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Cornell University Library 
 PS 1299.C5M4 
 
 Memorial and biographical sicetclies. 
 
 3 1924 021 988 617 
 
MEMORIAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
 SKETCHES. 
 
 JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 
 
 dLhe Ui!oztei3ie Preecf, Camiriase. 
 
 1878. 
 
A.Urf 
 
 UNIVERSITY! 
 
 \i 
 
 LiBRARV 
 
 Copyright, 1878, 
 Br JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 
 
 AU rights reserved. 
 
 RIVERSIDE, oahbhibge: 
 
 STERBOTTPBD AND PRINTED BY 
 
 H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COUFANY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Faoe 
 
 I. John Albion Andeew ..... 1 
 
 II. James Freeman 67 
 
 III. Charles Sumner . . . . .' . .91 
 
 IV. Theodore Parker 113 
 
 V. Samtjel Gridlet Howe 137 
 
 VI. William Ellery .Channing . . . . 155 
 VII. Walter Channing, and some op his Con- 
 temporaries 167 
 
 VIII. Ezra Stiles Gannett 187 
 
 IX. Samuel Joseph Mat . • . . . .197 
 
 X. Susan Bimock 211 
 
 XI. George Keats 219 
 
 XII. Bobert J. Breckinridge .... 231 
 Xm. George Denison Prentice .... 243 
 XIV. Junius Brutus Booth, the Elder : An Inci- 
 dent IN HIS Life 261 
 
 XV. Washington, and the Secret op his Influ- 
 ence 281 
 
 XVI. Shakspeare 301 
 
 XVII. Jean Jacques Rousseau . . . '43 
 
 XVIII. The Heroes of one Country Town . . 383 
 
 XIX. William Hull 403 
 
JOH]S" ALBIOi:^ AJ^DEEW. 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDEEW. 
 
 John Albion Andrew, the great War-gov- 
 ernor of Massachusetts, the pilot who weathered 
 the storm, the twenty-first governor of the State 
 after the adoption of the Constitution of 1780, was 
 born in Windham, Maine, May 31, 1818. 
 
 When I was about twenty years old, 1 took my 
 first journey. I went to Portland, and thence by 
 stage along the eastern shore of Lake Sebago, 
 and the lakes adjacent to it. At a certain point, 
 in the town of Otisfield (now called Naples), I 
 was struck by the picturesque situation of a farm- 
 house on a hill, which looked down on two lovely 
 sheets of water, and on a valley through which ran 
 a stream out of one lake into the other. Dark 
 and lofty pines and distant mountains made a 
 background for this lovely landscape. The sweet 
 valley was like that described by Spenser : — 
 
 '■ A pleasant dale that lowly lay 
 Between two hills, whose high heads overplaced. 
 The valley did with cool shade overcast. 
 Through midst thereof a little river rolled, 
 By which there sat a knight with helm unlaced. 
 
4 JOHN ALBION ANDBPW. 
 
 Himself refreshing with the liquid cold, 
 After his travel long and labors manifold." 
 
 Taken with the beauty of the scene, I asked the 
 driver of the stage, by whose side I was sitting, if 
 he thought the people who lived in that farm-house 
 would be willing to take me to board for a few 
 days. " I guess they will," said he ; " they don't 
 see folks very often, and they '11 like well enough 
 to hear the news from outside. They 're nice 
 folks, the Chutes are ; if they take you, they '11 
 do well by you." So I dismounted with my bag, 
 and found the driver's prediction correct. They 
 gave me a room, from one window of which I 
 looked up to the head of a lake, twelve miles 
 long, bordered by the primeval forests of pine 
 trees, some of them a hundred and fifty feet high, 
 without a limb except at the top. From the other 
 window of my chamber I beheld another clear ex- 
 panse of water, and "the little river" running 
 into it. I saw no knight sitting there then, but 
 only Andrew Chute, the son of my host, catching 
 trout for my breakfast. But had I possessed the 
 spirit of prophecy, I might have beheld a very 
 chivalric knight there. For about thirty years 
 after that time, I was describing the scene to 
 my dear friend, John A. Andrew, and he cried out, 
 " Why ! that must have been Uncle Chute's house 
 in Otisfield." And then he told me that, at the 
 very time I was there, he was a boy, some twelve 
 years old, living at his father's house in Windham, 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDSEW. 5 
 
 near by, and that both then, and later, he had 
 often gone to that very house, and sat by that 
 very stream, enjoying the beauty of the scenery, 
 resting himself from " his labors manifold." And 
 surely never was there a knight in all Spenser's 
 roll of chivalry who bore a whiter shield, or struck 
 a more gallant blow on behalf of the oppressed 
 and the defenseless, than he. 
 
 Amid this romantic scenery of forests, lakes, 
 and mountains, the boy grew up, his soul fed with 
 the kindly influences of nature. The forests, 
 where the white pine, pitch pine, and Norway pine 
 grew together, and where the lumberers were 
 only then beginning to build their winter camps, 
 stretched in silence and solitude around. The 
 people lived on large farms, containing two or 
 three hundred acres, divided into pastures for 
 sheep and arable land for corn, potatoes, and 
 wheat. At Mr. Chute's they seldom had meat. 
 Their chief food was bread, butter, milk, and po- 
 tatoes, but the cooking was excellent, and the 
 people were intelligent and good. The women of 
 the family did the work of the house, and usually 
 got through by noon, and then sat together sewing 
 and reading. In the winter, the men went into 
 the woods, and passed several months in the lum- 
 berer's camp, felling, hewing, and hauling timber. 
 Around the camps the. snow would often lie ten 
 feet deep, and the son of my host, Andrew Chute, 
 took me to see the log-hpuse where the lumber- 
 
6 JOHN AI.B10N ANDREW. 
 
 men slept. One whole side of this house was a 
 fire-place, made of stone slabs, on which an im- 
 mense fire of logs burned day and night. Though 
 the thermometer often fell to 20° or 30° below 
 zero (F.), yet, as no wind could reach them in 
 these forest recesses, the men were comfortable, 
 warmed by their exercise during the day, and at 
 night sleeping with their feet to the fire and their 
 heads to the air. I, a youth who had never seen 
 trees more than thirty or forty feet high, and only 
 hills and ponds, never lakes nor mountaihs, was 
 filled with delight at the sight of these novel won- 
 ders. And, afterward, I fancied I could trace in 
 John Andrew the influence wrought on his soul 
 by such scenes. They helped him to dignity, self- 
 possession, elevation ; in short, character. 
 
 These country people, though having small means, 
 usually contrived to save enough to send one son, 
 at least, to college. Andrew Chute was a student 
 at Waterville, and John Andrew was sent to 
 Bowdoin. I have heard little of his college life, 
 except that he was a favorite there, as elsewhere, 
 because of his joyous, kindly, and helpful dis- 
 position. How much he studied, I have never 
 learned. But we have one striking proof that 
 when only eighteen years old his heart already 
 was warm with a generous philanthropy and a 
 sense of religious obligation. This appears from a 
 sentence written in the album of a classmate, 
 Richard Pike, afterward a clergyman in Dorches- 
 ter, Mass. 
 
JOBN ALBION ANDREW. 1 
 
 Pike ! — May you ever be the poor man's friend, the 
 champion of the slave, a preacher of righteousness, and 
 a son of God. John Albion Andrew. 
 
 May 31, 1836. 
 
 After graduating at Bowdoin College, Andrew 
 came to Boston, and studied in the office of Mr. 
 Henry H. Fuller, an uncle of Margaret Fuller. 
 After he was admitted to the bar, he continued to 
 practice for a time with Mr. Fuller, but afterward 
 was law-partner, for many years, with Mr. The- 
 ophilus P. Chandler, at the corner of Court Street 
 and Washington Street, Boston, 
 
 In March, 1841, the Church of the Disciples was 
 founded in Boston, having, among other methods, 
 one of keeping all the seats free to all comers ; 
 another of frequent social meetings, and a form of 
 worship in which the whole congregation could 
 take part. The only condition of membership 
 was faith in Jesus, and a desire to become his dis- 
 ciple. During the first year of the church, on 
 September 30, 1841, John Albion Andrew entered 
 his name on our church book ; and continued until 
 his death, more than twenty-five years after, an 
 active and useful member of our body. During a 
 long period, we held weekly meetings for conver- 
 sation on important topics of religion and duty — 
 and his presence always added interest and value 
 to these discussions. A man of strong religious 
 convictions and warm religious emotions, he was 
 without the least tinge of cant, and so free in his 
 
8 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 utterance, that he spoke with the same familiar 
 confidence of spiritual things as of earthly ones. 
 He was very fond of the Scriptures, and would 
 often discuss, at length, the meaning of Paul ; 
 sometimes bringing out a sense which few com- 
 mentators, I imagine, had ever suspected. The 
 first time I saw him, he was presiding over an 
 adult Bible-class, which met on Sunday afternoons. 
 Different members of our church would take 
 charge of it in succession. I, myself, though pas- 
 tor, had no responsibility about it, but often at- 
 tended its meetings with the rest of the society. 
 On this occasion I was struck with the extreme 
 youthfulness of the presiding member, for he 
 seemed scarcely more than a boy. His cheeks 
 were rosy red, and his head covered with thick 
 curls, and his mouth was quivering with interest. 
 As he spoke, I soon perceived that he was no boy, 
 but a person of very clear mind ; and, on inquir- 
 ing, was told that it was young Mr. Andrew, a 
 lawyer in Mr. FuUer's office. 
 
 As the customs of our church included occa- 
 sional lay-preaching, it happened that on several 
 occasions Andrew occupied the pulpit, and con- 
 ducted the services. And this he did with such 
 simplicity and earnestness that all were glad to 
 listen to him. 
 
 He was also, at this time, for I speak now of 
 the period between 1840 and 1850, much inter- 
 ested in a new religious newspaper, of which he 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 9 
 
 was, for a time, one of the editors, and to which 
 he was a frequent contributor. Any one who pos- 
 sesses the early numbers of the " Christian World," 
 published in Boston by Geo. G. Channing, will 
 find therein many striking articles from the eager 
 and industrious pen of this young lawyer. 
 
 He was by nature and education a religious 
 man, fond of the Bible and familiar with it. There 
 was no sentimentalism about him, though much 
 sentiment. He was fond of prayer-meetings and 
 conference-meetings. During many years he at- 
 tended quite regularly the meeting above referred 
 to, held for conversation on all important questions 
 in religion, morals, and social life ; and he always 
 spoke clearly, strongly, and sweetly. The simple 
 customs of the church suited him. While Gov- 
 ernor of the State, and amid the great responsibili- 
 ties of the war, he would usually stop after church 
 on Sunday, and talk for half an hour with any 
 of the members who chanced to stay, calling them 
 Brother A. and Sister B., as of old. Whatever 
 comies of good manners, — civility to all, an equal 
 attention to all, — that was natural to him. But 
 the mere etiquettes and conventional proprieties 
 of position he never seemed to notice. In this he 
 resembled John Quincy Adams, who once, when 
 presiding over a convention of Unitarians, began 
 his address thus : " Brethren and Sisters." Where- 
 upon, when Father Taylor, the Methodist sailor- 
 preacher, was afterward called upon to speak, he 
 
LO JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 said, " I have heard wonderful words to-day ! I 
 lave heard a man, whose arm has wielded the 
 irmies and navies of the nation, say to all of us, 
 
 Brothers and Sisters.' But that was right, for 
 ill will be brothers and sisters in Heaven. There 
 (vill be then only ' Brother Christian,' and not any 
 
 Honorable Mr. Christian,' nor ' Judge Chris- 
 tian,' nor even ' Rev. Dr. Christian.' " 
 
 John Andrew and Father Taylor were dear 
 friends. For many years Andrew was secretary 
 jf the Boston Port Society, which sustained Father 
 Taylor's chapel. Nor did he resign that office 
 when he became Governor, but attended the meet- 
 ings as before, not to preside over them, but sim- 
 ply to keep the records as clerk of the corporation. 
 He loved to go to Father Taylor's conference 
 meetings and talk with the sailors, and listen to 
 bhe rough sons of the ocean, when made tender by 
 bhe sense of God's presence, and by the softening 
 influences of the place and hour. Also when, as he 
 3aid, he wanted " a good warm time," he would go 
 to the meetings of the Colored Methodist Church, 
 Df which Brother Grimes was pastor. And Mr. 
 Grimes always came to Andrew when he needed 
 anything for his people. In that church, with 
 bhe colored people, John Andrew would often be 
 Eound, sitting among them, joining heartily in 
 their hymns, or listening with his open sympathiz- 
 ing expression of face to their prayers and exhor- 
 tations. 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDBEW. 11 
 
 One of the occasions, upon which I was struck 
 l)y his mental and religious utterances, was in 
 1845, when he spoke earnestly at a meeting of 
 our church, to prevent a secession of members who 
 thought it necessary to leave it on account of an 
 exchange of pulpits between the pastor and Theo- 
 dore Parker. 
 
 " Brethren," said he, " I do not believe in the 
 principle of come-out-ism. I am not a come-outer. 
 I am a stay-iner. I shall not leave this church 
 because the majority differ from me, on this or 
 any other question. You may, indeed, turn me 
 out, but you cannot make me go out of my own 
 accord. This is my religious home; and if you 
 turn me out of your meetings, I will stand on the 
 outside, and look in through the window, and see 
 you. If I cannot do this, I will come the next 
 day, and sit in the place where you have been, and 
 commune with you. I belong to your communion, 
 and must belong to it always." So tenderly did 
 he say this, that many were dissolved in tears. 
 All the elements of the great lawyer and orator 
 were in this argument, delivered to a hundred 
 people in a private house. I can understand from 
 that speech what the Chief Justice of the Supreme 
 Court of Massachusetts , meant by saying, that 
 though he sat on the bench when Choate and 
 Webster and other great lawyers of the Suffolk 
 bar had argued before him, he had never been so 
 touched as to be obliged to hide his emotion, ex- 
 cept when listening to Governor Andrew. 
 
12 JOHN ALBION -ANDREW. 
 
 In our church, Andrew was always foremost in 
 all plans and moyements of benevolence and re- 
 form. His contributions were large and generous 
 for the freedmen, for the prisoners, for the street- 
 boys, for the poor, for the home for aged colored 
 women. He always did the most for those most 
 forlorn and helpless; his maxim being, "Aux 
 plus d^sh&it^s le plus d'amour." 
 
 I have a letter from Governor Andrew received 
 near the close of the war, which he wrote one 
 Sunday evening ; in which he referred to a sug- 
 gestion 'made in church that day, that, at our 
 Wednesday evening meeting, we should attempt 
 an efficient movement in behalf of the suffering 
 freedmen. 
 
 I desire to echo your suggestion We in the 
 
 North are in comfort and prosperity. We must inter- 
 vene for the immediate preservation of the colored 
 people of the South, powerless for the moment to save 
 themselves, and by wise and prudent generosity help to 
 
 float them over, until a new crop can be made 
 
 I presume I shall not be able to attend the meeting ; 
 but I beg the privilege of helping its purpose, though 
 absent. And therefore I write to express the hope 
 that our congregation will move in the most efficient 
 way, and to ask your acceptance of a subscription of one 
 hundred dollars from yours faithfully and cordially, 
 
 John A. Andrew. 
 
 It is said that when all the parts of a great 
 building, like St. Peter's at Rome, are in good 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 13 
 
 proportion and perfect symmetry, nothing looks 
 very large. And so when all the faculties of a 
 man are well developed, he does not seem so great 
 a man as when he has some single power devel- 
 oped in an abnormal manner. Such a full, 
 rounded character was that of John A. Andrew. 
 He was no fanatic in any respect ; he was not ex- 
 travagant in any direction ; although a reformer, 
 he was not an extreme reformer ; although a con- 
 servative, he was not an ultra conservative. In 
 every direction his life seemed to flow out easily 
 and happily, and to unfold itself in an entire and 
 perfect harmony. During those twenty years, 
 when he was practicing law in this city, he was 
 already very much interested in the anti-slavery 
 cause. I believe he never became a member of 
 the Garrisonian Abolitionist Society, yet he was 
 intimate and friendly with them, and always ready 
 to defend any person arrested under the Fugitive 
 Law of 1850. 
 
 The generation which is now growing up does 
 not, cannot, understand the intense interest and 
 romance of that period. The law of 1850, for 
 restoring fugitives to their owners, was passed 
 hastily, under the impression on the part of Con- 
 gress that something of the sort was necessary to 
 save the Union. But it was a most unrighteous 
 and imconstitutional law. The Constitution of 
 the United States says, 'that in all suits in com- 
 mon law, in which the value at issue is more than 
 
14 JOB.N ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 twenty dollars, tlie right of jury trial shall be 
 maintained; but a colored man living as a free 
 man in Massachusetts, with the presumption of 
 freedom in his favor, could, under that law, be ar- 
 rested and turned into a slave without ever seeing 
 a judge or a jury. This fugitive slave law was so 
 opposed to law and to gospel, and , so contrary to 
 the sentiment of common humanity, that it per- 
 haps did more for the anti-slavery cause than any- 
 thing else, particularly when it was enforced by a 
 conscientious and honest marshal or commissioner, 
 who thought it his duty to carry it out faithfully, 
 as he would any other law. Then it would arouse 
 against it the moral sense of a large part of the 
 community. Each time that a fugitive was ar- 
 rested in Boston, another blow was inflicted on 
 slavery, and new converts made to the abolition- 
 ists. It needed little argument to convince a com- 
 munity educated through many generations in the 
 principles of the Declaration of Independence, that 
 a man who had gained his freedom at the risk of 
 his life, and by means of heroic efforts and a mar- 
 tyr's endurance, had a right to that freedom. 
 Great crowds in the meetings of the abolitionists, 
 in Faneuil Hall or other places of assemblage, 
 were thrilled at the sight of the dark faces and 
 the broken words of these refugees from that iron 
 bondage. There might be seen Frederick Doug- 
 las, soon to become one of the great orators of 
 the land. Or there might be Henry Brown, who 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 15 
 
 escaped from slavery in a packing-box ; or William 
 Crafts, whose wife, disguised as a young southern 
 planter, brought her husband with her in the ca- 
 pacity of a body servant ; or Lewis Hayden, who 
 escaped from Kentucky with his family ; or Father 
 Henson, whose story equals in romance anything 
 invented by the imagination of poet or novelist. 
 When men like these were in danger of arrest and 
 return to. torture and death, no wonder that men 
 cursed those who framed and defended the law by 
 which they were seized, under the shadow of Bun- 
 ker Hill. No wonder that Blackstone and the 
 Bible and all the noblest records of the race were 
 appealed to, to show that there was a law of 
 supreme justice, higher than any human enact- 
 ment, which forbade their surrender. These ques- 
 tions stirred the blood of men, agitated their 
 minds, and divided the community into parties. 
 On one side were the politicians; the conserva- 
 tives ; commerce, fearing the loss of southern cus- 
 tom ; and good society, which regarded abolition 
 as in bad taste. On the other side was youth, en- 
 thusiasm for ideas, " the strong siding champion," 
 conscience, and the deeper religious conviction. 
 To this last company Andrew belonged. In his 
 law-office you would often find these fugitives. 
 They knew that they had a friend there to whom 
 they could always go for advice and comfort. 
 
 One of these men, who enjoyed for many years 
 the friendship of Mr. Andrew, was Lewis Hayden. 
 
16 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 He had been a slave in Kentucky, and had es- 
 caped, many years before, by the help_ of Rev. 
 Calvin Fairbank and Miss Delia Webster, who 
 were arrested, convicted, and sent to the Ken- 
 tucky Penitentiary for this act of illegal human- 
 ity. Lewis went first to Detroit, and from there 
 came to Boston on a mission to obtain funds for a 
 church of poor colored people in that place. He 
 spoke in their behalf to our congregation one Sun- 
 day evening, and thrilled us with the eloquence 
 born out of stern reality, — for " wretched men " 
 are not only " cradled into poetry by wrong," as 
 Shelley tells us, but also into eloquence. I well 
 remember now, after an interval of twenty-five or 
 thirty years, Hayden's description of his sufferings 
 and his escape. He said that he first became de- 
 sirous of freedom from hearing a fellow-servant 
 read aloud one of the speeches against slavery, de- 
 livered in Congress by Mr. Slade of Vermont. 
 " I never knew my misery till then," said he. " I 
 went home, and looked at my wife and my chil- 
 dren, as they lay asleep, and said, ' You are my 
 wife now, but you may not be my wife to-morrow. 
 You are my children now, but to-morrow I may 
 have no children, for you may be sold away from 
 me, and I cannot help it.' " Mr. Hayden after- 
 ward settled in Boston, and has risen by his in- 
 telligence and worth to positions of honor and 
 influence. He was associated as an assistant to 
 Governor Andrew in the State House, and has' 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 17 
 
 since been elected to the Legislature of Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 In 1851, Shadrach, a colored waiter in a hotel 
 in Boston, was arrested as a fugitive slave, and 
 was forcibly rescuied by a body of colored men, 
 " under the lead," as Mr. Wilson says, " of Lewis 
 Hayden." Hayden was arrested, tried, and ac- 
 quitted. I was residing in Western Pennsylvania 
 at the time, and wrote a note to Hayden, in rela- 
 tion to which I received the following one from 
 John Andrew, which I insert here chiefly for the 
 sake of the concluding sentences : — 
 
 Boston, 5«A March, 1851. 
 Dear Friend, — Lewis Hayden received a line from 
 you last evening, which he begged me to answer in his 
 behalf, and to express for him the gratitude he feels for 
 the kindness and sympathy you entertain toward him. 
 It gratified him beyond measure, that you should thus 
 remember him. He is bound over to answer to the 
 next term of the TJ. S. District Court. But I have no 
 idea that he, or any other person, will be convicted. 
 The poorest colored man finds no difficulty in procuring 
 bail at a moment's warning. I think there is a reac- 
 tion commencing. The rescue of Shadrach was a noble 
 thing, nobly done. The thing was the result of the ex- 
 temporaneous eflfbrt, energy, and enthusiasm of an old 
 man, a personal friend of Shadrach, who stimulated by 
 his own stubborn zeal the few with whom he came in 
 contact, to follow him in his determination to save his 
 fiiend (whose horror of a return to slavery he had al- 
 ways known) from the hands of the law, at whatever 
 2 
 
18 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 personal hazard. That man will never be found. In- 
 deed, all the principal actors are, as I understand, be- 
 yond the reach of process. 
 
