand, either join'd in Voltaire's verdict, or

cists is

went

and regulars there

very significant

anything

new as

in all

further. still

Indeed the

classi-

The

lesson

hold to

departments.

a personal insult.

it.

People resent

When umbrellas who carried them

were first used in England, those were hooted and pelted so furiously that their lives were endangered. The same rage encountered the ÂŁ293]


(SodMB^c attempt real

perform women's parts by

in theatricals to

women, which was

fancu

fl>?

publicly considered disgust-

ing and outrageous.

Byron thought Pope's verse incomparably ahead of Homer and Shakspere. One of the prevalent objections,

was, the learn'd

men

in

the days of

Columbus

boldly asserted that

if

a ship

should reach India she would never get back again,

because the rotundity of the globe would present a kind of mountain, up which to

sail

it

would be impossible

even with the most favorable wind.

Modern poets," says a leading Boston journal, "enjoy longevity. Browning lived to be seventyseven. Wordsworth, Bryant, Emerson, and LongWhittier, Tennyson, and fellow were old men. Walt Whitman still live." Started out by that item on Old Poets and Poetry **

American sustenance

for chyle to inner

gossipp'd about

it

all,

and treated

it

I

from

have thus

my own

point of view, taking the privilege of rambling wher-

Browning

ever the talk carried me.

is

lately dead;

Emerson and Longfellow have not long pass'd away; and yes, Whittier and Tennyson reBryant,

main, over eighty years old

— the

latter

having sent

out not long since a fresh volume, which the English-

speaking Old and

New

Worlds

have already put on record

my

are yet reading.

notions of T. and his

effusions: they are very attractive

me — but

I

and flowery to

flowers, too, are at least as profound as

anything; and by

common [294]

consent T.

is

settled as


©oob:*B?e {Si^ Jfancp the poetic cream-skimmer of our age's melody, ennui

and polish—a verdict

in

which

I

and should

agree,

say that nobody (not even Shakspere) goes deeper in

those exquisitely touch'd and half-hidden hints

and indirections of his lines.

perfumes

left like faint

Of Browning

I

don't

in

the crevices

know enough

to

say much; he must be studied deeply out, too, and quite certainly repays the trouble indolent,

— but

and cannot study (and never

I

am

old and

did).

Grand as to-day's accumulative fund of poetry is, there is certainly something unborn, not yet come forth, different from anything now formulated in any verse, or contributed by the past in any land something waited for, craved, hitherto non-express'd. What it will be, and how, no one knows. It will probably have to prove itself by itself and its readers. One thing, it must run through entire human(this ity new word and meaning Solidarity has arisen to us moderns) twining all lands like a divine thread,

stringing

all

the soul,

and

trating

all

beads, pebbles or gold, from

God and

like God's dynamics and sunshine illusand having reference to all. From any-

thing like a cosmical point of view, the entirety of imaginative literature's themes and results as

them to-day seems been put it

painfully narrow.

we

All that

get

has

statement, tremendous as it is, what is compared with the vast fields and values and in

varieties left unreap'd?

Of our own

country, the

splendid races North or South, and especially of the [295]


(5ooN«?e

flD? jfanc?

Western and Pacific regions, it sometimes seems to me their myriad noblest Homeric and Biblic elements are all untouched, left as if ashamed of, and only certain very minor occasional delirium tremens glints studiously sought and put in print, in short tales, I

poetry " or books.

**

give these speculations, or notions,

in all their

— perhaps

audacity, for the comfort of thousands

a

women's and young men's awe and despair before the immens-

majority of ardent minds,

— who stand ity of in

in

suns and stars already

the

in

Even

the firmament.

and Shakspere there is (is there not ?) a humiliation produced to us by the absorption

Iliad

certain

we sound in equality, or above them, due our own democratic era and sur-

of them, unless

the songs

roundings, and the

(such

in vain

is

my

cessfully to tune

opinion) will America seek suc-

any superb national song unless

the heartstrings of the people start breasts

And

assertion of ourselves.

full

it

from their

own

— to be returned and echoed there again. Sbtp Hboi?

In

dreams

Sailing

I

was

a ship,

and ever

upon the

sailing

and

sail'd

the boundless seas,

seas and into every port, or out

all

offing,

Saluting, cheerily hailing each mate,

"Ship ahoy!"

some

thro'

friendly

met or

trumpet or by voice

merry word

pass'd,

if

little

or big,

nothing more,

at least.

For companionship and good will for ever to [296]

all

and each.


(5oob^B?e jfot

An

Queen

American arbutus hunch

to he

flDp jfanc?

IDtctotta's BirtbDai? put in a

May

Lady, accept a birth-day thought

Right from the scented

soil's

vase on the royal hreakfast table

little

24th, /8po.

— haply an

idle gift

and token,

May-utterance here,

(Smelling of countless blessings, prayers, and old-time thanks,)*

A

bunch of white and pink arbutus,

From Hudson's, Delaware's, Note.

— Very

little,

as

we

silent, spicy, shy,

woody

or Potomac's

Americans stand

this day,

banks.

with our sixty-five or

seventy millions of population, an immense surplus in the treasury, and actual

do we

power

or reserve

realize that

power (land and

curious

sea) so dear to nations

crawling national shudder

promis'd to bring upon us a war with Great Britain that

when

— very

calamity

It

is

now

certain that

I

say

the "Trent affair"

— follow'd unquestionably, as

war would have, by recognition of the Southern Confederacy from

leading European nations.

that

all

little

all

hung on arrogant and peremptory phrases

this

in the

missive of the British Minister, to America, which the

all

the

then inevitable train of prepared and written

Queen (and

Prince Albert

and promptly cancell'd; and which her firm attitude did alone actually erase and leave out, against all the other official prestige and Court of St. James's. On such minor and personal incidents (so to call them) often depend the great growths and turns of civilization. This moment of a woman and a queen surely swung the grandest oscillation of modern history's pendulum. Many sayings and doings of that period, from foreign potentates and powers, might well be

latent) positively

dropt in oblivion by

America— but never

this, if

I

could have

my

way.

W. W.

[297]









UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA I^IBRARY



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