 God grant that no man may ever be sent from Mas- 
 sachusetts into the prison-house of slavery. I hate war, 
 and love peace. But I should less regret the death of a 
 hundred men defending successfully the sacred rights of 
 human nature, and the blood-bought liberties of freemen, 
 alike cloven down by this infernal law, than I should the 
 return to bondage of a single fugitive. 
 
 In great haste, your friend, 
 
 John A. Andrew. 
 
 Thus it will be seen, that ten years before the 
 war began, John A. Andrew was prepared to 
 choose a war for the sake of human rights and 
 human freedom, before a peace which sacrificed 
 both. 
 
 The object of many men, conspicuous in their 
 day, eminent as lawyers, statesmen, or writers, is 
 only personal success ; their motive, personal am- 
 bition. Such was not the spirit in which Andrew 
 studied and practiced in his profession, during the 
 twenty years which followed his admission to the 
 bar in 1840. His own course is best described in 
 an address made by him in 1864, to the graduat- 
 ing class of the Medical School of Harvard Uni- 
 versity, in which he thus spoke : — 
 
 " There is nothing more practically and simply true 
 than that success, abiding and secure, the happiness and 
 usefulness of a professional career, is proportioned to the 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 19 
 
 purity, singleness, and generosity oT the purpose with 
 which it is pursued. No thinking man has lived to 
 middle age who has not seen, with his own eyes, brilliant 
 powers thrown away, capacity for lasting impression on 
 society and for solid happiness as the reward of real good 
 accomplished, made the forfeit of the poor and selfish 
 pursuit of changeful fortune, or uncertain fame, or in- 
 glorious ease. What a defeat is such a life ! Will you 
 treat your profession as a trade, out of which merely to 
 make your bread, while you indulge every whim of a 
 mind to which duty is irksome, and fruitful toil a mere 
 fatigue ? Then you sacrifice the hope of honorable com- 
 petence, of solid reputation, the sweet and infinite satis- 
 factions of a worthy life. Will you use it as the mere 
 instrument of sordid gain ? Then you sacrifice your 
 love for Science, who stands waiting to feed you with 
 immortal food, whUe you dwarf your soul to the worship 
 
 of the very dust she treads under her feet The 
 
 first duty of a citizen is to regard himself as made for 
 his country, not to regard his country as made for him. 
 If he will but subordinate his own selfhood and ambi- 
 tion enough to perceive how great is his country and 
 how infinitely less is he, he presently becomes a sharer 
 in her glory and partaker of her greatness. He is 
 strengthened by her strength, and inspired by her intel- 
 lectual and moral life. Standing utterly alone, what 
 man is anything ? But associated with his fellows, he 
 receives the instruments, the means, the opportunities, 
 and facilities for action." 
 
 In 1859, when the memorable invasion of Vir- 
 ginia, by John Brown, took place, I recollect that 
 
20 JOEN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 brother Andrew 'came into one of our Wednes- 
 day evening conference meetings, and told us that 
 fearing the old Ossawattomie hero would have no 
 sufficient legal defense, he had telegraphed to em- 
 inent counsel in Washington to secure them in 
 the case, and had made himself responsible for (I 
 think} thirteen hundred dollars for legal expenses. 
 He gave us an opportunity to contribute a part of 
 this sum, which was done on the spot. Having 
 made himself thus prominent in behalf of the old 
 hero, he was summoned to Washington to appear 
 before the Committee of Congress appointed to 
 investigate the affair at Harper's Ferry. He was 
 there questioned by Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, 
 and Mason of Virginia, as to his motives in being 
 at such trouble and expense. The testimony he 
 gave was exactly like himself, straightforward, 
 open, frank. When they asked him what he had 
 done, he told how he had collected money and 
 sent it on to John Brown, because he thought his 
 hurried trial a judicial outrage. When he was 
 asked whether he did that from his interest in 
 anti-slavery or simply from humanity, he said 
 that although it was difficult for him to sound his 
 own praise, yet he would, tell the committee that 
 on one occasion he had gone to Washington to 
 obtain a pardon for a man who was under sen- 
 tence of death, and obtained it and went back and 
 gave it to him, never having any knowledge of 
 him, nor ever having seen him until he put in his 
 
JOBN ALBION ANDREW. 21 
 
 hands the President's message of commutation. 
 The man had no friend, and he accordingly took 
 the trouble for him, without the expectation of fee 
 or reward. 
 
 Finally, when Mr. Davis asked him what he 
 thought of the course of John Brown himself, and 
 of his character, he said he thought that the out- 
 rages which he had suffered from the pro-slaveiy 
 men in Kansas had wrought him up to the point 
 of doing what he himself thought was an unlaw- 
 ful attack upon the people of a neighboring State. 
 " And, since the gentleman has called my atten- 
 tion to the subject," he continued, " I think the 
 attack made upon Senator Sumner in the Senate 
 at Washington, which, so far as I could learn from 
 the public press, was, if not justified, ^t least 
 winked at throughout the South, was an act of 
 very much greater danger to our liberties and to 
 civil society than the attack of a few men upon 
 those living just over the border of a State." It 
 required some courage to say this at that time in 
 Washington, and when he came back to his own 
 State, he was not lowered in the opinion of the 
 people. 
 
 Afterward, presiding at a meeting held for the 
 relief of John Brown's family, he said : "^ Whether 
 the enterprise of John Brown was wise or foolish, 
 right or wrong, John Brown himself was right. 
 I sympathize with the man, I sympathize with 
 the idea, because T sympathize and believe in the 
 Eternal Right." 
 
22 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 That same year lie was chosen a delegate to 
 attend the Republican Presidential Convention in 
 Chicago, which nominated Abraham Lincoln and 
 Hannibal Hamlin. He, at first, was in favor of 
 Mr. Seward, and voted for him as a candidate. I 
 believe he afterwards considered it fortunate that 
 he did not succeed in his selection of a candidate. 
 
 When elected Governor of Massachusetts, in 
 November, 1860, he had seen very little of public 
 life, having been a member of the Legislature 
 only a single session, and this, I think, was the 
 only political office he had ever held. But he 
 had, during that session, easily made hinaself the 
 leader of the House, and produced such an im- 
 pression of his ability and force of character, as 
 to cause him to be nominated for Governor, in 
 spite of the opposition of the regular politicians, 
 who had made quite different arrangements. But 
 the people knew well, by that instinct which in 
 serious times seems to lead them aright, that John 
 A. Andrew was the man wanted in the coming 
 crisis. 
 
 He was elected Governor of Massachusetts by 
 the largest popular vote ever cast for any candi- 
 date, and for five years he was reelected Governor 
 every year by the general voice of the people, in 
 spite of frequent opposition from the smaller sort 
 of politicians. But John Andrew and the people 
 of Massachusetts knew each other, and they agreed 
 very well together. Of that magnificent record 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 23 
 
 of the War-governor of Massachusetts it would 
 take too long to speak adequately, and it is not 
 necessary, for it is in all our memories, in all our 
 hearts. We remember his foresight, prophetic of 
 the coming hurricane, his preparations, his getting 
 the militia of the State into working order, the 
 ridicule cast upon the two thousand overcoats and 
 blankets which we afterwards saw warming our 
 Sixth Regiment in the storms in the famous days 
 of 1861. We remember how he thought of every- 
 thing and put life, courage, and heart into every- 
 thing ; how he did the work of many men in the 
 State House, tiring out his aids and secretaries, 
 and after they had done all they could, locking 
 himself in his room, and sitting there half the 
 night writing and thinking and preparing for the 
 next day; how he ordered rifles from England, 
 armed steamers, fortified the coast, made repeated 
 visits to Washington, and strengthened Mr. Lin- 
 coln and others in their determination to uphold 
 the Union. We remember how he initiated the 
 movement of colored troops, and staked his popu- 
 larity upon the measure; how he attended the 
 convention of loyal governors at Altoona, and 
 drew up their address ; all this is fresh in all 
 men's memories. On the very day of his inaugu- 
 ration as Governor of the State, he sent one of his 
 secretaries to interview Governor Washburn of 
 Maine, to inform him what, in his opinion, was 
 necessary for the New England States to put them 
 
24 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 in a condition to defend Washington.^ I saw him 
 at Readville present a flag to the Fifty-fourth 
 (colored) Regiment, which, under Colonel Shaw, 
 did such work at Fort Wagner ; and of that flag, 
 only the staff came back to the State House. In 
 the attack on Fort Wagner, on the 18th of July, 
 1863, Sergeant Carney, a full-blooded African, 
 grasped these colors from the dying color-sergeant, 
 as they were falling from his hands, and bore 
 them to the parapet ; he fell himself, struck by 
 five bullets, but still held the staff in his hands, 
 and, as he was carried back, he said, " The old 
 flag never touched the ground, boys ! " That was 
 one of the instances of the war which Governor 
 Andrew delighted to repeat. 
 
 All those who had anything to do with him 
 while Governor, agree in regard to his great 
 power as a worker. Colonel Albert G. Browne, 
 in his extremely interesting memoir of the offi- 
 cial life of Governor Andrew, testifies to what he 
 saw of this in his position as military secretary. 
 " Almost invariably he was at the State House as 
 early or even earlier than either of his secretaries, 
 and his appearance was the signal for fresh work 
 in every department of the building. Paying 
 hasty calls at the offices of the Adjutant-general 
 and the Surgeon-general, on his way, nine o'clock 
 
 1 This secretary was Albert G. Browne. The answer returned 
 by Governor Washburn was : " Wherever Massachusetts leads, 
 Maine will follow close, if she cannot keep abreast." 
 
JOHN ALBION ANI)REW. 25 
 
 rarely found him absent from his own desk ; and 
 there he continued until sunset, and often until 
 long past midnight, unless some public duty called 
 him elsewhere. His private affairs were utterly 
 neglected. His family he rarely saw by daylight, 
 except in the early morning and on Sundays, and 
 to a man of so affectionate a disposition this was 
 
 the greatest sacrifice During the few first 
 
 months of the war his labor at the State House 
 averaged twelve hours daily ; and during April 
 and May, 1861, the gray light of morning often 
 mingled with the gaslight on his table, before he 
 abandoned work, discharged his weary assistants, 
 and walked down the hill to his little house on 
 Charles Street, to snatch a few hours of sleep be- 
 fore beginning the task of another day. After 
 his bath and hasty breakfast he would reappear 
 at the State House as fresh as the morning itself, 
 without a trace perceptible to the casual visitor of 
 irritation or fatigue, while perhaps half an hour 
 later his attendants of the previous night would 
 
 come to their places cross and jaded He 
 
 held every one strictly to the full measure of duty. 
 Great was his indignation, one dreary afternoon, 
 the day before Christmas, at finding the office of 
 the Secretary of the Commonwealth closed half an 
 hour earlier than usual. There was a severe snow- 
 storm raging, which suspended business throughout 
 the city; and the clerks of that office had closed it, 
 forgetting that there should have been drawn and 
 
26 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 forwarded up stairs for the Governor's signature, 
 a pardon which had been granted to a convict in 
 the State Prison, according to a custom which he 
 had of granting one pardon, each Christmas morn- 
 ing, upon the recommendation of the warden. It 
 irritated him that the clerks below should have 
 forgotten such a duty. During his own hard worjs: 
 during the day, the thought of the happiness 
 which the morrow would bring to that convict 
 had lightened his heart, and he felt a positive 
 pain that others should not have shared that feel- 
 in'g. Though unwell, he hastily broke out of the 
 room, walked through the driving snow across the 
 city to the house of one of the officers of the State 
 Department, brought him back to the State House, 
 stood by while the pardon was drawn and the 
 great seal of the Commonwealth attached to it, 
 signed it, and despatched it by one of his secre- 
 taries to the prisonf." 
 
 Warden Haynes has said that there was never 
 a governor who took such interest in the prisoners 
 in Charlestown. When he went over there and 
 found that there were men confined in the solitary 
 cells, he would sometimes go into a cell and be 
 shut in with the man. One evening he said to 
 me, " I have been to Westborough Reform School 
 to-day, and this little incident occurred there. 
 After the boys had gone through their various ex- 
 ercises and repeated their lessons, and they had 
 all gone out to their dinner, and the rest of the 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 27 
 
 company were following, I heard a little voice 
 calling, ''Governor Andrew, Governor Andrew.' 
 I looked up and did not see where it could come 
 from. At last I saw, at the upper part of the hall, 
 a gallery, and behind it some closed doors. These 
 were the doors of cells, and in one of these a boy 
 was confined, whose voice I had heard calling to 
 me. I asked who he was, and was told that he 
 was a boy shut up for some offense and not 
 allowed to go out during the day. 
 
 " I ordered him to be brought down, and learned 
 that when he was first brought to the school, he 
 had been badgered and teased by the other boys, 
 who had harassed him until, at last, provoked 
 by them, he had told of some offense which one 
 of them did, and got him punished. Afterward, 
 guilty of some offense himself, he was told of, 
 and was suffering the punishment for it. So I or- 
 dered all the boys to be called in, and putting 
 the little fellow beside me, in a kind way, told the 
 ' boys what they had done, and explained to them 
 how much better it would have been if they had 
 used the little fellow kindly. I tried to make 
 them feel the loneliness of this little stranger come 
 among them, and how mean it was to torment him 
 instead of comforting him. They had made a tell- 
 tale of him by teasing him, and then became tell- 
 tales themselves. I made them promise to do 
 differently with the next boy, and said I should 
 ask them about it when I came again." In that 
 
28 JOBN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 way he always contrived to produce an impression 
 upon those with whom he was talking. Father 
 Finnotti, in a very affectionate article which he 
 wrote for the " Boston Post " shortly after Governor 
 Andrew's funeral, told how he had frequently 
 been to him to get a pardon for some convict, and 
 how glad Governor Andrew was when he could 
 grant his request, and how firm he was when he 
 could not conscientiously do it. Then he would 
 say : " No, Father Finnotti, I cannot do it ; my 
 duty to the State prevents it." " And," said Father 
 Finnotti, "I went away feeling a greater respect 
 for the man than I ever had before." Once, on 
 the Sunday after Governor Andrew's death, after 
 church, a man with tears in his eyes told me how 
 Governor Andrew once gave his services to him 
 as counsel, gratuitously, when no one else would 
 take the case. Oliver Warner, the Secretary of 
 State, could not say enough of the personal kind- 
 ness of which he had been the witness on the 
 part of Governor Andrew. To all those who were 
 friendless he was a friend. 
 
 A lady who has taught a school of colored chil- 
 dren at Port Royal, S. C, during many years, 
 described to me her last interview with Andrew 
 after he had returned to his law office in Boston. 
 She had consulted him about a claim for damages 
 for certain articles lost on a vessel burned at sea. 
 " I found him," says she, " talking with a gentle- 
 man on some minor point of law, which Mr. 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 29 
 
 Andrew explained to him again and again ; but the 
 listener failed to apprehend the idea, and so Mr. 
 Andrew was obliged to return to it, with that ' But 
 don't you see ? ' which must be so disheartening. 
 When the man left, Mr. Andrew turned to a lady 
 sitting by, in whom he recognized, I think, some 
 one who had formerly been a member of his fam- 
 ily. She wanted his influence to get a situation 
 as copyist. He listened and advised, without pre- 
 occupation or hurry, and with the tenderness and 
 gentleness of a brother. Then came my turn. 
 As he shook hands, I said, 'I thought a teacher 
 required some patience, but I believe a lawyer 
 needs the most.' He laughed, drew a long breath, 
 and passed his hand over his forehead with the 
 same weary look I had seen before ; and then im- 
 mediately began to talk as eagerly as if mine were 
 the only business in hand. I had written a state- 
 ment of our shipwreck ; and when I reported to 
 him that an officer of the boat was heard to say, 
 ' There are niggers and nigger-teachers enough on 
 board to damn any boat ! ' his face expressed his 
 indignation. Then he asked many questions about 
 our work, laughing loud at the negro who said ' he 
 was just crazy for larn,' and the woman who was 
 learning the alphabet, and said she ' had been chas- 
 ing that letter' (meaning B.) 'the whole night, 
 and couldn't catch him.' As I went away, he gave 
 me a fervent God-speed in our work." 
 
 These little anecdotes will show how genuine 
 
30 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 was his humanity, and how natural to him it 
 always was to think of the wretched, and of those 
 who had no helper. He acted thus both from 
 feeling and conviction. It was a natural instinct, 
 and a sacred principle. Always hopeful, always 
 humane, the cynicism which some persons regard 
 as wisdom was intolerable to him. But he was 
 no blind enthusiast. He regarded what was poS' 
 sible as carefully as what was desirable. He 
 examined the means as closely as the end. He 
 saw that most questions have two sides, and that 
 only by being just to both, can we be of use to 
 either. Therefore, though a determined anti- 
 slavery man, he was never able to join Mr. Gar- 
 rison's party in denouncing the Constitution and 
 demanding a dissolution of the Union.^ Though 
 
 1 This balanced judgment is well shown in the following state- 
 ment of General Sargent : " He was as independent of favor 
 as he was of fear. He had the excellent quality of resistance to 
 the improper solicitation of those to whom he not only owed a 
 part of his advancement, but whose sympathies were his own. 
 In a memorable week of 1861, when the so-called conservative 
 hostility to John Brown and his supporters was at white heat 
 and violence was imminent, the Governor was earnestly solicited 
 to preside at a meeting in honor of John Brown, that the Exec- 
 utive presence might deter the mob from outrage. The solicita- 
 tion was fervid and eloquent. In the evening that preceded the 
 meeting at which his presence was requested, the Governor, with 
 a single staff officer, went by appointment to give a final answer 
 to the request. A large but solemn conclave of earnest men like 
 himself awaited his coming. 
 
 " After kind greeting and hearing a few words from some of 
 them. Governor Andrew spoke, with as much emotion as com- 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 31 
 
 a strong peace man, he was no non-resistant. 
 Though an earnest temperance man, he was not 
 a total-abstinent, nor a prohibitionist. Violent 
 men, on both sides, denounced him for this mod- 
 eration. He was bitterly blamed by an eminent 
 abolitionist for not bringing the State power to 
 put down a set of noisy gentlemen who made some 
 disturbance in an anti-slavery meeting in Boston. 
 Because he defended the policy of license against 
 that of prohibition, he was accused in temperance 
 meetings of being in the daily habit of drunken- 
 ness — though he scarcely ever drank the whole 
 of a single glass of wine at dinner. Because he 
 refused to sign the warrant for the execution of a 
 
 ported with firmness, nearly as follows : ' You know, my friends, 
 how dear this cause of anti-slavery has been and is to my heart. 
 You know how we have hoped and prayed and toiled together. 
 You know what I think of John Brown as a man, and how surely 
 I believe that his memory as a martyr will remain when constitu- 
 tions shall be forgotten. You know how keenly I should feel 
 reproach from you, my coadjutors, for any supposed recreancy 
 to a cause, when official position that I owe in great measure to 
 my advocacy of it gives me, as you think, power to serve it. But 
 perhaps you do not feel, as I feel, how much easier it is to inveigh 
 against a public officer, when we are not responsible for the ad- 
 ministration of his office, than it is to properly administer an 
 office which is a trust for all the people of the State. With all 
 sympathy with the anti-slavery cause, and believing all that I 
 have said of John Brown to be true, and with all affection and 
 respect for you, I cannot, as a magistrate, so far forget the trust 
 reposed in me by the Commonwealth as to expose her highest 
 executive office to indignity and reproach by presiding at a meet- 
 ing convoked to celebrate an act which, as a lawyer, I know is 
 technically treason.' " 
 
32 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 murderer, he was accused of being false to his 
 oath of office, and following his anti-capital pun- 
 ishment prejudices. There was great excitement 
 against him through the State for his course in this 
 matter, and he gave no reason publicly for it. I 
 once asked him why he did not take some method 
 of giving his reasons and explaining to the people 
 the grounds of his non-action. His reply was: 
 "If I did this, it would seem as though I were 
 placing myself in opposition to the courts, which 
 would be an evil. I prefer to bear the misrep- 
 resentation myself. My back is broad enough for 
 that." 
 
 Governor Andrew was opposed, in principle, to 
 capital punishment ; but, until it was abolished, he 
 deemed that it should be inflicted when the law 
 required it. He was also opposed to war, and a 
 strong advocate for peace. But when the war 
 became inevitable, he put the whole ardor of his 
 soul to rousing the North, and preparing it for its 
 work. 
 
 That this was no abandonment of his old convic- 
 tions is certain. For I was myself present, years 
 before the civil war seemed possible, and when no 
 such pvent had been dreamed of, at a peace meeting 
 in Boston. Some of the speakers had maintained 
 that all wars were wrong on both sides ; and 
 that no nation should fight, even in self-defense. 
 When Andrew spoke, he denied this doctrine, and, 
 though standing there to defend the principles 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 33 
 
 of peace, he said, "I had rather help carry on 
 a war for freedom, justice, and humanity, than 
 keep a peace on merely mercantile principles, and 
 for merely selfish considerations." These facts I 
 have referred to as showing the equipoise of his 
 judgment, and how well he kept the maxim to 
 preserve an equal and well-balanced mind in all 
 emergencies. 
 
 These judicial qualities, this calm, joyous, hope- 
 ful temperament, this conscience and industry, we 
 had always known. But not till the great out- 
 break of the civil war did we suspect the hidden 
 powers of foresight, courage, inspiration, which 
 made him so easily take his place in the very front 
 of northern statesmen. Others doubted, ques- 
 tioned, waited to see what would happen ; he never 
 hesitated. He seemed to see at a glance all that , 
 was to come, and what was needed to meet it. The 
 fiery trial which palsied so many brains among 
 our eminent men gave to him clear sight, ready de- 
 cision, and determined firmness. More than any 
 one else he thus realized the description of " The 
 Happy Warrior " by Wordsworth : — 
 
 " Whose powers shed round hira in the common strife, 
 Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 
 A constant influence, a peculiar grace, 
 But who, if he be called upon to face 
 Some awful moment, to which God has joined 
 Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 
 Is happy as a lover, and attired 
 With sudden brightness, like a man inspired. 
 
34 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law 
 In calmngss made, and aces what he foresaw." 
 
 From the very day of his inauguration, January 
 5, 1861, Governor Andrew began to prepare his 
 State for war. He sent on that day a messenger 
 to the governors of New Hampshire and Maine, to 
 inform them that he intended to prepare the ac- 
 tive militia of the State of Massachusetts for im- 
 mediate duty. Accordingly, general orders were 
 issued to that effect in the same month. Andrew 
 put himself early into confidential communication 
 with General Scott, and arranged with him for the 
 march of troops to Washington, if they should be 
 needed, and, when the decisive hour struck, Massa- 
 chusetts and her leader were found ready. 
 
 Immediately on the news of the taking of Fort 
 Sumter by the confederates, the whole South be- 
 came one frenzy of excitement. President Lincoln 
 issued his call for seventy-five thousand troops, of 
 which two regiments were assigned to Massachu- 
 setts. Within a week from the issue of this proc- 
 lamation, Governor Andrew despatched five regi- 
 ments to Washington, beside a battalion of rifle- 
 men and a battery of artillery. This was done 
 by means of that wise foresight which led him to 
 act at once, when action was necessary, without 
 waiting for the slow delays of legislation, so that 
 in some of his messages " it is touching," says 
 Horace Binney Sargent, " to read an allusion to 
 certain expenditures made ' without authority of 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 35 
 
 law,' but which he leaves to the candor of the Leg- 
 islature. The like prescience induced him, in ad- 
 vance of all statesmen, to urge upon the National 
 Government the then astonishing enrolment of six 
 hundred thousand men." 
 
 On the morning when the first telegram for aid 
 reached Boston from Washington, the State House 
 was in great excitement. Companies were being 
 selected for the service from different regiments, 
 which were heard of as being most ready. As Gov- 
 ernor Andrew was passing through Doric Hall 
 he heard a strong voice asking, " Will not the 
 Governor let us go ? We want to go." Andrew 
 asked what regiment it was ; learned it was the 
 Sixth, from Lowell and the adjacent towns ; asked 
 when they could set out ; learned that they could 
 be ready by nine o'clock the next morning, and 
 ordered them to be taken. Thus promptly this 
 civilian decided, when suddenly called to take the 
 helm in a hurricane.^ 
 
 Thus Andrew himself speaks of those thrilling 
 days : — 
 
 "I may testify to the impressions stamped forever on 
 our memories and our hearts, by that great week in 
 April, when Massachusetts rose up at the sound of the 
 cannonade of Sumter, and her Militia Brigade, springing 
 to their arms, appeared on Boston Common. It re- 
 deemed the meanness and the weariness of many a pro- 
 
 1 Memorial Address at Hingham, October 8, 1875, by Horace 
 Binney Sargent. 
 
36 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 saic life. It was the revelation of a profound sentiment, 
 of manly faith, of glorious fidelity, and of a love stronger 
 than death. Those were days of which none other in 
 the history of the war became the parallel. And when, 
 on the evening of the anniversary of the battle of Lex- 
 ington, there came the news along the wires that the 
 Sixth Regiment had been cutting its way through the 
 streets of Baltimore, whose pavements were reddened 
 with the blood of Middlesex, it seemed as if there de- 
 scended into our hearts a mysterious strength, and into 
 
 our minds a supernal illumination Never after 
 
 did any news so lift us above ourselves, so transform our 
 
 earthly weakness into heavenly might The great 
 
 and necessary struggle was begun, without which we 
 were a disgraced, a doomed, a ruined people. We had 
 reached the parting of the ways, and we had not hesi- 
 tated to choose the right one." 
 
 On the afternoon of tliat 19th of April, 1861, 
 I passed into the Governor's office in the State 
 House, through the ante-room, crowded with the 
 fathers, mothers, and wives of the soldiers just at- 
 tacked in Baltimore. Telegrams were arriving, 
 officers coming and going, messengers from the 
 adjutant-general's office, from the quartermaster's 
 office, judges, senators, the most influential men 
 in the city ; and poor women came to ask if their 
 sons had been heard from. In the midst of this 
 commotion, the Governor sat at his table, calm in 
 the midst of all, attending to each piece of busi- 
 ness in order, hearing and answering all inquiries, 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 37 
 
 considering and promptly deciding every difficult 
 point, and writing the famous telegi-am which 
 seemed to show, for the first time, that tender- 
 ness might be an element in war. At all events, 
 I cannot but think that this telegram had much to 
 do with the tenderness afterward manifested. It 
 encouraged women to go as nurses to the hospitals, 
 and to be received in them ; it encouraged the san- 
 itary commission in its work, and gave a tone of 
 humanity to what was to follow. And how many 
 days afterward do I recall during the war, when, 
 going .to his room in the State House on some spe- 
 cial business, I found him always the same, — 
 calm, tranquil, doing such an enormous amount of 
 work, like Goethe's star, " Without haste and with- 
 out rest." He worked like the great engine in the 
 heart of the steam-ship. The vessel may be roll- 
 ing and pitching amid frightful seas, her decks 
 swept by successive waves, but there, in the centre 
 of the ship, the engine works steadily on, with tran- 
 quil accuracy, but enormous power. Such force, 
 so steadily exercised, was his. There was no jar, 
 no strain, no hurry, no repose ; but constant equable 
 motion, on and on, through all those weary years, 
 to their triumphal end. 
 
 One secret of this great working-power was the 
 natural equanimity of his temper. He was always 
 cheerful, sunny, full of anecdotes and pleasant 
 mirth, with infinite good nature, with none of the 
 corrosive element of irritable self-love. If we keep 
 
38 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 to our image of an engine, this oil of kindness was 
 the lubricating medium which prevented all waste 
 of power by friction. Of this " golden temper of 
 Governor Andrew," Mr. Nason says, " it was the 
 sunshine God sent into his happy heart to bear 
 him through the labors of his life." 
 
 Another cause of his executive force was that, 
 both by conviction, instinct, and habit, he never 
 stopped to lament over the past, or to anticipate 
 with anxiety the future. I recall one illustration 
 of this in 1854, on the occasion of the rendition to 
 slavery of Anthony Bums, from Boston. The ex- 
 citement in the city was intense. The streets, 
 from the Court House down Court and State 
 streets, and on to the ship, were densely packed 
 with a crowd, not noisy, but whose faces gathered 
 blackness as the fatal procession drew near. Atten- 
 tive observers were very apprehensive of a bloody 
 collision between the soldiers and the people. A 
 posse of many hundred constables and policemen, 
 the marines from Charlestown, cavalry, infantry, 
 and a light battery with shotted guns, were thought 
 necessary to get this one poor fugitive through 
 the streets. The escort was hissed, the soldiers 
 greeted with shouts of "kidnappers! kidnappers ! " 
 and various emblems were hung from the win- 
 dows. John Andrew's office at the corner of 
 Court and Washington streets was the centre of the 
 excitement, and filled with people. Some of his 
 friends were draping it in front with black cloth. 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 39 
 
 On the opposite corner swung a coffin, under which 
 the escort must pass. But Andrew sat quietly 
 at his desk, writing, the only calm man in the 
 room. He had done all he could to prevent the 
 rendition before, — now, he could do no more, and 
 sat at his desk as serene as if no such events were 
 taking place around him. His perfect good sense 
 revolted from the folly of wasting strength and 
 time in mourning or raging about the inevitable. 
 
 In like manner he had an instinctive aversion to 
 worry or anxiety about evils which might never 
 arrive. I recollect once being present with him 
 at the graduating exercises of a State Normal 
 School. When called upon, as Governor of the 
 State, to address the class, he referred to the fre- 
 quent recurrence in their essays and addresses of a 
 tone of anxiety in regard to their great coming re- 
 sponsibility as teachers. " That is all wrong," said 
 he. " You have no occasion to be anxious at all. 
 You have been well prepared here, and if you try 
 to do your best, trusting in God, your responsibil- 
 ities will be not a bit greater than you can meet. 
 You are too solemn about it. Look forward cheer- 
 fully to your work. You will find it, I have no 
 doubt, a very happy one. Do not trouble your- 
 selves beforehand about any difficulties, but wait 
 till they come. Remember what Abraham Lin- 
 coln said when he was asked what he would do, if 
 such or such perils intervened : ' I never cross a 
 river till I come to it.' " As the Governor thus 
 
40 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 spoke, his own face beaming with cheer and good- 
 nature, I observed the light come back to the faces 
 of the pupils, and have no doubt they long remem- 
 bered this kind and judicious advice which Gover- 
 nor Andrew always followed himself, thus avoiding 
 much unnecessary trouble. 
 
 Another secret of his executive ability was the 
 rare faculty he possessed of applying his mind at 
 once to each question as it arose, and deciding it 
 on the spot. He did not say, " I will think about 
 it, and let you know to-morrow." He knew that 
 to-morrow would have to take thought for the 
 things of itself, and that thinking at once is the 
 easiest way. Thus have I seen him in the State 
 House, when question after question was submitted 
 to him, looking at each man in turn, making some 
 shrewd inquiry, giving his decision, and turning 
 to the next subject.. Moreover, and especially, 
 his eye was single, and that filled his whole body 
 full of light. There was no prejudice to blind, no 
 vanity to mislead, no private aims to be gratified, 
 no passions to weaken and betray. He took no 
 time in asking, before he made his decision, what 
 would be its effect on his own popularity or his 
 own fortunes. There never was a man who had 
 less of the politician's habit of watching public 
 opinion and its tendencies in order to see if it will 
 be profitable to be just. Here again I recollect a 
 story he was fond of telling of Andrew Jackson, 
 who was asked whether some course he proposed 
 
JOBN ALBION ANDREW. 41 
 
 would be thought Democratic by his Democratic 
 supporters. " What do I care what they think ? " 
 shouted the old general. " If I want to know 
 what is Democratic, I do not ask Tom, Dick, and 
 Harry. I ask old Andrew Jackson." '■'■He (slap- 
 ping his breast), he is a Democrat, and if he 
 thinks it Democratic, that is enough." ^ 
 
 ' No doubt his natural humor and love of merriment also sup- 
 ' ported him amid his labors, as these same qualities upheld Lin- 
 coln. I quote the following from Gen. H. B. Sargent's address 
 at Hingham : — 
 
 "And yet through all the grief and shame that attended our 
 first shock of arms, his high-hearted hope and cheerful ways in- 
 spired us all. His Toice and laughter were a defiant cheer to fate. 
 
 " His sense of fun crops out even in grave discussions. One 
 smiles for instance in reading a long law argument in a veto mes- 
 sage to the Senate, 'in relatiou to Jurors,' at his suggestion that 
 the returned bill might operate to exclude from that bulwark of 
 liberty, the jury — as persons unfit to serve on juries ' by reason 
 of b^ing engaged in pursuits made criminal by statute ' — all who 
 fish ' out of season ' or sell ' nuts except by dry measure.' 
 
 " Even on this occasion the memory of his witty words, laugh- 
 ter that was almost articulate with mirth, and his cheery shout of 
 merriment at some pronounced absurdity, reminds me how much 
 his sunshine lightened labor in these early days of the rebellion ; 
 when matters were so hurried that the aides would follow the 
 soldiers of moving regiments down the steps, to tighten some 
 buckle of belt or knapsack, or to thrust percussion caps into the 
 pocket ! In the ofiices, crammed to suffocation with every ap- 
 plicant and contrast — the charitable and the selfish, the sublime 
 and the grotesque — there was food for mirth as well as sadness. 
 There were sutlers seeking an outfit, and saints with bandages 
 and lint ; English oflScers tendering their service, and our regulars 
 giving good advice; inventors of new-fangled guns, pistols, and 
 sabres, only dangerous to their possessor, and which the inventors 
 threatened to sell to the Confederacy if we did not buy them ; gen- 
 
42 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 One example of this moral independence I may 
 mention. At the time that the Unitarians were 
 preparing to have a national convention in the city 
 of New York, some one said to me, " Will Gover- 
 nor Andrew consent to preside over that conven- 
 tion ? " "I do not know," said I, " whether he 
 will or not, but I will ask him." I did so. He 
 inquired where and when it was to be held, and 
 told me to say that he would preside. I thought 
 that many public men if they had been asked in 
 that way to preside over a meeting of a religious 
 body, unpopular throughout the country, not very 
 influential compared with the great religious bod- 
 ies of the land, would have waited and considered 
 what the effect upon their personal popularity 
 would be. He did not hesitate for a moment. It 
 never entered his mind to think of the effect of 
 such an action on his position. He simply consid- 
 ered whether he had time to go and preside, and 
 when he saw that he had, he said at once that he 
 would go. 
 
 tlemen far gone into consumption, desiring gentle horseback ex- 
 ercise in cavalry ; ladies oifering to sew for us ; needlewomen beg- 
 ging us not to let ladies take the bread from soldiers' wives ; phi- 
 lanthropists telling us that confederate workmen, in our arsenals, 
 were making up cartridges with black sand instead of powder ; 
 saddlers proposing sole leather cuirasses shaped like the top of a 
 coffin; bands of sweet-eyed, blushing girls bringing in nice lonf 
 night-gowns ' for the poor soldiers,' or more imaginative under- 
 garments ' fearfully and wonderfully made,' redolent of patriot- 
 ism and innocence, embroidered with the Stars and Stripes, and 
 too big for Goliah." 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 43 
 
 Another instance occurs to me of the power 
 which Governor Andrew possessed of throwing his 
 mind into any subject, and of thinking it through. 
 In the midst of the war, being at church one Sun- 
 day morning, I asked him a question after the ser- 
 vice which led him to speak of Harvard Univer- 
 sity. In answering the question, he went on to 
 consider the whole subject of university education, 
 and as we walked he developed a complete theory 
 of the ends to be kept in view and the methods to 
 be adopted by the college government. " If I 
 were appointed president of the college," said he, 
 " this is what I would do," — and then, for nearly 
 an hour, as we walked round Boston Common, he 
 explained his system and the way in which he 
 would try to carry it out. Those who met us and 
 saw his earnestness of manner no doubt thought 
 that he was explaining some important matter 
 connectecj with the war. This power of concen- 
 trating his mind upon any theme and holding him- 
 self to it, constituted no small part of his force, 
 and made him capable of filling almost any posi- 
 tion with success. 
 
 Impatient of pedantry, disliking all formalism, 
 an intense realist, his thoroughly practical mind 
 always kept in view the object. The majority 
 seem soon to forget what they are working for. 
 His thought never let go the object to be attained, 
 while examining all the means by which to attain 
 it. The famous case of the " overcoats " illustrates 
 
44 JOBN JLLBION ANDREW. 
 
 this. Projecting his judgment forward, he saw 
 that when the war broke out it would be sudden, 
 that men would be wanted immediately, that it 
 might be cold weather, that their health and con- 
 sequent efficiency would depend on their being 
 warmly clothed, that the overcoats would be the 
 garment they would not be likely to have, and 
 which would keep them warm. So he ordered the 
 two thousand overcoats, amid the derision of that 
 class of people who laugh at the propositions of 
 the man who sees further than themselves, and 
 then, when his foresight is justified, forget imme- 
 diately that they ever laughed at all. 
 
 Every one remembers the energy with which he 
 pursued the plan of employing colored troops, till 
 at last he obtained permission from the War De- 
 partment to do so. In a personal interview with 
 Mr. Stanton, he received written authority to raise 
 volunteer companies of artillery for duty in Mas- 
 sachusetts and elsewhere, and such companies of 
 volunteer infantry as he might find convenient. 
 With his"^ own hand, Governor Andrew added, 
 " and may include persons of African descent or- 
 ganized into separate corps." This was on Jan- 
 uary 26, 1863, and was a great step forward to- 
 ward crushing the rebellion. He immediately 
 returned to Massachusetts, and raised the Fifty- 
 fourth Regiment of Massachusetts Infantry, the 
 first colored men admitted as soldiers to the ser- 
 vice and defense of the Union. A second colored 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 45 
 
 regiment, the Fifty-fifth, soon followed. But, 
 though consenting to receive their services, the 
 government refused to these men a soldier's pay, 
 and offered them a smaller sum, such as was paid 
 to stevedores and cooks. This they unanimously 
 refused to receive, and so went without pay for 
 more than a year. The Governor summoned the 
 Massachusetts Legislature in extra session, and 
 procured an act to be passed to pay them the full 
 amount from the State treasury, and sent paymas- 
 ters with the sum to South Carolina, where the 
 troops had gone. But these brave fellows declined 
 to take it, saying, " We will wait till the United 
 States chooses to pay us our just dues." The Gov- 
 ernor, though a sweet-tempered man, was capable 
 of a righteous indignation, and on this occasion it 
 burst all limits. He appealed to the War Depart- 
 ment, to the Attorney-general, and at last to the 
 President ; quoting in his letter to the latter the 
 opinion of the Attorney-general, and then demand- 
 ing that they should be paid, showing what had 
 been their services at Fort Wagner and elsewhere, 
 and what were the sufferings of themselves and 
 their families. But the President still hesitated ; 
 and then the Governor turned to Congress, and 
 addressed a letter to Thaddeus Stevens, June 4, 
 1864, in which he used these remarkable words. 
 " For one, I will never give up my demand for 
 right and justice to the soldiers. I will pursue it 
 before every tribunal. I will present it in every 
 
46 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 forum where any power resides to assert their 
 rights and avenge their wrongs. I will neither 
 forget nor forgive, nor intermit my effort, though 
 I should stand unsupported and alone ; nor, though 
 years should pass before the controversy is ended. 
 And if I should leave the world with this work 
 undone, and there should be any hearing for such 
 as I, elsewhere in the universe, I will carry the 
 appeal before the tribunal of Infinite Justice." 
 Under the pressure of threatened legislation, the 
 War Department at last gave way, and the colored 
 men were made equal with the. whites.^ 
 
 His influence over men was great. He could 
 convince, persuade, and bring to his views persons 
 of the most opposite characters, each of them won- 
 dering how he was able to do so much with the 
 other. He once told me that he believed he was 
 personally acquainted with almost or quite every 
 man of any prominence in the State. 
 
 ^ Happening to be in the Governor's office when he was writing 
 this letter, he read it to me. Not long after, I had the satisfaction 
 of preaching in the hall of the House of Representatives at Wash- 
 ington, and describing the magnanimity of those colored soldiers 
 in refusing the money till they could have justice with it, though 
 they and their families were suffering for need of it. Then I 
 added, " If this action had been done by Greeks or Romans, it 
 would have been put in our school books, and we should be 
 taught to admire its heroism. But because it has been done by 
 colored people we do not think much of it. For myself I had 
 rather be one of those colored soldiers, continuing to serve the 
 country, but refusing his pay till he could have justice, than a 
 member of Congress, sitting in his comfortable chair and taking 
 pay regularly, and yet not having the courage to pass a law to 
 pay those colored men their due." 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 47 
 
 When he was chosen Governor he was much 
 disliked, on account of his supposed ultraism, his 
 peace principles, his anti-slavery ideas, his plain, 
 sturdy democracy of thought and manner. But 
 in making his appointments he acted independ- 
 ently of cliques and parties, laid aside his own 
 preferences, and sedulously sought out the best 
 man, whoever he was. His opponents soon per- 
 ceived that he was just as likely to appoint their 
 sons to offices in the regiments as others, — and 
 the sons, going to the war, were sure to bring their 
 parents into a cordial support of the government. 
 " Two years after the war began," says Colonel 
 Browne, " he was not aware in regard to half the 
 colonels of the Massachusetts troops, what had 
 been their political connections, and was quite sur- 
 prised when he was told one day that, out of the 
 first fifteen colonels of three years' volunteers whom 
 he had commissioned, only one thii-d at the ut- 
 most had voted for Mr. Lincoln for President, 
 while more than one third had voted for Mr, 
 Breckinridge." 
 
 Wherever he went, the walls between him and 
 those he met melted away. His simplicity, heart- 
 iness, steadfast, open purposes, clear, frank state- 
 ments, kindly spirit, made men easy in his society. 
 They forgot their reserves and their prejudices. 
 Whenever he went to Washington, during the 
 war, he came at once into intimate relations with 
 Lincoln, Stanton, Sumner, Chase, the diplomats, 
 
48 JOEN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 the generals, the politicians of all orders, and the 
 business men who thronged the Capital. Mr. 
 Stanton, so hard and repellant to others, never 
 was able to resist Governor Andrew. " Our rep- 
 resentatives in Congress ask me to persuade Stan- 
 ton to this and that ; I don't understand it. Why 
 are they so afraid of him ? He needs them more 
 than they need him. He always does what I want, 
 and yet he does not need me." But the moral 
 atmosphere of Washington was not agreeable to 
 him. 
 
 I once went to Washington with him, at his 
 request, in company with one or two other of his 
 intimate friends. It was at the end of 1861. We 
 went together to Brigade reviews of the troops 
 then in and around Washington, and to a Divis- 
 ion review in Virginia, where we saw a skirmish 
 from the top of a hill. We rode home by night 
 through the Virginia woods, the Wisconsin and 
 Pennsylvania regiments marching by our side, and 
 singing 
 
 " John Brown's body is mouldering in the grave. 
 His soul is marching on," 
 
 while the moonlight glittered on their bayonets, 
 and soft rivulets of fire ran down the dried up beds 
 of the streams on the opposite hill-side. These in- 
 cidents excited all the romance of his nature. 
 
 I recall another scene at Washington : Gov- 
 ernor Andrew asked me to go with him to see Pres- 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 49 
 
 ident Lincoln. It was late at night, after ten 
 o'clock; but when we reached the White House 
 the porter said that the President had gone out 
 with Governor Seward. Recognizing Governor 
 Andrew, he added, " Walk in ! walk in, Gov- 
 ernor!" We went in, and looked into the rooms 
 on the lower floor. All were lighted, but all were 
 vacant. Then Andrew went up stairs, and I fol- 
 lowed. He came to a door before which stood two 
 little pairs of shoes. " This is the childrens' room," 
 said he ; "I should like to go in and see them 
 asleep." He put his hand on the handle of the 
 door, as if to open it ; and then, changing his mind, 
 turned away. But the impulse was such a natural 
 one ! In the palace of the nation, in the midst of 
 the great rebellion, the image of these little chil- 
 dren, quietly asleep, took his heart for the mo- 
 ment from all the great affairs of the country and 
 the time. 
 
 I also recall v?ith much pleasure a visit with the 
 Governor to the home of Francis P. Blair, at Sil- 
 ver Springs, Md., where we passed the evening 
 in very agreeable conversation with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Blair. I recollected the time when all we knew of 
 Mr. Blair was that he belonged to what was con- 
 temptuously called the kitchen-cabinet of General 
 Jackson, and was regarded as the most bitter and 
 unscrupulous of partisans. It seemed strange, 
 therefore, to find in him a kindly old gentleman, 
 mild and calm and wise, and in full sympathy with 
 
 4 
 
50 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 Governor Andrew and the North, Andrew was 
 emphatically what Washington AUston once called 
 himself, " a wide liker." Of Mr. Blair and his 
 wife I remember his saying : " When they sit be- 
 side their wood fire, and talk anything over, and 
 agree about it, they are pretty sure to be right, 
 and there is no use saying anything more on the 
 subject." 
 
 Beside Colonel Browne's volume, to which I 
 have already referred, the book which gives the 
 best account of the work done by the Governor 
 during the war, is " Massachusetts in the Civil 
 War," by William Schouler, Adjutant-general of 
 the Commonwealth. The energy, activity, fore- 
 sight, courage, which marked Andrew's conduct 
 during these years will fill any reader of that 
 book with admiration. General Schouler, who 
 was in close relations with him all the time, thus 
 closes his volume : — 
 
 " How well he served his country, and upheld the • 
 dignity and honor of Massachusetts, these pages may in 
 some degree illustrate. But we know how much greater 
 he was than our inanimate words can disclose. 
 
 " At a period when the State required its wisest and 
 best men at the head of the government, John A. An- 
 drew was selected. We believe this choice to have been 
 a special Providence of God. He had walked amid 
 his fellow men with quiet and heartfelt respect, with a 
 conscience untarnished, a heart uncorrupted by love of 
 gain, or vulgar contact with personal strife' or mean 
 
JOSN ALBION ANDREW. 51 
 
 ambition. He has passed away; and, with him, the 
 greatest, the wisest, the noblest of Massachusetts Gov- 
 
 Massachusetts, a State containing only 1,200,- 
 000 inhabitants, furnished for the defense of the 
 Union, under his lead, 160,000 ; or more than one 
 in eight of all, old and young, men and women, 
 sick and well. 
 
 Who can forget that last day in office, when he 
 made his valedictory address to the Legislature ! 
 He invited to his room a large number of his 
 friends. It was a remarkable scene. There were 
 gathered in the council chamber men and women 
 of all ages, from Levi Lincoln, then eighty-four 
 years old, to little girls ; side by side were old 
 abolitionists and old conservatives, orthodox men 
 and radical men, men and women of all ranks and 
 all ages. It seemed to me to be such a scene as 
 will take place at the resurrection of the just. 
 And it was on this occasion that after going in 
 and making his address, he stated his views on 
 reconstruction. They seemed strange to many 
 persons at that time, but the strangest part of all 
 was, that he who had been so energetic in the 
 prosecution of the war should be the first man to 
 come forward and recominend the most generous 
 treatment of the South. It was on this occasion 
 that he declared that there could be no real recon- 
 struction nor lasting peace, until the South was 
 
52 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 guided by its natural leaders, the intelligent white 
 Southerners. He had devoted the whole energy 
 of his soul to causing justice to be done to the 
 blacks, now he was willing to labor that equal 
 justice should be done to the Southern whites. 
 He did not desire to see the Southern States con- 
 trolled either by selfish carpet-baggers, or by ig- 
 norant freedmen.^ 
 
 After he had retired from the gubernatorial 
 chair, Andrew Johnson, who was then acting Pres- 
 ident of the United States, sent for him, and said : 
 " I want to give you some office ; I would like to 
 
 1 These words, from this valedictory, have, as General H. B. 
 Sargent said, " a glorious ring : " " Having contributed to the 
 army and the navy, including regulars, volunteers, seamen, and 
 marines, men of all arms and ofiScers of all grades and of the 
 various terms of service, an aggregate of one hundred and fifty- 
 nine thousand one hundred and sixty-four men ; and having ex- 
 pended for the war out of her own treasury twenty-seven million 
 seven hundred and five thousand one hundred and nine dollars, 
 beside the expenditure of her cities and towns; she has main- 
 tained, by the unfailing energy and economy of her sons and 
 daughters, her industry and thrift, even in the waste of war. 
 She has paid promptly, and in gold,Bi\ interest on her bonds, 
 including the old and the new, guarding her faith and honor with 
 every public creditor. while still fighting the public enemy; and 
 now, at last, in retiring from her service, I confess the satisfac- 
 tion of having first seen all of her regiments and batteries (save 
 two battalions) returned and mustered out of the army ; and of 
 leaving her treasury provided for by the fortunate and profitable 
 negotiation of all the permanent loan needed or foreseen, with 
 her financial credit maintained at home and abroad, her public 
 securities unsm-passed, if even equaled in value in the money 
 market of the world, by those of any State or of the nation." 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 53 
 
 appoint you Collector of the Port of Boston." 
 "No," replied Governor Andrew, "I do not wish 
 to hold any office in connection with the Goyern- 
 ment. I shall go back to my profession ; but, Mr. 
 Johnson, I should like to take this opportunity to 
 say something to you. The man who ought to 
 receive that position is Hannibal Hamlin, and I 
 shall be most happy as a citizen of Massachusetts 
 to ask you to offer him this office ; for I think that 
 when the Massachusetts delegation at Chicago, at 
 the second Presidential election of Mr. Lincoln, 
 substituted your name as Vice-president, in the 
 place of that of Hannibal Hamlin, they did what 
 they ought not to have done. Not that I mean to 
 say, Mr. President, that Mr. Hamlin would make 
 a better Vice-president than you, but because I 
 think Massachusetts should have stood by Mr. 
 Hamlin." 
 
 He was equally broad in his religious views, 
 and equally free from all religious or sectarian 
 prejudices. He was the first Governor of Mas- 
 sachusetts who ever went to the Catholic College 
 at Worcester, with his aids, to attend commence- 
 ment exercises there. He said : " I wish these 
 young men to understand that we look upon them 
 as our fellow-citizens, and that they will have to 
 consider themselves citizens of Massachusetts." 
 
 Though of Puritan origin, being descended on 
 his mother's side from Francis Higginson, pastor 
 of the first church in the colony, and though a 
 
54 JOBN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 Unitarian in belief, he urged the appointment of 
 the National Fast to be put on Good Friday, so 
 as to unite all other denominations with the Epis- 
 copalians and Roman Catholics in keeping the 
 same day. Two of his most intimate friends were 
 Father Fenotti, a Roman Catholic priest, and Fa- 
 ther Taylor, the Methodist. Father Taylor de- 
 clined speaking at the funeral, saying, " I cannot 
 trust myself, I can only cry." 
 
 Worn out, no doubt, by the incessant labors and 
 anxieties of the w^Sj his iron constitution gave 
 way, and he died suddenly, by a stroke of apo- 
 plexy, October 30, 1867. I received a telegram 
 announcing his death, while attending a conven^- 
 tion in Vermont. When the news was known in 
 this body, one gentleman rose and said, " Tell the 
 people of Massachusetts there is not an intelligent 
 man, woman, or child in Vermont who will not 
 mourn for this death as for a personal bereave- 
 ment." On my arrival in Boston, I found the 
 whole city moved as by a public calamity. And 
 surely it was such. This man, less than fifty years 
 old, seemed fitted for a long and great career. He 
 was wanted for all important occasions which 
 might arise ; the one man fitted for any and every 
 crisis and public need. The most valuable man 
 in the community, as we count value, was taken 
 from us — the man who could help us through 
 any coming crisis. And then the loss to his 
 friends, who were so many in all ranks of society, 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 65 
 
 was irreparable. No wonder that a great sadness 
 fell over the community. 
 
 The funeral took place November 2d, on the 
 Feast of All Souls — a fitting time, as it seemed 
 to many, to lay in the bosom of earth the remains 
 of one to whom all souls were dear, and who called 
 no man common or unclean. The shops were 
 generally closed, and vast numbers stood along 
 the route of the procession with serious faces. 
 But perhaps the most touching sight of all were 
 the poor colored women who ran by the side of 
 the coffin the whole five miles from Boston to 
 Mount Auburn, to take one last look at the face 
 of their friend. 
 
 From the address delivered at his funeral, I 
 select the following passages, which I think no 
 one, who knew T;he man, will consider exagger- 
 ated : — 
 
 " Why has this great company assembled here to-day ? 
 Why have these magistrates, judges, senators, mea of 
 business, men of literature, left their legislation, their 
 work, their study, and come around this cofRn? Why 
 does the energy of Boston give this hour to thought and 
 tears ? Why, to-day, out of Boston, out of Massachusetts, 
 out of New England, on the prairies of Illinois and the 
 Sea Islands of Georgia, does grief rest on the souls of 
 men and women, thinking of him who lies here before 
 us ? A soldier of the West in Louisiana said to a friend of 
 mine, ' I know the whole name of only one Governor 
 — that is John A. Andrew.' It is not merely because 
 
56 JOEN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 he held the high office of Chief Magistrate. Others less 
 widely known have done this. It was not merely be- 
 cause of his great abilities. Others, perhaps, with more 
 shining qualities than his, have passed away with no 
 such sense of loss as this. It is not even because of the 
 work he did for the Union in its hour of danger, or his 
 services, eminent as they were, during the bitter war. 
 These are not yet fully understood, not wholly known, 
 even by ourselves. We come here to-day, not because 
 of his office, for he was a private citizen ; not because 
 of his genius, for it was plain, practical, simple ; not be- 
 cause of any long and large experience, for ten years 
 ago he was so little known that his name was not in the 
 American Cyclopedia, and he had not yet held his first 
 office, that of member of the lower House of the Mas- 
 sachusetts Legislature. But to-day, John Albion An- 
 drew is mourned as no other man in the Union would 
 be lamented, because of his charactor; because every- 
 body fully trusted him ; because he was the one man in 
 the Union whom every one knew to be perfectly relia- 
 ble, unselfish, transparent as a piece of crystal ; to be 
 trusted in any great danger or emergency with absolute 
 confidence ; the one man whom it seems as if we covHd not 
 spare, because the one man to whom this whole distracted, 
 divided, betrayed nation could look in any coming hour 
 of danger as a leader in whom all might unite, North 
 and South, East and West, Radicals and Conservatives. 
 We mourn to-day because, he being gone, the Union 
 is not so much the Union as it was — that mediatorial 
 character having been taken away. 
 
 " What a lesson is this of the •power of character ! It 
 has carried him up, during ten short years, from ob- 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 67 
 
 scurity to eminence. Because God gave him originally 
 the precious gift of such a sweet evenness of temper, 
 such equality of soul, such joy in simple things, such 
 modesty and manliness combined ; because he began life 
 with such a sincere purpose of right-doing ; because his 
 aim was not 'to exalt himself, to win fortune, to get fame, 
 to hold power ; but to do work for God and man ; be- 
 cause, all these years when few knew much about him, 
 he was faithful to daily duty; faithful to unpopular 
 truth ; loyal to freedom, justice, humanity, when the 
 crowd went the other way ; because he pursued without 
 haste or rest the way upward into truth and right ; 
 therefore did Providence at last thus exalt him to a 
 great opportunity, such as no man in Massachusetts ever 
 had before, and give him the strength to fulfill a work to 
 be memorable through all time. 
 
 "His eye was single, and therefore his whole body 
 was full of light. No mote of egotism, vanity, or self- 
 ishness blinded his eye; no prejudice, envy, or hatred 
 clouded that clear vision. He had no enemies; he 
 could not have any. People might dislike him, be 
 angry with him for neglecting this or doing that which 
 interfered with their pet projects or special interest; 
 but abuse him as they might, misrepresent him as they 
 did, slander him for this or that, they never could make 
 him angry with them. That sweet milk of human kind- 
 ness no mortal could ever sour. He could not be partial 
 or prejudiced or unjust : in such stable equilibrium was 
 his mind maintained by the steadfast gravitation of his 
 heart to justice and honesty. 
 
 " In him was illustrated also the original and deeper 
 sense of the word integrity. His integrity was the com- 
 
58 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 plete balance of soul, making him go wholly into all that 
 he did, without reserves, limitations, or qualifications — 
 'the inner substance and the outer face' — all kept in 
 exact harmony. In that limpid soul all was visible, as 
 in some of the bays of Lake Huron you can see clear to 
 the bottom, sixty feet down, and count every agate or 
 carnelian on the sand. 
 
 " But it would be a great wrong to truth and Chris- 
 tianity to omit here, in the presence of death and eternity, 
 and in these consecrated walls, the fact that John A. 
 Andrew's character was rooted deep in religion. As 
 his pastor and friend for more than twenty-five years, 
 having met him all this time in our weekly conference 
 meetings when his face would irradiate peace, whUe he 
 opened to us the Scriptures, expounded Paul, or re- 
 vealed to the little group of friends the deeper experi- 
 ences of his life, I ought to say that I never knew a 
 more pure, simple, straight-forward piety than his ; faith 
 without narrowness, piety so manly and cheerful. His 
 heart took in all sects and names. He was at home with 
 orthodox and heterodox, with Protestant and Catholic. 
 To-day there sit by his coffin the representatives of some 
 of this largeness of heart ; Father Taylor, who has been 
 his intimate friend for so lo'ng a time ; Mr. Grimes, 
 whose church he so often visited, and who could tell to- 
 day, had we time to hear, of a thousand acts of good 
 will to the race whom he has served so well. We had 
 hoped to have here Father Fenotti, a dear friend of his, 
 but he has been detained ; yet let me read a few lines 
 of his note: — 
 
 " ' Trying as it is to me, and exceedingly painful to 
 refuse the request, I cannot meet you and the other rev- 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 59 
 
 erend gentlemen to-morrow morning, to perform an act 
 of love and religion toward the sacred remains of a 
 friend whom I have loved and esteemed with an in- 
 tensity of affection not surpassed by that with which I 
 love my brother. Governor Andrew was dear to me. 
 His coming to my house always electrified me. During 
 the long spells of sickness to which I am subjected, his 
 visits, which were very frequent, did me a heart day's 
 good. I cannot express what I feel about it.' " 
 
 As daylight faded from tlie skies, we laid him 
 in his Mount Auburn resting-place. Before the 
 coffin was closed we looked on his face again. 
 Was it a fancy, or did I really see a new expres- 
 sion on that well-known countenance — as of one 
 going calmly but modestly forward to meet a 
 strange and wonderful scene. Awe and manly 
 self-respect were blended in that look. Was he 
 then going up to meet the great kindred souls, 
 who, like him, had fought a good fight, finished 
 their course, and kept the faith ? And, amid that 
 noble band, did he also recognize a yet more ma- 
 jestic and more loving friend, saying, " Come, 
 blessed of my Father ! For inasmuch as ye did 
 it to the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto 
 me ! " I might have been deceived in the out- 
 ward phenomenon, but I was not mistaken in re- 
 gard to the inward reality. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and after our me- 
 morial services for our brother were concluded, 
 there was handed to me this message, written on 
 a scrap of paper : — 
 
60 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 "I wish you could know what Massachusetts men, who 
 were in the West during the war, thought of Governor 
 Andrew. I never saw him. Born in Massachusetts, I 
 was in Ohio from 1858 to 1865. I took his proclama- 
 tions into my pulpit, and read them to the people, weep- 
 ing the while with grateful pride, that my native State 
 had such a Governor and leader. Massachusetts' sons, 
 away from home, blessed him, and felt that the old Bay 
 State would be kept at the front, under God, by John 
 A. Andrew. V." 
 
 Two years later the remains of Governor An- 
 drew were removed to the cemetery in Hingham, 
 the town in which he had spent his summers for 
 many years, and the early home of his wife. On 
 this occasion his friends and neighbors testified 
 their loving memory of his worth by a general 
 attendance at the services. I will select a few 
 passages from the address on that occasion. Over 
 the pulpit of the church was his portrait, and 
 these immortal words from his address at a Meth- 
 odist Camp Meeting at Martha's Vineyard, Au- 
 gust 16,1862: "I know not what record of sin 
 may await me in another world, but this I do 
 know: I was never mean enough to despise a 
 man because he was poor, because he was igno- 
 rant, or because he was black." 
 
 "Two years to-day, on the 30th of October, 1867, the 
 State of Massachusetts, the nation, and an innumerable 
 company of friends, lost the helpful presence and in- 
 spired mind of John Albion Andrew. 
 
JOBN ALBION ANDREW. 61 
 
 " And now, after these two years, during which his 
 thought has been so present with us all, you have 
 brought back his earthly remains to lay them in the 
 midst of your homes. And in this you have done well. 
 It seems more suitable that those who have lived to-, 
 gether should sleep side by side ; pleasant to each other 
 in life and in death not divided. 
 
 " Who does not feel the tender charm which lingers 
 around these silent villages where ' the rude forefathers 
 of the hamlet sleep.' It is well that our friend should 
 rest here, for here he loved to come and make his home 
 when he could escape from the care and pressure of 
 business. Here he sat in your church, taught in your 
 Sunday-school, visited you in your homes, and made 
 himself as fully a Hirighara man as if he and his ances- 
 tors had always lived in this place. And among all the 
 words he said in public, I know nothing which carries 
 with it so much of the charm of the thought and heart 
 of John A. Andrew, as his speech here, when you 
 came to congratulate him on his nomination for Gov- 
 ernor. He said — and let me repeat a few of his famil- 
 iar words : — 
 
 " ' This is one of those occasions which come in the 
 course of all our lives, when no poor form of human 
 speech is adequate either to the solemnity or to the 
 gladness of the hour. I confess to you, my old friends 
 and neighbors, associates and kinspeople of Hingham, 
 that I could more fitly speak by tears than by words 
 to-night. From the centre of my being, from the bot- 
 tom of my heart, for this unsought, enthusiastic, cordial 
 welcome, this tender of your generous sympathy, dear 
 friends, I thank you How dear to my heart are 
 
62 JOEN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 these fields, these hills, these spreading trees, this ver- 
 dant grass, this sounding shore of yours, where now for 
 fourteen years, through summer's heat, and sometimes 
 in winter's storm, I have trod your streets, and rambled 
 through your woods, and sauntered by your beach, and 
 sat by your firesides, and felt the warm pressure of your 
 hands, sometimes teaching your children in the Sunday- 
 school, sometimes speaking to you, my fellow-citizens, 
 
 — speaking to willing ears Here I have found 
 
 most truly a home, free from the cares and the distrac- 
 tions, from the turmoil, doubts, and responsibilities of a 
 laborious and anxious profession. Away from the busier 
 haunts of men it has been given me to find here a calm, 
 sweet retreat, where, in the society of private friendship, 
 I have been able to refresh the wearied spirit and 
 strengthen the worn hands of toil. Here, dear friends, 
 I have found the home of my heart. It was into one 
 of your families that I entered and joined myself in holy 
 bands of domestic love to one of the daughters of your 
 town. Here, too, first have I known a parent's joys and 
 a parent's sorrows. So whether you say aye or no here 
 to the selection which may cause me to occupy at a 
 future day the chief seat in the Commonwealth, I now 
 declare with all the earnestness and honesty of a manly 
 conviction, that John A. Andrew is forever your friend.' 
 "And now you receive back, people of Hingham, all 
 that remains of your friend, and will guard in your midst, 
 forever, these relics of a just and true man. They will 
 add a new sacredness to the sacred spot where they lie ; 
 they will invest this ancient town with another inter- 
 est. When strangers come to visit the place, they will 
 ask for the grave of Governor Andrew ; for 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 63 
 
 ' ' Such graves as his are pilgrim, shrines, 
 Shrines to no code or creed confined. 
 The Delphian Tales, the Palestines, 
 The Meccas of the mind.' 
 
 "When you and your children visit the cemetery, 
 your feet will linger near that place, and you will tell 
 them of his great virtues, and they will grow up to be 
 better men and women for the reminder of these ashes. 
 This silent dust will speak, to tell them that, better than 
 wealth, power, or fame, is the life of an honest man. If 
 our nation should be corrupted by prosperity, if its high 
 places should be occupied by ignoble mea, if truth 
 should seem about to desert the earth, — go to that spot, 
 men of Hingham, and be assured, by the memory of the 
 good and great Governor of Massachusetts, that virtue 
 is no name and that there is no such success as that of 
 purity of heart. As long as Washington lies in Mount 
 Vernon, Lincoln in Springfield, and Andkew in Hing- 
 ham, the South, the West, and the North, will each have 
 one spot consecrated to patriotism, truth, and honor, — 
 a spot which will help to keep the land to its high tra- 
 ditions, its solemn duties, and its grand future." 
 
 In October, 1875, a marble statue of Governor 
 Andrew was placed in the Hingham church-yard, 
 on which occasion a very interesting address was 
 delivered by General Horace Binney Sargent, from 
 which we quote the following sentences. General 
 Sargent was appointed by the Governor his senior 
 aid, and so continued until commissioned Lieuten- 
 ant-colonel of the First Massachusetts Cavalry. 
 
64 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 
 
 " How fitting tliat this martyr to the eternal vigilance 
 of Liberty should rest in the old town where the first 
 signer of the Declaration of American Independence — 
 John Hancock — opened his baby eyes ! When, also, I 
 remember that during the war of the rebellion, with its 
 nights of vigil and its days burdened with all the civil 
 duties of an executive ; seven inaugural and valedictory 
 addresses, exhaustive of many subjects, before the State 
 Legislature of five successive years; thirteen veto mes- 
 sages, many of them with elaborate law arguments ; 
 ninety special messages ; the patient and critical, verbal 
 as well as legal, examination and approval of one thou- 
 sand eight hundred and fifteen acts and resolves ; innu- 
 merable speeches and addresses on many subjects and 
 in many places ; all these civil duties added to the over- 
 whelming cares of a War Minister, as well as ruler — 
 in war time — when all the offices of the State House 
 were overflowing with infinite inquiry, complaint, and 
 diplomacy that were involved in the rapid and constant 
 recruitment of one hundred and sixty thousand men, the 
 State House being like a camp with going and return- 
 ing troops; when I reflect on this, and remember that, 
 during all these Titanic years of toil which were bearing 
 Governor Andrew surely to his early grave, he still con- 
 tinued, to perform his duty as Secretary of Father Tay- 
 lor's little Bethel for Seamen — I feel gratified, as by a 
 divine harmony, that John Albion Andrew, whom I 
 reverently deem the most Christ-like of all war's min- 
 isters, should sleep in the same country grave-yard 
 where sleeps, that old communion-bearing deacon of 
 your church — that honest, stout, old deacon — who, at 
 the capitulation of Yorktown, by the order of his friend 
 
JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 65 
 
 as well as commander, Washington, received the sword 
 of Cornwallis ! Major-general Benjamin Lincoln, of the 
 army of the Revolution, and John Albion Andrew, twin 
 patriots of the elder and the later time ! God grant 
 them rest ! 
 
 "To me, this Covenanter spirit, this union of con- 
 science and claymore, of sword and gospel, is sublime. 
 So, in the will and inventory of Miles Standish, the 
 great Puritan captain, are recorded ' three muskets with 
 bandaleros ' and ' three old Bybles.' Armed thus with 
 faith and courage, men are girded with the sword of the 
 spirit, and become the Xaviers or the Luthers of man- 
 kind." 
 
 As the years go by, the memory of this great 
 and good man will be more and more appreciated. 
 In all coming time the sons of Massachusetts will 
 gratefully remember and honor the man " who 
 ordered the overcoats and received the flags." 
 
 5 
 
II. 
 
 JAMES FEEEMAT!^. 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 One of the few remaining antiquities in the 
 city of Boston is the church of old gray stone, 
 known as King's Chapel. Outwardly, its aspect 
 is one of solid strength rather than architectural 
 pretension. Its interior, however, is very striking, 
 and to my mind, superior in its simple elegance to 
 that of any other church in the city. It is said to 
 be modeled on the plan of Sir Christopher Wren's 
 chef d'ceuvre, St. Stephen's, Walbrook, London. 
 It is one of the few churches which contains marble 
 monuments of the old families of Boston. In my 
 childhood there still remained the state-pew of the 
 colonial governors, higher and larger than the other 
 pews, and with a canopy above it. This build- 
 ing, the oldest Episcopal church in New England, 
 became the first Unitarian church in the United 
 States, in consequence of a change of opinion tak- 
 ing place in the mind of a young man who was 
 chosen as reader and rector by this society, at the 
 close of the American Revolution. This young 
 man was James Freeman. 
 
70 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 Dr. Freeman is known to the religious public as 
 the first avowed preacher of Unitarianism in the 
 United States ; he is remembered by the people 
 of Boston as one, who, for fifty years, was identi- 
 fied with all the best interests of that community. 
 Though never ambitious of literary distinction, his 
 writings occupy an important place in the litera- 
 ture of the country, both for justness of thought 
 and purity of expression. But the friends of Dr. 
 Freeman forget all these things in remembering 
 his personal qualities. They recall him as the 
 playfellow of children, the friend and counsellor 
 of youth, the charming companion in social in- 
 tercourse, whose happy sentences were always 
 freighted at once with wit and wisdom, and in 
 whose character were beautifully blended the 
 most austere uprightness and the most generous 
 sympathy. As, however, I cannot speak of these 
 things without appearing to strangers to exagger- 
 ate, and to his friends to understate, his peculiar 
 excellence, I shall rather dwell on the events of 
 his life ; adding, at the close, some traits illustra- 
 tive of his private character. 
 
 The first ancestor of Dr. Freeman who came 
 to this country was Samuel Freeman, proprietor 
 of the eighth part of Watertown, Mass., a place 
 settled in 1630. His son Samuel went to East- 
 ham, on Cape Cod, with his father-in-law, Thomas 
 Prince, Governor of Plymouth. He inherited his 
 father-in-law's estate in Eastham, and the family 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 71 
 
 remained on Cape Cod till Constant Freeman, the 
 father of the subject of this notice, removed to 
 Charlestown, Mass., about 1755. James Free- 
 man was born in Charlestown, April 22, 1759. 
 His father moved to Boston soon after, and he 
 was sent to the public Latin School in that city, 
 then under the care of Master Lovell, a some- 
 what famous teacher in his day. He entered the 
 school in 1766, being seven years old, at that time 
 the age fixed for admission. Among his . class- 
 mates were the late Judge Dawes, of the Supreme 
 Court of Massachusetts, Rev. Jonathan Homer, 
 D. C, of Newton, Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin, of 
 the British Navy, and Sir Bernard Morland, 
 afterward a member of the British Parliament. 
 When his friend. Dr. Homer, used to speak of the 
 great men who belonged to their class in the 
 Latin School, Dr. Freeman would sometimes add : 
 "But, Brother Homer, you forget our classmate 
 who was hanged." The name of this unfortunate 
 member of the class cannot now be supplied. 
 
 James Freeman entered Harvard College in 
 1773, and was graduated in 1777, at the age of 
 eighteen. Among his classmates, were Dr. Bent- 
 ley and Rufus King. The American Revolution 
 dispersed the College, and interrupted for a time 
 his studies. But he must have laid the founda- 
 tion of good scholarship there. In after years, 
 he was an excellent Latin scholar, a good mathe- 
 matician, and read with ease the French, Italian, 
 
72 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In the latter 
 languages, I recollect his reading for amusement, 
 at the close of his life, the works of Father Feyjoo 
 and Father Vieira. With the writings of Cicero, 
 Tacitus, Lucretius, and other Latin authors, he was 
 thoroughly acquainted. Though he always spoke 
 lightly of his own learning, he was far more of a 
 scholar than many men of greater pretensions. 
 
 After . leaving College, Mr. Freeman went to 
 Cape .Cod to visit his relatives there ; and, as 
 he strongly sympathized with the revolutionary 
 movement, he engaged in disciplining a company 
 of men who were about to join the Colonial 
 troops. In 1780, he sailed to Quebec, in a small 
 vessel bearing a cartel, taking with him his sister, 
 in order to place her with her father, then in that 
 city. On his passage, he was captured by a pri- 
 vateei-, and was detained at Quebec after his ar- 
 rival, first in a prison-ship, and afterward as a 
 prisoner on parole. He did not leave Quebec till 
 June, 1782, when he sailed again for Boston, ar- 
 riving there about the 1st of August. Being a 
 candidate for the ministry, he preached in several 
 places, and was invited, in September, to officiate 
 as Reader at the King's Chapel, in Boston, for a 
 term of six months. 
 
 The King's Chapel was founded in 1686, and a 
 wooden edifice for public worship was built in 
 1690. The present building, which is of stone, 
 and which is still one of the finest specimens of 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 73 
 
 church architecture in New England, was erected 
 one hundred and twenty-eight years ago, — the 
 corner-stone having been laid in 1749. Dr. Caner, 
 the Rector of the church, had espoused the Brit- 
 ish cause, and he accompanied the British troops, 
 when they evacuated Boston, in 1776. The few 
 proprietors of King's Chapel, who remained in 
 Boston, lent their building to the Old South Con- 
 gregational Church, whose house of worship had 
 been used by the British army as a riding-school. 
 The two societies occupied the building alter- 
 nately, each with its own forms and its own min- 
 ister, — one in the morning and the other in the 
 afternoon. Under these circumstances Mr. Free- 
 man commenced his services as a Reader. 
 
 I have in my possession a file of letters which 
 Mr. Freeman wrote to his father in Quebec, from 
 which I will make some extracts, showing his 
 opinions and feelings at this time. These letters 
 have probably not been opened for sixty years. 
 
 December 24, 1782 "I suppose, long before 
 
 this reaches you, you will be made acquainted with my 
 situation at the Chapel. The church increases every 
 day. I trust you believe that, by entering into this line, 
 I have imbibed no High Church notions. I have for- 
 tunately no temptations to be bigoted, for the propri- 
 etors of the Chapel are very liberal in their notions. 
 They allow me to make several alterations in the ser- 
 vice, which liberty I frequently use. We can scarcely be 
 called of the Church of England, for we disclaim the 
 
74 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 authority of that country in ecclesiastical as well as in 
 
 civil matters I forgot to mention in my former 
 
 letter the sum I receive for preaching. For the first §ix 
 months, I am to be paid fifty pounds sterling. This is 
 not much, but, when I engaged, the church was small, 
 consisting only of about forty families. It has already 
 increased to nearly eighty. So that I imagine that at 
 the end of the six months, when I shall enter into new 
 terms, the salary will be increased to two hundred and 
 fifty or three hundred pounds lawful mo,ney per an- 
 num. I wish for no more. Indeed, if at any period of 
 life I knew what contentment was, it is at present." 
 
 In the course of the year or two following his 
 settlement, Mr. Freeman's opinions on the subject 
 of the Trinity were so far modified by his studies 
 and reflections that he found it necessary to pro- 
 pose to his church to alter the Liturgy in the 
 places where that doctrine appears. An English 
 Unitarian minister, Mr. Hazlitt, was at that time 
 residing in Boston, and his intercourse with Mr. 
 Freeman may have contributed to this change of 
 sentiment. But only as an occasion — for this 
 change of view lay in the direction of the tenden- 
 cies of Mr. Freeman's mind and of the tendency 
 of thought in that community, as appears from 
 the ease with which Unitarianism spread in Bos- 
 ton. Mr. Hazlitt was the father of William 
 Hazlitt, the essayist. The latter was born in 
 Boston^^and Dr. Freeman used to speak of him as 
 a curly-headed, bright-eyed boy. 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 75 
 
 Dr. Greenwood, in his sermon preached after 
 the funeral of Dr. Freeman, thus speaks of the 
 way in which this change of the Liturgy was ef- 
 fected. He says that Mr. Freeman first thought 
 of leaving his Society. " He communicated his 
 difficulties to those of his friends with whom he 
 was most intimate. He would come into their 
 houses and say : ' Much as I love you, I must 
 leave you. I cannot conscientiously any longer 
 perform the service of the church, as it now 
 stands.' But at length it was said to him, 'Why 
 not state your difficulties, and the grounds of 
 them, publicly to your whole people, that they 
 may be able to judge of the case, and determine 
 whether it is such as to require a separation be- 
 tween you and them or not ? ' The suggestion 
 was adopted. He preached a series of sermons, 
 in which he plainly stated his dissatisfaction with 
 the Trinitarian portions of the Liturgy, went fully 
 into an examination of the doctrine of the Trinity, 
 and gave his reasons for rejecting it. He has 
 himself assured me that when he delivered these 
 sermons, he was under a strong impression that 
 they were the last he should ever pronounce from 
 this pulpit But he was heard patiently, at- 
 tentively, kindly. The greater part of his hearers 
 responded to his sentiments, and resolved to alter 
 their Liturgy and retain their Pastor." 
 
 Alterations were accordingly made in general 
 conformity with those of the amended Liturgy of 
 
76 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 Dr. Samuel Clarke, and, on the 19th of June, 
 1785, the proprietors voted, by a majority of 
 three fourths, to adopt those alterations.^ In a 
 letter to his father, dated the first of June, he 
 says, after describing the changes which had been 
 made in the Liturgy, " In two or three weeks, the 
 Church will finally pass the vote whether they 
 will adopt the alterations or not. I flatter myself 
 the decision will be favorable; for out of about 
 ninety families of which the congregation con- 
 sists, fifteen only are opposed to the reformation. 
 Should the vote pass in the negative, I shall be 
 under the necessity of resigning my living." He 
 adds, however, that in this case, he has no fear 
 but that he shall find employment elsewhere, 
 " Thus," says Mr. Greenwood, " the first Episco- 
 pal Church in New England became the first 
 Unitarian Church in the New "World. The young 
 Reader at King's Chapel was surely placed in pe- 
 culiar circumstances. It is his praise that he made 
 a right and manly use of them ; that he did not 
 smother his convictions and hush down his con- 
 science, and endeavor to explain away to himself, 
 
 1 Before this vote was taken, the proprietors had taken meas- 
 ures to ascertain who properly belonged to the church as pew- 
 holders, and what pews had been forfeited by the absence of their 
 former owners, according to the letter of their deeds. And, that 
 no ground of complaint should exist, the proprietors engaged to 
 pay for every vacated pew, though legally forfeited, the sum of six- 
 teen pounds to its former owner. — Greenwood's History of King's 
 Chapel. 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 77 
 
 for the sake of a little false and -outward peace, 
 the obvious sense of the prayers which he uttered 
 before God and his people, but took that other 
 and far better course of explicitness and honesty. 
 By this proper use of circumstances he placed him- 
 self where he now stands in our religious his- 
 tory." 1 
 
 The next thing to be considered was the mode 
 of ordination to be received by Mr. Freeman, who 
 was as yet only a Reader. In a letter to his 
 father, dated October 31, 1786, he describes an 
 application made to Bishop Seabury of Connecti- 
 ,cut, and Bishop Provost of New York, for ordina- 
 tion, fi-om which the following extracts are taken, 
 which illustrate both the opinions of the time, and 
 the character of Mr. Freeman : — 
 
 " My visit to Bishop Seabury terminated as I expected. 
 Before I waited upon him, he gave out that he never 
 would ordain me ; but it was necessary to ask the question. 
 He being in Boston last March, a committee of our Church 
 waited upon him, and requested him to ordain me, with- 
 out insisting upon any other conditions than a declara- 
 tion of faith in the Holy Scriptures. He replied that, as 
 the case was unusual, it was necessary that he should con- 
 sult his presbyters — the Episcopal clergy in Connecti- 
 cut. Accordingly, about the beginning of June, I rode 
 to Stratford, where a convention was holding, carrying 
 with me several letters of recommendation. I waited 
 upon the Bishop's presbyters and delivered my letters. 
 
 1 Greenwood's Sermon after the funeral of Dr. Freeman, p. 11. 
 
78 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 They professed themselves satisfied with the testimonials 
 which they contained of my moral character, etc., but 
 added that they could not recommend me to the Bishop 
 for ordination upon the terms proposed by my church. 
 For a man to subscribe the Scriptures, they said, was 
 nothing, for it could never be determined from that what 
 his creed was. Heretics professed to believe them not 
 less than the orthodox, and made use of them in support 
 of their peculiar opinions. If I could subscribe such a 
 declaration as that I could conscientiously read the whole 
 of the Book of Common Prayer, they would cheerfully 
 recommend me. I answered that I could not conscien- 
 tiously subscribe a declaration of that kind. ' Why not ? ' 
 ' Because there are some parts of the Book of Common 
 Prayer which I do not approve.' ' What parts ? ' ' The 
 prayers to the Son and Holy Spirit.' ' You do not then 
 believe the doctrine of the Trinity.' ' No.' ' This ap- 
 pears to us very strange. We can think of no texts 
 which countenance your opinion. We should be glad to 
 hear you mention some.' ' It would ill become me, gen- 
 tlemen, to dispute with persons of your learning and abil- 
 ities. But if you will give me leave, I will repeat two 
 passages which appear to me decisive : There is one God, 
 and one Mediator between God and man, the man Christ 
 Jesus. There is but one God, the Father, and one Lord 
 Jesus Christ. In both these passages Jesus Christ is 
 plainly distinguished from God, and in the last, that God 
 is expressly declared to be the Father.' To this they 
 made no other reply than an ' Ah! ' which echoed round 
 the room. ' But are not all the attributes of the Father,' 
 said one, 'attributed to the Son in the Scriptures? Is 
 not Omnipotence for instance ? ' ' It is true,' I answered, 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 79 
 
 'that our Saviour says of himself, All power is given 
 unto me, in heaven and earth. You will please to ob- 
 serve here that the power is said to be given. It is a 
 derived power. It is not self-existent and unoriginated, 
 like that of the Father.' ' But is not the Son omni- 
 scient ? Does he not know the hearts of men ? ' ' Yes, 
 He knows them by virtue of that intelligence which He 
 derives from the Father. But, by a like communica- 
 tion, did Peter know the hearts of Ananias and Sapphira.' 
 After some more conversation of the same kind, they 
 told me that it could not possibly be that the Christian 
 world should have been idolaters for seventeen hundred 
 years, as they must be according to my opinions. In 
 answer to this, I said that whether they had been idola- 
 ters or not I would not determine, but that it was full 
 as probable that they should be idolaters for seventeen 
 hundred years as that they should be Roman Catholics 
 for twelve hundred. They then proceeded to find fault 
 with some part of the new Liturgy. ' We observe that 
 you have converted the absolution into a prayer. Do 
 you mean by that to deny the power of the Priesthood 
 to absolve the people, and that God has committed to 
 it the power of remitting sins ? ' 'I meant neither to 
 deny nor to affirm it. The absolution appeared ex- 
 ceptionable to some persons, for which reason it was 
 changed into a prayer, which could be exceptionable to 
 nobody.' ' But you must be sensible, Mr. Freeman, 
 that Christ instituted an order of Priesthood, and that 
 to them He committed the power of absolving sins. 
 Whosesoever sins ye remit they are remitted unto him, and , 
 whosesoever sins ye retain they are retained.' To this I 
 made no other reply than a return of their own emphatic 
 
80 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 Ah ! Upon the whole, finding me an incorrigible here- 
 tic, they dismissed me without granting my request. 
 They treated me, however, with great candor and polite- 
 ness, begging me to go home, to read, to alter my opin- 
 ions, and then to return and receive that ordination, which 
 they wished to procure for me from their Bishop. I left 
 them and proceeded to New York. When there I 
 waited on Mr. Provost, Eector of the Episcopal Church, 
 who is elected to go to England to be consecrated a 
 Bishop. I found him a liberal man, and that he ap- 
 proved of the alterations which had been made at the 
 Chapel. Of him I hope to obtain ordination, which I 
 am convinced he will cheerfully confer, unless prevented 
 by the bigotry of some of his clergy. The Episcopal 
 ministers in New York, and in the Southern States, 
 are not such High Churchmen as those in Connecticut. 
 The latter approach very near to Roman Catholics, or 
 at least equal Bishop Laud and his followers. Should 
 Provost refuse to ordain me, I shall then endeavor to 
 effect a plan which I have long had in my head, which 
 is, to be ordained by the Congregational ministers of the 
 town, or to preach and administer the ordinances with- 
 out any ordination whatever. The last scheme I most 
 approve ; for I am fully convinced that he who has de- 
 voted his time to the study of divinity, and can find a 
 congregation who are willing to hear him, is, to all in- 
 tents, a minister of the Gospel ; and that, though impo- 
 sition of hands, either of Bishops or Presbyters, be nec- 
 essary to constitute him priest in the eye of the law, in 
 some countries, yet that, in the eye of Heaven, he has 
 not less of the indelible character than a Bishop or a 
 Patriarch. Our early ancestors, who, however wrong 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 81 
 
 they might be in some particulars, were in general sen- 
 sible and judicious men, were of this opinion. One of 
 the articles of the Cambridge Platform is that the call 
 of the congregation alone constitutes a man a minister, 
 and that imposition of hands by Bishops or Elders is a 
 mere form, which is, by no means, essential. The same 
 sentiments are adopted by the most rational clergy in 
 the present day, who give up the necessity of ordination 
 as indefensible, and ridicule the doctrine of the uninter- 
 rupted succession as a mere chimera. I am happy to 
 find many of my hearers join with me in opinion upon 
 this subject." 
 
 As might, perhaps, have been foreseen, it was 
 found impossible to procure Episcopal ordination, 
 and Mr. Freeman and his church finally deter- 
 mined on a method differing from both of those 
 suggested in his letter. He was neither ordained 
 by the Congregational ministers of Boston, nor 
 yet did he omit all ceremony of induction, but (as 
 Mr. Greenwood says) he fell back on first princi- 
 ples, and was ordained by the church itself, by a 
 solemn service at the time of evening prayer, No- 
 vember 18, 1787. The Wardens entered the desk 
 after the usual evening service, and the Senior 
 Warden made a short address, showing the rea- 
 sons of the present procedure. The first ordaining 
 prayer was read, then the ordaining vote, to which 
 the members gave assent by rising, by which they 
 chose Mr. Freeman to be their " Rector, Minister, 
 Priest, Pastor, and Ruling Elder." Other ser- 
 6 
 
82 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 vices followed, among which was the presenting a 
 Bible to the Rector, enjoining on him "a due ob- 
 servance of all the precepts contained therein." 
 
 From the time that Mr. Freeman was thus set 
 apart to his office, he sustained the various duties 
 of the ministry till 1809, when the Rev. Samuel 
 Gary was, at his request, associated with him as 
 colleague ; after whose death, in 1815, he again 
 served alone till 1824, when the Rev. F. W. P. 
 Greenwood was inducted as colleague. In 1811, 
 he received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from 
 Harvard College. In 1826, his health had so far 
 given way that he was obliged to give up to Mr. 
 Greenwood his parochial duties and retire to a 
 country residence near Boston. Here he lived 
 nine years, surrounded by the affection of young 
 and old, and, though suffering from painful dis- 
 ease, always cheerful, and at length expired No- 
 vember 14, 1835, in the seventy-seventh year of 
 his age. 
 
 Dr. Freeman was a member of the first School 
 Committee ever chosen by the people of Boston, 
 which was elected in 1792, the schools before that 
 time being under the charge of the Selectmen of 
 the town. He was for many years on this Com- 
 mittee, and was one of those by whose labors the 
 Public School System of Boston has been brought 
 to its present excellent condition. He was one of 
 the founders of the Massachusetts Historical So- 
 ciety, and, during a long period, one of its most 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 83 
 
 active collaborators, contributing many valuable 
 papers to its collections. He was also a member 
 of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. 
 His publications consist of a Thanksgiving Ser- 
 mon, 1784 ; a Description of Boston, published in 
 the Boston Magazine, 1784 ; Remarks on Morse's 
 American Universal Geography, 1793 ; a Sermon 
 on the Death of Rev. John Elliot, D. D., 1813 ; 
 a volume of Sermons published in 1812, vrhich 
 passed through three editions ; and another vol- 
 ume in 1829, printed as a gift for his parish, but 
 not published ; besides many articles in periodi- 
 cals. He printed no controversial sermons, and 
 indeed seldom preached them. His style was sen- 
 tentious and idiomatic, and has often been spoken 
 of as a model of pure English. Though there is 
 no trace of ambitious thought or expression in his 
 writings, their tone and spirit are wise and healthy. 
 Although Dr. Freeman was the first, who, in 
 this country, openly preached Unitarianism, under 
 that name, he always referred to Dr. Mayhew and 
 others as having preached the same doctrine be- 
 fore. This was no doubt true. Some form of 
 Arianism had prevailed in New England for sev- 
 eral years before Dr. Freeman's time ; but he was 
 the first to avow and defend the doctrine by its 
 distinct name. This fact necessarily brought him 
 into relations with other advocates of these opin- 
 ions, and he corresponded with Priestley and Bel- 
 sham, and especially with Theophilus Lindsey, 
 
84 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 whose character he much esteemed. He also had 
 sympathy from Chauncy, Belknap, and others 
 older than himself, and among his contemporaries 
 from men like Bentley, Clarke, Eliot, Kirkland. 
 And as he loved to " keep his friendships in re- 
 pair," he was surrounded in after years by multi- 
 tudes of younger friends and disciples. He loved 
 the young, and always sought to help them. I 
 have been told of his urging new married people 
 among his parishioners to join the smaller and 
 struggling parish of some young minister — " Go 
 there," he would say, "and grow up with that 
 church, and make yourselves useful in it." He 
 sympathized with young men in their diffident 
 first 'efforts, and always encouraged and befriended 
 them. How then could the young help loving 
 him? He was no zealot for his own opinions, 
 but a thoroughly liberal man, and was intimate 
 with men of all denominations. The good Bishop 
 Cheverus was one of his best friends. He could 
 not tolerate intolerance, and disliked Unitarian 
 bigotry quite as much as Orthodox bigotry. I 
 have heard him say, " Sterne complains of the cant 
 of criticism. I think the cant of liberality worse 
 than that. I have a neighbor who comes and en- 
 tertains me that way, abusing the Orthodox by 
 the hour, and, all the time, boasting of bis own 
 liberality." He carried his freedom of mind into 
 matters of taste as well as matters of opinion. 
 Bred in the school which admired the writers of 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 85 
 
 Queen Anne's daj^ he loved Addison, Pope, Swift, 
 Gay, and in Theology, such writers as the Boyle 
 Lecturers and James Foster. But finding that 
 many young persons were interested in Words- 
 worth and Coleridge, he patiently read these au- 
 thors to see if he could find any good in them. I 
 remember his reading Coleridge's " Aids to Re- 
 flection," and his " Friend," in the last years of 
 his life, and, when he had finished them, he said, 
 " I find some excellent ideas in him, though I do 
 not understand all his mysteries. He is a cloudy 
 fellow. I leave those parts to you younger folks." 
 The leading traits in Dr. Freeman's character, 
 which immediately impressed all who saw him, 
 were benevolence, justice, and a Franklin-like sa- 
 gacity. He could endure to see no kind of op- 
 pression, and was always ready to take sides with 
 any whom he thought overborne. He was punc- 
 tilious in keeping all engagements, and his hon- 
 esty descended into the smallest particulars of life. 
 A lady said she had seen him once under the fol- 
 lowing circumstances. " I was riding, with an- 
 other lady, past Dr. Freeman's house, in the town 
 of Newton, and we noticed a dwelling opposite, 
 which seemed closed and unoccupied, the garden 
 of which was full of flowers. We thought of 
 gathering a few, and while we hesitated, we no- 
 ticed an old gentleman, with long white locks 
 hanging on his shoulders, slowly walking on the 
 other side of the road. I asked him whether he 
 
86 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 thought that, as there was no one living in the 
 house, we might gather some of the flowers. He 
 looked up at us with an arch smile, and said, 
 ' They are not my flowers, pretty ladies.' Some- 
 what confused, I repeated my question, to which 
 he replied, — ' I have no right to give them to you, 
 they are not my flowers, pretty ladies.' We rode 
 away, not knowing till afterward who it was, but 
 having received a lesson in regard to the rights of 
 others which we were not likely soon to forget." 
 
 A few examples taken from his familiar conver- 
 sation, though trifling in themselves, will illustrate 
 his character and turn of mind. 
 
 A lady, who had heard of the Atheist, Abner 
 Kneeland, giving public lectures in defense of his 
 views, said, " What a dreadful thing it is, Dr. 
 Freeman!" "I think it will do a great deal of 
 good," replied he, and then mentioned a variety 
 of facts to show that arguments in support of In- 
 fidelity had always brought out so many new de- 
 fenses of Christianity as to leave religion on a 
 higher and more impregnable basis. 
 
 He was a great lover of truth, but his regard 
 for the feelings of others kept him from harsh- 
 ness. To a young friend, whom he thought in 
 danger of carrying independence too far, he said, 
 " It is well to be candid, but you need not say 
 everything which is in your mind. If a person, 
 on being introduced to me, should say, 'Dr. Free- 
 man, what a little, old, ugly, spindle-shanked gen- 
 
JAMES FREEMAN. 87 
 
 tleman you are,' he would no doubt say what was 
 in his mind, but it would not be necessary, I 
 think, for him to say it." 
 
 Some one said to him of a book : " It is too 
 long." " All books are too long," he replied, — 
 " I know only one book which is not too long, and 
 that is Robinson Crusoe, and I sometimes think 
 that a little too long." 
 
 He related this anecdote of the famous Mather 
 Byles. " I was once walking with Dr. John 
 Clarke, and we met Mather Byles. He took my 
 arm and said, ' Now we have the whole Bible 
 here. I am the Old Testament, you, Mr. Clarke, 
 are the New Testament, and as for Mr. Freeman, 
 he is the Apocrypha.' " 
 
 As Dr. Freeman was talking one evening in his 
 family, I took notes of his remarks without his 
 being aware of it. From these I copy the follow- 
 ing sentences : — 
 
 " Do you see human faces in the coals of fire ? The 
 propensity I have to form the human figure is frequently 
 annoying to me. I make men and immediately put them 
 into a fiery furnace." 
 
 " I find I am growing very thin. Some people carry 
 handkerchiefs to wipe away tears which they do not 
 shed, so I wear clothes to conceal limbs which I do not 
 possess." 
 
 " Is that Coleridge you are reading ? Coleridge him- 
 self reads curious books, — the authors who wrote in 
 Latin at the revival of learning. We have better 
 
88 JAMES FREEMAN. 
 
 writers now. To be sure, there were Grotius and Bu- 
 diBus, who were excellent writers, and especially Eras- 
 mus. Knox wrote well. But he was an arrogant and 
 rash man. He condemned the French Sermon writers, 
 and said how inferior they were to the English. As an 
 instance, he quoted an Englishman, who had in fact 
 copied from the French. That fellow did not find it 
 out. In his Essays, Knox declares all mysteries and 
 all knowledge, gives advice to young merchants and to 
 young tailors. He was a man of bad manners. He 
 attacked the King of Prussia bitterly. The king stood 
 such things, however, with great fortitude. He was 
 satisfied with possessing absolute power.'' 
 
 "You are reading 'John Buncle.' The author, it 
 seems, was a Unitarian. About Emlyn's days, Unita- 
 rianism had not made much progress. Did he get any 
 persecution ? They used to put Unitarians in jail. 
 Our ancestors would have undoubtedly done so, or more 
 probably would have put them to death. But none ap- 
 peared. Dr. Mayhew was the first who cared much 
 about it. There was a certain concealment practiced 
 before about the Trinity. Fisher" (of Salem, I sup- 
 pose) " had a singular way of satisfying his conscience. 
 He was asked how he could read the Athanasian creed 
 when he did not believe it. He replied, ' I read it as if 
 I did not believe it.' Those are poor shifts. Mr. Pyle 
 being directed by his Bishop to read it, did so, saying, 
 ' I am directed to read this, which is said to have been 
 the creed of St. Athauasius, but God forbid that it 
 should be yours or mine.' As the English rubric orders 
 this creed to be ' said or sung,' another man had it set to 
 a hunting-tune and sang it. These methods, I think, 
 
J AWES FREEMAN. 89 
 
 would hardly satisfy the conscience of a truth-loving 
 
 man. 
 
 This is a random specimen of his conversation in 
 the last years of his life. If any one had though't 
 of recording his sayings, a very agreeable book of 
 table-talk might have been easily prepared. But 
 this is one of the things we are apt to remember 
 when it is too late. 
 
 I cannot better close this notice than by some 
 further extracts from Dr. Greenwood. 
 
 " Dr. Freeman was truly humble, but he was above 
 all the arts of deception and double-dealing ; and he 
 could not be awed or moved in any way from self-re- 
 spect and duty. He made all allowances for ignorance 
 and prejudice and frailty, but arrogance he would not 
 submit to, and hypocrisy he could not abide." 
 
 " He possessed in a remarkable manner the virtue of 
 contentment. You heard no complaints from him. He 
 was abundantly satisfied with his lot, — he was deeply 
 grateful for his lot. The serenity of his countenance 
 was an index to the serenity of his soul. The angel of 
 contentment seemed to shade and fan it with his wings. 
 ' I have enjoyed a great deal in this life,' he used to say, 
 ' a great deal more than I deserve.' " 
 
 " He loved children, and loved to converse with and 
 encourage them, and draw out their faculties and affec- 
 tions. His manners, always affable and kind, were 
 never so completely lovely as in his intercourse with 
 them. Naturally and insensibly did he instill moral 
 principles and religious thoughts into their minds, and 
 his good influence, being thus gentle, was permanent." 
 
90 JAMES freeman: 
 
 " The mind of Dr. Freeman was one of great origi- 
 nality. It arrived at its own conclusions, and in its own 
 way. You could not be long in his society without 
 feeling that you were in the presence of one who ob- 
 served and reflected for himself." 
 
 " Even when his mind grew enfeebled, it showed its 
 strength in weakness. His memory sometimes failed 
 him, and his ideas would become somewhat confused, in 
 the few months preceding his death ; but his bearing 
 was always calm and manly ; he fell into no second 
 childhood." 
 
 " He looked upon death, as it approached him, with- 
 out fear, yet with pious humility. He viewed the last 
 change as a most solemn change ; the judgment of God 
 upon the soul as a most solemn judgment. ' Let no one 
 say, when I am dead,' — so he expressed himself to his 
 nearest friends, — ' that I trusted in my own merits. I 
 trust only in the mercy of God through Jesus Christ.' " 
 
 So lived, labored, and died James Freeman. A 
 man who impressed himself on all his friends, on 
 his community, and on his time, as a pure and 
 true influence, for which we might well be grate- 
 ful. Many might say, in the words of a French 
 philosopher : " D'autres ont eu plus d'influence, 
 sur men esprit, et mes id^es. Lui, md montr6 
 une ame Chretienne. Cast encore a lui que je 
 dois le plus." 
 
III. 
 
 OHAELES STJM]S:EE. 
 
CHARLES SUMNEE. 
 
 HIS CHARACTER AND CAREER.» 
 
 Since the tragical decease of Abraham Lincoln, 
 the death of no man has made such an impression 
 on the public heart of America as that of Charles 
 Sumner. The departure of John A. Andrew was 
 felt as deeply, but not as widely ; for our great 
 War Governor had not been so long nor so exten- 
 sively conspicuous. Far and wide the nation feels 
 the loss of the Massachusetts Senator, and feels it 
 as a great public disaster. The din of political 
 discussion is hushed for a few days ; the roar of 
 business is suspended in the great cities, while 
 -he is carried to his grave. Public bodies pass re- 
 solves expressive of their sense of a general be- 
 reavement ; men take each other by the hand in 
 the street, and in low tones utter a few words of 
 mutual grief. The friends who have fought by 
 his side during long years, when success seemed 
 hopeless, — whose little barks have sailed attend- 
 
 i An Address read to the Church of the Disciples, March 15, 
 1874. 
 
94 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 ant on his, and partaken the gale ; younger men, 
 who have chosen him for their leader, and amid 
 the thick of battle pressed where they saw his 
 white plume wave, now clasp hands in silent sym- 
 pathy. The colored people, whose hearts are al- 
 ways right, though their heads are often wrong, 
 some of whom had allowed themselves to become 
 estranged from him by the arts of demagogues, 
 now recognize in him the best friend their race has 
 ever had — a friend who, with his dying breath, 
 still besought that equal rights might be given to 
 them. Massachusetts, disgraced by an unauthor- 
 ized act of her Legislature, has hastened to ex- 
 press her undiminished confidence in her Senator, 
 righting the wrong where it was given ; and, hap- 
 pily, her voice reached him in the senate cham- 
 ber before he left it forever. Even those who 
 have opposed him and criticised him in life, come, 
 as the custom is, to hang wreaths on his tomb. 
 Politicians, speech-makers, and preachers, who had 
 little sympathy with him in his struggles and suf- 
 ferings, join the mourners at his death, and float 
 in the great current of sympathy. Those who be- 
 lieved his course wrong and his judgments un- 
 sound, are now disposed to revise their opinions, 
 and admit that he may have been right, after all. 
 Anger is hushed, hatred is rebuked, the voice of 
 censure is still. Those whose evil schemes he baf- 
 fled, whose selfish plans he exposed — those who 
 were tired of hearing Aristides called just — now 
 
CHARLES SUMNER. 95 
 
 feel, for a moment at least, how poor was their 
 position by the side of his. 
 
 In the presence of this striking phenomenon of 
 nniversal grief, I am disposed to modify a criticism 
 I lately made in this place on the character of the 
 American people. I said then that our idolatry is 
 the adoration of smartness. Perhaps it is, but it 
 is now apparent that while we admire intellect, we 
 worship integrity. For this general sorrow means 
 love. Smart men are admired, Charles Sumner is 
 loved. This indicates that, beneath all its super- 
 ficial judgments, the American people knows and 
 reveres what is truly good. Smart men may be 
 popular, but the public heart goes out in love only 
 to those whom it can trust. So it was when Abra- 
 ham Lincoln, so when John Albion Andrew, died ; 
 so now at the death of Charles Sumner. For 
 these three were all of the same type of honesty, 
 sincerity, conscience. All had encountered oppo- 
 sition and incurred unpopularity in life ; and all 
 three at their death have received the homage of a 
 nation's tears. 
 
 Charles Sumner was the most unpopular, per- 
 haps, of all. He was eminently what politicians 
 call an " impracticable man ; " that is, a man who 
 cannot be induced to sacrifice his principles to the 
 success of his party, or to silence his convictions 
 for the sake of his own interest. Nor had he that 
 tact which some men, and many women, possess, 
 by which they can express unpalatable opinions 
 
96 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 without irritating their opponents. He had the 
 kindest heart ; he would not intentionally hurt his 
 worst enemy; he never bore malice, though he 
 deeply felt a wrong ; but he was not adroit in the 
 use of language, and so, often, without intending 
 it, he wounded the vanity, the prejudices, the 
 pride, the self-conceit, of his opponents. And 
 these wounds are seldom forgiven or forgotten. 
 Therefore, this warm, large heart, longing for 
 sympathy, prizing friendship so highly, was con- 
 tinually misunderstood, and was very much alone. 
 People accused him of self-conceit, arrogance, 
 and vanity. This was partly owing to the child- 
 like naivetS with which he would talk of his own 
 career and his own accomplishments. What other 
 men think and conceal, he said. But to me his 
 narratives were always very interesting ; and I 
 gladly listened by the hour to his account of those 
 transactions, all of which he saw and a part of 
 which he was. For the subjects were never un- 
 important; they related to the most momentous 
 events, to the most critical times. In those events 
 he was an important actor ; and he spoke of him- 
 self and what he did with perfect simplicity, just as 
 he spoke of what Lincoln and Stanton said and did. 
 I am afraid there will be nothing nearly so interest- 
 ing in the books which he labored with so much 
 care, as in those anecdotes of his daily life, which 
 probably perished forever. His books, though full 
 of learning and thought, are a little stately, while 
 
CHARLES SUMNER. 97 
 
 his talk had the charm of spontaneous inspiration, 
 and was illustrated by that sweet smile, radiant of 
 good-will, and coming fresh from the fountain of 
 an uncorrupt heart. 
 
 No doubt Charles Sumner was born with a large 
 desire for human approbation. He longed for the 
 esteem of his fellow-men as few long for it. And, 
 therefore, it was greatly to his credit that he made 
 himself unpopular, from first to last, by advocating 
 causes, and announcing ideas, usually in advance 
 of the time. He loved approbation, but he never 
 bought it by disloyalty to a conviction. Some 
 men take pleasure in being persecuted, and are a 
 little uneasy if not engaged in a fight. Sumner 
 loved peace with all his heart, but was obliged, 
 for conscience' sake, to be always in war. He 
 loved the good-will of those around him ; but he 
 was obliged to relinquish it. He loved sunshine 
 — and had to live in storms. Therefore, the fact 
 that he was very approbative I regard as an ele- 
 ment of his greatness. He would not have been 
 so noble without it, for his fidelity to principle 
 would not have cost him so dear. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln and Sumner were always 
 friends, for they were men of the same type. Dif- 
 ference of "opinion never estranged them, for they 
 met on a plane higher than that of opinion. But 
 many others disliked Sumner because he kept him- 
 self always on that upper level of principle. The 
 air was too thin for them to breathe. He would 
 
 7 
 
98 CHARLES SUMNES. 
 
 not come down to the more comfortable platform 
 of party expediency. ,^liey only asked him to be 
 silent. If he had consented to that, he might 
 have continued the most powerful statesman in 
 the country. But he could not be silent in the 
 face of any question of right and wrong. So it 
 was decided that he should be crushed, and all the 
 noxious elements in the political world were com- 
 bined against him, and he was removed from his 
 most important place. But he had his consola- 
 tions. He had the aid of that "strong-siding 
 champion, conscience," and he found the truth of 
 the poet's statement that 
 
 "Far more joy Marcellus exiled feels 
 Than Caesar with a Senate at his heels." 
 
 When a man dies whose virtues have created 
 hostility, who has been vilified and slandered, 
 there often comes a singular reaction. When 
 death lays its pale hand on the brow, men sud- 
 denly forget their prejudices and dislikes, and 
 recognize the greatness of soul that before was 
 hidden from their eyes. So, when this nation was 
 weeping for Lincoln — " in the passion of an angry 
 grief" — those who had been ridiculing him for 
 years confessed their wrong, and acknowledged his 
 greatness. So it is now, in the case of Charles 
 Sumner. Death, removing him from our outward 
 eye, enables us to see him inwardly and truly. 
 Thus have we looked at a mountain, and only seen 
 the creeping mists-and clouds which concealed it ; 
 
CHASLES SUMNER. 99 
 
 but when the west wind moved the air, the vapors 
 were suddenly dispersed, and the pure snowy sum- 
 mits came out in sharp outline against the blue 
 sky. Death does the ofl^e of that cold wind. 
 After the earthquake and fire and tempest of pas- 
 sionate and godless strife have passed, death 
 comes, and the Lord speaks to us in that still, 
 small voice. 
 
 One reason, I think, why the people loved 
 Charles Sumner, is, that they felt how much 
 larger his views were than those of most of his 
 companions in the Senate. They did not, per- 
 haps, say, " He is a statesman, the others are poli- 
 ticians," but they recognized the fact. When any 
 important question came up, other men might con- 
 sider it in relation to party interests. Sumner al- 
 ways attempted to study it in the light of history 
 and political science. He sought to know and to 
 declare the truth in regard to it — the truth as 
 deduced from the past experience of nations and 
 the mature judgments of the wise. The country 
 is in peril to-day, because there are so few states- 
 men in public life. We send men to Congress to 
 legislate on the currency, on finance, on taxation, 
 who are mere local politicians, who have devoted 
 their lives to the management of parties, who know 
 nothing of political economy, nothing of commerce, 
 who have never studied any work on finance, — 
 men who imagine that by printing a sufficient 
 number of pieces of paper with the word " dollar " 
 
100 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 on them, we shall make every one rich. And now 
 when the place of a statesman is to be filled, now, 
 when we need in Congress men acquainted with 
 practical affairs, it is proposed to send some other 
 politician. Why not sometimes a man who has 
 never meddled with politics, but who is sagacious 
 and experienced in mercantile pursuits, — some 
 man of business, of whom we have many in Bos- 
 ton, with a statesman's intellect ? 
 
 Another reason for this national grief at the 
 death of Charles Sumner was his belief in man — 
 his broad humanity. His life was devoted to the 
 service of his race, — high and low, rich and poor, 
 white and black. To him man was sacred. He 
 did not feel the cynical contempt which it is the 
 fashion to express for sentiment. His nature was 
 rich in generous and noble feelings, and it was this 
 very thing which gave him such power over the 
 people. A character devoid of sentiment awakens 
 no enthusiasm. The best knowledge is not reached 
 by the cold intellect alone, but by the heart and 
 intellect united. No one has ever gained any deep 
 and lasting influence over men who did not pos- 
 sess something of this sacred ardor, this prophetic 
 vision, a sight beyond sight, which pierces through 
 the veil, and makes everything which is honorable, 
 noble, just, and generous, as real as daylight and 
 sunshine. Sumner owed his hold on the people 
 to his large endowment of noble sentiment. Poli- 
 ticians could not understand it. Men who thought 
 
CEARLES SUMNER. 101 
 
 that the only wires to be pulled were those of self- 
 ishness, tried again and again to defeat him here 
 in Massachusetts ; but they tried in vain. His 
 anchor went to a depth their sounding-line could 
 not fathom, and held by the eternal rock of human 
 nature. "During all the long conflict with slavery, 
 his voice was heard like a trumpet, appealing to 
 the rights of man. He stood conspicuous in the 
 nation's eye, a young Apollo — 
 
 " In silent majesty of stem disdain," 
 
 and dreadful was the clangor of his silver bow as 
 he shot his arrows thick and fast into the sophisms 
 used by slaveholders and their allies. When they 
 could not reply with argument, they silenced him 
 with murderous blows. But Sumner did as much 
 for the cause of freedom by his suffering as he had 
 done by his speech. When the news of that as- 
 sault reached Boston, a meeting was hastily called 
 — I think in the Tremont Temple. Boston then 
 raised its voice against that cowardly, brutal, and 
 murderous assault on a Massachusetts Senator. 
 But many a man who did not raise his voice in 
 public at that time, took a vow of hostility in his 
 heart against the institution which prompted that 
 assassination. 
 
 Once, while Mr. Sumner was here in Boston, 
 still suffering from those injuries, I was passing 
 his house in Hancock street, and went in to see 
 him. He was in his chamber, resting in an easy 
 
102 CBABLES SVMNEB. 
 
 chair, and with Mm were three gentlemen. He 
 introduced one of them to me as Captain John 
 Brown, of Ossawattomie. It was the first time I 
 had ever seen John Brown. They were speaking 
 of this assault by Preston Brooks, and Mr. Sum- 
 ner said, " The coat I had on at the time iS hanging 
 in that closet. Its collar is stiff with blood. You 
 can see it, if you please. Captain." John Brown 
 arose, went to the closet, slowly opened the door, 
 carefully took down the coat, and looked at it for 
 a few minutes with the reverence with which a 
 Roman Catholic regards the relics of a saint. It 
 may be the sight of that garment caused him to 
 feel a still deeper abhorrence of slavery, and to 
 take a stronger resolution of attacking it in its 
 strongholds. So the blood of the martyrs is the 
 seed of the church. 
 
 Once, when Mr. Sumner was showing me his 
 autograph of John Milton, he said : " Perhaps I 
 have a special interest in that MS., on account of 
 what happened to rae one day after my injury. I 
 had tried to go back to my place in the Senate 
 twice, but found myself unable to remain there. 
 The second time, after I returned to my own 
 chamber, deeply discouraged, I said : ' Then this 
 is the end. It is all over with me now.' And I 
 confess that the tears came to my eyes, thinking I 
 could do no more work for my race or my country. 
 But I raised my eyes, and saw before me a volume 
 of Milton. I took it down and opened it mechan^ 
 
CHARLES SUMNER. 103 
 
 ically. It opened at his noble sonnet on his own 
 blindness, to Cyriack Skinner, where, he says, that 
 for three years he has not seen sun or moon or 
 man or woman. 
 
 ' What supports me, dost thou ask ? 
 
 The conscience, friend, to have lost them, overplied 
 
 In Liberty's defence, my noble task, 
 
 Of which all Europe rings, from side to side.' 
 
 I read this," said Mr. Sumner, " and I, too, felt 
 comforted and encouraged by the words of Mil- 
 ton." 
 
 So it is that nobleness, courage, faith, extend 
 themselves ! Not only is the blood of the martyrs 
 the seed of the church, but the thoughts of brave 
 men leap over gulfs of two centuries, and inspire 
 with fresh hope other heroes, fighting other battles 
 of liberty. 
 
 Wordsworth, in one of his sonnets, says that 
 England has need of Milton, and that he ought to 
 be living now. 
 
 " O, raise us up, return to us again — 
 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power." 
 
 But Milton is living with us still, in his great 
 example and his inspiring words. He stood by 
 the side of Charles Sumner in that hour of dark- 
 ness, and raised him up. And so shall Charles 
 Sumner live, and after two centuries shall his ex- 
 ample inspire and awaken other souls, in this land 
 and elsewhere, to do their duty, so as to be able to 
 
104 CHAJRLES SUMNER. 
 
 say with him — "I have fought a good fight, I 
 have finished my course, I have kept the faith." 
 
 Those of us who were so fortunate as to be in 
 our church hall on the evening in December, 
 when Mr. Sumner was present, had an example 
 of his kindness of heart and affability of manner. 
 I had asked him to come, and he gave no definite 
 promise, so that I hardly expected him. He was 
 taking tea in Cambridge that evening, yet he 
 came to Boston, and found his way by the street- 
 car to the vestry. It pleased him to see how glad 
 we all were to speak to him and shake hands with 
 him. With a good deal of reluctance, he finally 
 yielded to your requests to say something to us all. 
 But when he began to speak his heart warmed to- 
 ward the young people present, and he addressed 
 himself to them, telling them what great opportu- 
 nities were awaiting them in the approaching 
 years. He said no word of the past ; nothing of 
 what he had seen and done ; only of the magnifi- 
 cent future which was before the rising genera- 
 tion, and the noble duties which they had to fulfill. 
 In him, it seemed, then, that — 
 
 " Old experience did attain 
 To something of prophetic strain." 
 
 Nothing could be more modest, genial, friendly, 
 than were his words and conversation at that time. 
 A happy smile was on his face all the evening, 
 and I could not but fancy that he felt more at 
 
CBARLES SUMNER. 105 
 
 home among these youthful admirers, than in the 
 Senate Chamber or among his political associates. 
 It is a pleasant memory to carry in our hearts. 
 Once or twice he said that he wished he had been 
 born later, so as to be able to take part in the 
 events which are to come soon. In regard to this, 
 one lady said to him afterward, that " she thought 
 the Lord knew better than he did when he ought 
 to have been born." And, indeed, how indispen- 
 sable has his work been during the last twenty- 
 three years ! Others may have been before him 
 in originating the anti-slavery movement ; others 
 may have come closer to the common people in 
 urging the abolition of slavery ; some may have 
 been more fiery ; some more adroit. But where 
 do we find combined in one person so much of 
 moral sentiment with so much intellectual culture ; 
 so much unity of aim with variety of attainment ; 
 such purity of heart joined to such practiced abil- 
 ity ; so much of white-souled integrity and faithful 
 industry in work ; such sweetness and such cour- 
 age ; such readiness to bi-ave enemies, and patience 
 to endure sufferings, as we find united in the life 
 and character of Charles Sumner ! 
 
 In one of Theodore Parker's letters to Charles 
 Sumner, he says : " I look to you to be a leader in 
 morals — to represent justice. I expect you to 
 make mistakes — blunders. I hope they will be 
 intellectual and not moral; that you will never 
 miss the right, however you may miss the expedi- 
 
106 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 ent. All our States were built on the opinion of 
 to-day. I hope you will build on the Rock of 
 Ages, and look to Eternity for your justification. 
 You see, my dear Sumner, I expect much of you. 
 I expect heroism of the most heroic kind. Yours 
 is a place of great honor, of great trust, but of pro- 
 digious peril; and of that there will be few to 
 warn you, as I do now. You see that -I try you 
 by a difficult standard, and that I am not easily 
 pleased. I hope some years hence to say : ' You 
 have done better than I advised.' " 
 
 Perhaps that time has arrived. When these 
 two noble souls meet in the eternal world, I think 
 that Theodore will say to Charles: " You have 
 done better than I advised." 
 
 [I add, below, the selection of Scriptures read on this occasion. 
 These passages seem to describe Charles Sumner as if they had 
 been written for him ; and are another example of the fact 
 that the Bible is a mine of thoughts and expressions where 
 may be found the very words needed for all events, and with 
 which to describe all characters.] 
 
 Help, Lord! for the godly man ceaseth, for the faith- 
 ful fail from among the children of men. 
 
 Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord ? and who 
 ehall stand in his holy place? 
 
 He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart, who hath 
 not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. 
 
 Mark the perfect man, and consider the upright, for 
 the end of that man is peace. 
 
 He put on righteousness, and it clothed him ; his jus- 
 tice was his rohe and diadem. 
 
CHARLES SUMNER. 107 
 
 Unto him men gave ear and waited ; they kept silence 
 for his counsel. They waited for his words as for the 
 rain, and opened their mouths as for the latter rain. 
 
 When our iniquities had separated between us and 
 God, when our hands were defiled with blood, when 
 justice was turned backward, and we spoke oppression. 
 
 Then the Lord stood up to plead, and said. What 
 mean ye, that ye beat my people to pieces, and grind 
 the faces of the poor ? 
 
 Is not this the fast that I have chosen, to loose the 
 bands of wickedness, and let the oppressed go free, and 
 that ye break every yoke ? 
 
 For ye have not hearkened unto me, saith the Lord, 
 in proclaiming liberty every man to his neighbor, and 
 every man to his brother, but brought them into subjec- 
 tion, to be unto you for servants and for handmaids. 
 
 Therefore, thus said the Lord, Behold ! Son of Man, 
 I have made thy face strong against their faces, and thy 
 forehead strong against their forehead: as an adamant, 
 harder than flint, have I made thy forehead : fear them 
 not, therefore, nor be dismayed at their looks, though 
 they be a rebellious house. 
 
 Those who understood him not shall say : This is he 
 whom we had sometimes in derision, and a proverb of 
 reproach. 
 
 We fools accounted his life madness, but now is he 
 numbered among the saints. 
 
 For glorious is the fruit of good labors, and the fruit 
 of wisdom shall never fall away. 
 
 The memorial of virtue is immortal ; for when it is 
 present, men take example of it ; and when it is gone, 
 they desire it; it weareth a crown and triumpheth for- 
 ever. 
 
108 CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 God hath made of one blood all nations of men to 
 dwell on all the face of the earth ; and God hath shown 
 us that we ought not to call any man common or un- 
 clean. 
 
 He stood up as a fire, and his word burned as a lamp. 
 He did wonders in his life, and after his death his body 
 prophesied. 
 
 Approving himself in all things as a servant of God — 
 in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in dis- 
 tresses, in stripes, in tumults, in labors, in watchings, in 
 fastings ; by pureness, by knowledge, by long-suffering, 
 by kindness, by the Holy Spirit, by love unfeigned, by 
 the word of truth, by the armor of righteousness on the 
 right hand and on the left ; by honor and dishonor, by 
 evil report and good report ; as a deceiver, and yet true ; 
 as unknown, and yet well-known ; as dying, and, behold, 
 he lives ; as chastened, and not killed ; as sorrowful, yet 
 alway rejoicing ; as poor, yet making many rich ; as 
 having nothing, and yet possessing all things. 
 
 Wherefore, seeing that we are compassed about with 
 so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every 
 weight, and run with patience the race set before us. 
 
 THE BATTLE-FLAGS AND CHARLES STTMNER. 
 
 [The following extract is from remarks made at a hearing before 
 a Committee of the Massachusetts Legislature, to which w.as 
 referred the question of repealing the vote of a previous Leg- 
 islature, which censured Sumner for proposing to have the 
 names of the battles fought in our civil war taken from the 
 United States battle-flags. The resolution was repealed ; and 
 the notice that Massachusetts, on second thoughts, had taken 
 back her words of condemnation, fortunately was placed in 
 Sumner's hand just before his death.] 
 
CHARLES SUMNER. 109 
 
 We Lave just passed through, gentlemen, a great his- 
 toric period. We have concluded a long and terrible 
 struggle, in which the deadliest enemy to the peace and 
 prosperity of republican institutions has been at last 
 conquered. Among those who carried on J;hat long war 
 was one who went from Boston to the United States 
 Senate in 1851, — a comparatively young man. He 
 had made himself unpopular here by opposing the men 
 and the measures which were then fashionable. Daniel 
 Webster was then the idol of this community, and every 
 man who opposed him was at once ostracized. This 
 young man was, by nature, very fond of the approbation 
 of his fellow-men ; he was not a Luther nor an Elijah, 
 indifferent to public opinion. No man ever felt more 
 keenly than he the opposition of enemies, the estrange- 
 ment of friends, " hard unkindness' altered eye," unjust 
 censure, false accusation. Yet, during twenty years, he 
 has encountered all these. Like Cato, he could say, " The 
 gods love the triumphant cause — the conquered cause 
 is the one I defend." He began his public career in 
 Congress by attacking, in unanswerable argument, the 
 infamous fugitive slave bill. He opposed with all the 
 energy of his nature, and all the power of his intellect, 
 the repeal of the Missouri compromise, and the intro- 
 duction of slavery into Kansas, and for this speech was 
 struck down on the floor of Congress. He has always 
 advocated emancipation, and during the war his voice 
 was always raised against all concession or compromise. 
 He is the Abdiel of our day, — 
 
 " Among innumerable false unmoved, 
 Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified." 
 
 Owing to his labors and sufferings, and those of his no- 
 
110 CHAMLE8 SUMNER. 
 
 ble anti-slavery companions, the United States is now 
 really free and really one. The war has ended in peace 
 and union. Wishing to obliterate the signs of disunion, 
 he has proposed to remove from the army register and 
 the flags of .the United States army the names of the 
 battles fought between the North and the South, — to 
 the flags of the States this resolution does not apply. 
 Mr. Sumner has not proposed, and does not propose, to 
 change a single motto on any monument or any flag in 
 the whole North. But the army of the United States 
 is now the army of the whole country. It now recruits 
 its soldiers from every State, and I entirely agree with 
 Mr. Sumner that it would be eminently proper and right 
 that on those national banners no sign of the past con- 
 flict shall remain. Yet for making this proposition, so 
 perfectly just and right if the Union is restored, a ma- 
 jority of the legislature of Massachusetts saw fit to cen- 
 sure this patriot, this hero of liberty, this noble and 
 chivalric champion of human rights and human freedom. 
 This was done by men, many of whom owe their posi- 
 tion on that floor to what he and his companions have 
 endured and done when they were playing marbles or 
 studying their English grammar. Such a vote of cen- 
 sure will do no harm to our Senator. His reputation 
 and influence stand on too deep a foundation to be dis- 
 turbed by such an act — an act which will do more injury 
 to those who perpetrated it than to him. Many of them, 
 no doubt, were sincere, and thought they were doing 
 right, and they may be sorry for what they have done, 
 but will not have to blame themselves. But when in a 
 few years the green sod shall be placed over the form of 
 Charles Sumner, and he sleeps where " the wicked cease 
 
CHARLES SUMNER. HI 
 
 from troubling, and the weary are at rest," — then, when, 
 as recently in the case of Horace Greeley, and formerly 
 in the case of Abraham Lincoln, all the angry voices of 
 hatred are swallowed up in one grand tide of grateful 
 remembrance, I think that in that day it will not be a 
 pleasant thing to remember that the Massachusetts legis- 
 lature censured him, after all his years of toil in her 
 service, because he carried the principles of peace per- 
 haps a little too far ; because he was a little too gener- 
 ous, too magnanimous, and too ardent in his desire for 
 full and entire reconciliation between the North and the 
 South. Might he not use the same language as Ed- 
 mund Burke did before his constituents at Bristol, should 
 he want to make an explanation of his conduct : " And 
 now, gentlemen, on this solemn day, when I come, as it 
 were, to make up my accounts with you, let me take to 
 myself some degree of honest pride from the nature of 
 the charges which are brought against me. I do not 
 here stand before you accused of venality or neglect of 
 duty. It is not said that, in the long period of my ser- 
 vice, I have sacrificed the slightest of your interests to 
 
 my ambition or to my fortune No ! The charges 
 
 against me are all of one kind ; that I have pushed the 
 principles of general justice and benevolence too far, 
 further than a cautious policy might warrant, and further 
 than the opinions of many would go along with me. In 
 whatever accident may happen to me in life ; in pain, in 
 sorrow, in depression, in distress, I will call to mind 
 these accusations, and be comforted." 
 
IV. 
 THEODOEE PAEKEE. 
 
THEODOKE PARKEll.^ 
 
 We have, during the last week, heard of the 
 death of Theodore Parker, — a noble and worthy 
 soul, known well, honored and loved by most of 
 us. I cannot let this day pass by without taking 
 occasion to say a few words, however incomplete 
 and inadequate, in memory of his worth. And, in 
 speaking of him, I hope to avoid aU extravagance 
 of eulogy, all indiscriminate praise, all sweeping 
 generalities of statement. As he to others, so I to 
 him. He once refused to accept the established 
 rule of necrology, De mortuis nil nisi bonum, — 
 " Say nothing but good of the dead ; " and sub- 
 stituted for it this other and better rule, De mor- 
 tuis nil nisi verum, — " Say nothing but truth of 
 the dead. " " It is no merit," added he, " to die. 
 Why praise a man because he is dead ? " I will 
 remember this honesty, brother, in speaking of 
 thee. 
 
 Theodore Parker was the ripe fruit of New 
 England; baptized in the Lexington Meeting- 
 ^ A discourse delivered after his death, June 3, 1860. 
 
116 THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 house ; learning his letters in the primary school ; 
 taking strength from the granite and gravel be- 
 low, and from the cold winter winds above ; learn- 
 ing freedom of utterance at town-meeting ; inher- 
 iting strong sense, clear logic, and penetrating in- 
 sight, in his ancestral blood ; of the stock of the 
 Puritans ; of the tribe of Massachusetts ; a Yankee 
 of the Yankees ; a Unitarian also, by inheritance 
 from plain-thinking parents ; and as touching all 
 youthful habits of behavior, all moral requisitions 
 of a strict community, blameless. No man more 
 than he, since Benjamin Franklin, has shown those 
 traits of common sense, joined with abstract spec- 
 ulation ; sensibility of conscience, poised with calm 
 judgment ; the fanatic's devotion to ideas, with 
 the calculating prudence of a man of the world ; 
 which make the basis of New England character 
 and its essential strength. 
 
 When, on the 19th of April, 1775, the British 
 troops marched to Lexington and Concord, they 
 found at Lexington the militia company of that 
 town — eighty strong — drawn up on the green, 
 in front of the Meeting-house, to receive them. 
 The captain of the company waited till the British 
 troops — eight hundred in all — had reached the 
 green and deployed into line opposite, and till 
 their commander had ordered the Americans to 
 disperse. Then he, too, gave the same order to 
 his men ; not wishing to sacrifice life in a useless 
 resistance to overwhelming numbers, but letting 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 117 
 
 the British soldiers, for the first time, look in the 
 face of the American militia. But, while they 
 were dispersing, the British fired ; and the green- 
 sward, on that April morning, was stained with 
 the first American blood which fell in the great 
 struggle. Out in Kentucky, the hunters heard of 
 it, and baptized their newly planted town by the 
 name of Lexington. In Europe, the nations heard 
 of it, and dated from that hour the beginning of a 
 new era for the destinies of man. The captain of 
 that militia company was John Parker, grand- 
 father of our Theodore ; and his gun was kept by 
 Theodore in his study, to be used, if necessary, in 
 protecting the fugitive slave under his roof. 
 
 Born thus, amid New-England life, in a farmer's 
 home ; driving the cows to the field, and going to 
 the district school ; listening to sermons, and to 
 discussions in town-meeting ; studying his Latin 
 grammar by the light of the kitchen fire ; harden- 
 ing his body and soul with stern manual labor, 
 and training his intellect by the wholesome stud- 
 ies of- the common schools, — the genius of Theo- 
 dore Parker took its flight upward, from its hum- 
 ble nest in the meadow-grass to its singing-place 
 among the stars. It is an honor to our institu- 
 tions when they train up their boys into such men 
 as he. ' 
 
 There is no real greatness where we do not find 
 in a man the three elemental tendencies of Intel- 
 lect, Affection and Will, — all in full and harmo- 
 
118 THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 nious activity. Either of them alone cannot con- 
 stitute greatness. We see, among practical men, 
 some of immense enej'gy, who sweep everything 
 before them by their resistless will ; but they are 
 not great men ; for their energy is not directed by 
 any great thought, and not inspired by any gener-' 
 ous love. And there are also men of great intel- 
 lectual powers, but without any energetic purpose, 
 any clear aim ; whose knowledge tends nowhere. 
 Like gold locked up in a miser's iron chest, their 
 intellectual powers and treasures profit no one, 
 and are useless. And so there may be love, — 
 saintly love to God, humane love to man ; but 
 because not illuminated by insight, nor directed 
 by energetic purpose, it stagnates into a merely 
 sentimental piety, a sentimental philanthropy. 
 
 Theodore Parker's intellect was remarkable for 
 its varied faculties. It was strong in analysis 
 and synthesis, in marshaling a multitude of facts, 
 and in ascending from facts to comprehensive 
 laws. His memory of details was astonishing ; 
 but his power of systematizing those details — 
 making them drill in companies, and march in 
 squadrons, and take on the order of battle — was 
 equally striking. His mind was strong in its per- 
 ceptions and apprehensions; very able to seize and 
 retain individual facts. In his childhood, he could 
 repeat whole cantos of poetry, and could learn by 
 heart a poem of five hundred lines at a reading. 
 Before h,e was ten years old, he had studied bot- 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 119 
 
 any so as to know all the shrubs and trees of Mas- 
 sachusetts, and the names and habits of the plants 
 in his vicinity. At ten, he began Latin ; at eleven, 
 Greek. At twenty-one, he had read Virgil twenty 
 times, Horace nearly as often ; besides having 
 made himself master of chemistry, natural philos- 
 ophy, astronomy, and mathematics. Presently he 
 added French, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and Ger- 
 man, and afterward Hebrew. 
 
 And all this knowledge was live knowledge. 
 There are some men who accumulate facts as the 
 ants gather grains. They are merely the collec- 
 tors of dry seeds, which never germinate. They 
 are the slaves of their knowledge, -~ not its mas- 
 ters. There are great scholars who never know 
 what to do with their accumulated stores. Not 
 so vnth our friend. His mind was not like a for- 
 est in winter, when the trees stand close above 
 and the bushes thick below, and where the icy 
 branches rattle together while the cold wind roars 
 through their tops. It was like the same forest 
 when the summer sun has poured life into every 
 part, and the myriad buds and leaves expand; 
 when the blossoms open, the birds and insects flit 
 through the tender foliage, and a sofb perfume 
 comes mingled from a thousand flowers. 
 
 Theodore Parker possessed a power of acquisi- 
 tion, which few men, out of Germany, have had. 
 He knew the contents of all the books in his li- 
 brary. He could take the substance out of a book 
 
120 THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 in an incredibly short time. On that fatal win- 
 ter which broke down his constitution and de- 
 termined his fate (the winter which killed him), 
 he was in the habit of filling a carpet-bag, not 
 with novels, but with works of tough philoso- 
 phy and theology, in Greek, Latin, German, in 
 old black-letter print, and yellow parchment cov- 
 ers ; and would study them, Monday, while riding 
 in the cars, to lecture on Monday night; study 
 them, Tuesday, while riding to lecture at another 
 place on Tuesday night ; and so on, studying all 
 day and lecturing every night, till Friday. On 
 Eriday he would come home, write his Sunday's 
 sermon on Saturday forenoon, visit the sick and 
 suffering of his society on Saturday afternoon, 
 preach Sunday morning to two or three thousand 
 ffeople, rest a little on Sunday afternoon, receive 
 his friends on Sunday evening, and away again on 
 Monday. 
 
 I asked him, " Do you read all your books ? and 
 do you know what is in them ? " "I read them 
 all," said he, " and can give you a table of con- 
 tents for each book." During that winter he lec- 
 tured to about eighty thousand persons, in every 
 part of the free states, from Maine to Wisconsin. 
 When in Germany he went to see the old theo- 
 logian, Ferdinand Christian Baur, of Tubingen, 
 and he asked him how many hours a day he stud- 
 ied. The old man replied with a sigh, "Ach! 
 leider, nur achtzehn," — "Alas! only eighteen." 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 121 
 
 Parker never studied eighteen hours a day, I sup- 
 pose ; but I think he put the twenty-four- hours' 
 study of common men into his six or twelve hours 
 a day : for he who studies with an active mind will 
 learn more in a few minutes, than another, study- 
 ing passively and idly, will gain in an hour. 
 What Parker knew, he knew ; and he knew that 
 he knew it. All his knowledge lay at hand, ac- 
 cessible, like the tools of an orderly workman. 
 
 But the scholarship and knowledge of Theodore 
 Parker made but the beginning of his intellectual 
 work. He was an original thinker. Very early 
 addicted to metaphysical pursuits, he never relin- 
 quished his taste for them. In philosophy, he be- 
 longed to that school of thinkers who are called 
 Transcendentalists ; who believe that man, as 
 God's child, receives an inheritance of ideas froiii 
 within ; that he knows by insight ; that he has 
 intuitions of truth, which furnish the highest evi- 
 dence of the reality of the soul, of God, of duty, 
 of immortality. He joined, not doubtfully, but 
 with most earnest conviction, that great company 
 of ideal philosophers, at whose head stands the 
 divine Plato, and in whose generous ranks are the 
 chief est intellects of the race, — Socrates and Py- 
 thagoras, Epictetus and Antoninus, Plotinus and 
 Jamblichus, Erigena and Anselm, Descartes and 
 Liebnitz, Cudworth and Henry More, Pascal and 
 Kant, Cousin and Schleiermacher. But his chief 
 powers he consecrated to theology, which he justly 
 
122 TBEODOEE PARKER. 
 
 regarded as the queen of the sciences. It has be- 
 come the fashion with many, in these days, to un- 
 dervalue both philosophy and theology, and to con- 
 sider them as idle and empty studies, leading to 
 no practical results ; while the arts and sciences, 
 natural philosophy, the knowledge of external 
 things,- social questions, humanities, philanthro- 
 pies, and reforms, are the only really solid and 
 valuable studies. Not so thought Theodore Par- 
 ker. He knew, as well as any, how empty is a 
 great deal that is called theology ; but he also 
 knew that every man has, and must have, a phi- 
 losophy and theology, true or false. He knew that 
 every man's philosophy underlies his theology, 
 and that his theology underlies all his practice. 
 He knew that theological reform must precede 
 all other reform ; that as one thinks of God and 
 God's character, so will he form his own. He 
 knew that, while God is regarded as partial, will- 
 ful, and revengeful, man will continue to be par- 
 tial, willful, and revengeful too. 
 
 Until our theology becomes Christian, we can 
 have no Christian morality nor Christian ethics. 
 Those who believe that God has foreordained 
 some human souls to an eternal hell hereafter, can 
 very easily believe that he has ordained some hu- 
 man races to be slaves forever here. Those who 
 think that God is full of wrath against his ene- 
 mies will consider it right themselves to be filled 
 with wrath against theirs. Therefore, Theodore 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 123 
 
 Parker drove the deep subsoil plough of a sound 
 theology under the roots of a false morality and 
 ethics. And, when I say a sound theology, I re- 
 fer especially to his doctrine of God, — to theol- 
 ogy, strictly so called; for his views here were 
 mostly noble and admirable. His Christology, 
 or doctrine of Christ, I think defective ; and his 
 Anthropology, or doctrine of man, defective too, 
 in important particulars. He ascribed too abso- 
 lute moral power to the human will ; he did not 
 enough recognize the element of evil which comes 
 to us from the solidarity of the race, — inherited 
 from behind, and caught by contagion from around. 
 He regarded sin as always and strictly a self-orig- 
 inated disease ; never as a contagious epidemic, or 
 as an inherited tendency. And all which to me 
 seem his mistakes, theoretical and practical, had 
 their root here. 
 
 There was also in the mind of Theodore a po- 
 etic quality to which he never did justice. Imag- 
 ination is too spontaneous a faculty to thrive in a 
 brain which is driven forward in the direction of 
 constant work by so energetic a will. His friend 
 William Henry Channing, writes : " Once I re- 
 member telling him that his grand mistake was 
 this concentrated unity of purpose. He was really 
 richer in impulse, imagination, sympathy, and va- 
 ried power, than he knew himself to be, or allowed 
 himself to be." 
 
 The active element in Theodore Parker was 
 
124 THEODORE PASKEB. 
 
 very predominant. It went always abreast, at 
 least, with the speculative. He studied and spec- 
 ulated in order to act. He was a worker in the 
 world ; was here to do something, not merely to 
 think something. Hence his interest in all re- 
 forms, in all social progress, in all which tends to 
 deepen and heighten human culture. Before him, 
 his life lay planned out like a chart ; and his work 
 was arranged beforehand for every year. Indeed, 
 his intense activity, as I just said, seemed often 
 to weaken or repress his intellectual power ; for 
 thought needs a resting-time to ripen. Too con- 
 stant action impairs the sweep and strength of the 
 intellect. Especially is the imagination, that airy 
 faculty, cramped by too energetic a will. It can 
 only spread its wings when allowed perfect liberty 
 and choice of its own time. 
 
 But what an amount of work did our brother 
 do, with tongue as a speaker, with pen as a writer, 
 with hand as a helper. First, as a preacher and 
 lecturer, he stood unrivaled in the rare gift of 
 making popular and interesting to thousands the 
 results of systematic philosophy and theology. 
 Before a crowd collected to be entertained by his 
 wit, pointed comments, and sharp criticism, on the 
 persons and things around them, he did not avoid 
 an almost scholastic discussion of first principles ; 
 a careful analysis of conduct, character, morality ; 
 large generalizations, systematic and exhaustive 
 distributions. Hour, after hour, the great audience 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 125 
 
 would listen ; held by the thread of a masterly 
 and clear argument ; enlivened' indeed, not infre- 
 quently, by flashes of wit, and touches of poetic 
 description. But, if he entertained and amused 
 them, he did not have that for his end, but merely 
 for one of his means. His end was to revolution- 
 ize public opinion ; to beat down, by terrible blows 
 of logic and satire, the cool defenders of inhuman 
 wrong ; to pour floods of fiery invective upon 
 those who opposed themselves to the progress of 
 a great cause ; to fill all minds with a sense of re- 
 sponsibility to God for the use of their faculties ; 
 to show the needs of suffering man ; to call at- 
 tention to the degraded classes ; to raise up those 
 who are bowed down, and to break every yoke. 
 He also came in the spirit and power of Elijah. 
 He was ready to denounce the Ahabs and Herods 
 of our day, the hard-money kings of a commercial 
 city, the false politicians whose lying tongue is al- 
 ways waiting to deceive the simple. His fiery in- 
 dignation at wrong showed itself, in the most ter- 
 rible invectives which modern literature knows, 
 against the kidnappers, the pro-slavery politicians, 
 the pro-slavery priests, and the slave-catching 
 commissioners. These invectives were sometimes 
 cruel and severe; in the spirit of Moses, David, 
 and John the Baptist, rather than in that of 
 Christ. Such extreme severity, whether in Jew 
 or Christian, defeats its own object ; for it is felt 
 to be excessive and unjust. I cannot approve of 
 
126' THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 Theodore Parker's severity. I consider it false, 
 because extravagafit ; unjust, because indiscrim- 
 inate ; unchristian, because relentless and unsym- 
 pathizing. But then I will remember how bit- 
 terly he was pursued by his opponents; how 
 Christians offered prayers in their meetings, that 
 he might be taken away ; how the leaders of 
 opinion in Boston hated and reviled him ; how 
 little he had, from any quarter, of common sym- 
 pathy or common charity. I cannot wonder at 
 his severity ; but I cannot think it wise. Being 
 so great, I wish he had been greater. Being so 
 loving to his friends, I wish he could also have 
 felt less bitter scorn toward his opponents. 
 
 Together with his work as a preacher, he did a 
 great work as lecturer and platform-speaker ; and, 
 in addition to this, another great work as writer. 
 Book after book, pamphlet after pamphlet, issued 
 from his busy brain and pen. I think, if any- 
 where, he failed intellectually here, — in a too 
 ^reat rapidity of production. His 'early writings 
 ire much more rich and full than his later ones. 
 His "Discourse on Religion" — his first printed 
 book — remains his best one. He did not give 
 bimself time to go down as deeply as he might, 
 and to meditate as fully as he might, before he 
 printed. But his writings were read by tens 
 of thousands throughout America and Europe. 
 Every one in the land knew him. To the farthest 
 prairies of the West, to the remotest corner of 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 127 
 
 England, his writings have penetrated. They 
 were translated into different European languages. 
 So he did the full work of three men, — first as a 
 preacher, then as a lecturer and platform-speaker, 
 and last as a writer. 
 
 As a preacher, I think, he was wanting in the 
 perception and utterance of some of the truths of 
 the gospel, but he did an immense good to thou- 
 sands by his splendid utterances in behalf of right, 
 justice, and good. He denounced wrong as no 
 others denounced it ; he appealed to the sense of 
 responsibility as no others ; he called upon the 
 religious element in the soul to assert itself against 
 all that is selfish, worldly, and sensual in man. 
 Thousands were roused by him to see what life 
 was for, — what only makes it really life. It is 
 not necessary for every man to preach every part 
 of the gospel, in order to do good. Having gifts 
 differing according to the grace given them, men 
 are called to preach according to the proportion 
 of their own faith. 
 
 When Paul preached to Felix, he did not think 
 it necessary to say anything about the doctrine 
 of reconciliation by Christ. He preached " right- 
 eousness, temperance, and judgment to come ; " 
 and "Felix trembled." No one can deny that 
 Theodore Parker made many a Felix tremble by 
 precisely the same sort of preaching ; and I think 
 that the Master will admit, that, though not doing 
 all the work to be done in the vineyard, he faith- 
 
128 THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 fully and nobly did the work which God, by the 
 sincere convictions of his soul, had given to him 
 to do. " Care is taken," says Goethe, " that trees 
 shall not grow up to heaven ; " and God does not 
 mean nor require that every man shall do every- 
 thing. He asks us only to be faithful to our own 
 duty, which is determined by our own insight and 
 conviction. 
 
 But head and hand alone, without heart, cannot 
 make real greatness. There must be warm devo- 
 tion to some person or to some cause, there must 
 be affection, there must be love constantly pour- 
 ing life into the intellect and will, else the intel- 
 lect freezes into mere formality, and the will hard- 
 ens into mere habit or dead routine. 
 
 Theodore Parker's soul was a loving soul. He 
 was born with enthusiasm for the True, the Beau- 
 tiful, and the Good ; and the secret of his power 
 over men was, that he was able to retain to the 
 last this enthusiasm. They saw in him one man, 
 who, though a great intellect, could yet love and 
 adore ; who, though a great practical worker, could 
 feel tenderly all human woes and wrongs. There- 
 fore they gave him their hearts, and were willingly 
 led by his genius and commanding thought. 
 
 He was a man of warm feeling ; a man of ten- 
 der sympathy ; a man who felt as sincerely for the 
 sufferings of a poor Irish laborer, or a poor drunk- 
 ard, or a deserted child, as he did for the great 
 cause of human progress. The humblest never 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 129 
 
 appealed to his sympathy in vain. How often 
 have I heard of his interest in one or another 
 unfortunate ! — some exiled foreigners, some poor 
 widows, some orphan children. His time, though 
 so precious, was at the service of any forlorn vaga- 
 bond and outcast ; and I think that He who said, 
 " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of 
 these my brethren, ye have done it unto me," vrill 
 prefer this practical obedience to his command, 
 and sympathy with his spirit, to the most Ortho- 
 dox confession which Theodore might have made. 
 The friends whom Parker loved, he loved with 
 his whole heart. He loved them as Jonathan 
 loved David ; his love for them was wonderful, 
 passing the love of woman. A word of kindness, 
 an act of good-will, was never forgotten by him. 
 His noble soul opened itself to affection like the 
 blossoming apple-tree to the balmy sunshine in 
 this early June. His sympathy with humanity 
 inspired his flaming and ardent zeal for the op- 
 pressed everywhere ; and as, in our land, the col- 
 ored man is the most oppressed of all, therefore 
 he felt most keenly his wrongs, and labored most 
 zealously for Mm. Cold-hearted and selfish poli- 
 ticians, who think that to get ofl&ce is the only 
 motive in politics, could not understand this. His 
 whole heart, as well as his whole reason and con- 
 science, were in the cause of suffering and enslaved 
 man; and for this that noble heart throbbed to 
 the end. 
 
 9 
 
130 THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 This loving heart, which glowed with such de- 
 voted and steadfast affection for his friends, which 
 burned with such ardent interest for the sufferers 
 everywhere, could not be, and was not, wanting in 
 the highest type of love. It rose through friend- 
 ship to humanity, through humanity to piet}'. 
 Having loved his brother whom he had seen, how 
 could he not love also the invisible but ever-pres- 
 ent Father of us all ? His piety was tender, filial, 
 reverential ; devout as that of Pascal, St. Bernard, 
 or Madame Guyon. It was an instinct of adora- 
 tion for infinite beauty and perfect love. Those 
 who blamed his irreverent speech toward the out- 
 side of religion, toward the letter of the Bible, 
 boward the sacraments of worship, little knew 
 bow tender and deep was bis reverence toward 
 bhe Great Father, whom he also loved to call the 
 Mother, — Father and Mother of all men. 
 
 In looking for some illustration of this strangely 
 sxuberant and varied genius, I have recalled, as 
 its best emblem, a day I once passed in crossing 
 the St. Gothard Mountain, from Italy into Ger- 
 oaany. In the morning, we were among Italian 
 nightingales and the sweet melody of the Italian 
 speech. The fiowers were all in bloom, and the 
 dr balmy with summer perfumes from vine and 
 myrtle. But, as we slowly climbed the mountain, 
 sve passed away from this,— first into vast forests 
 jf pine, and then out upon broad fields of snow, 
 where winter avalanches were falling in thunder 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 131 
 
 from above. And so, at noon, we reached the 
 summit, and began to descend, till we again left 
 the snow ; and so rode continually downward on 
 a smooth highway, but through terrible ravines, 
 over rushing torrents, into dark gorges, where the 
 precipices almost met overhead, and the tormented 
 river roared far below ; and so on and on, hour 
 after hour, till we came down into the green and 
 sunny valleys of Canton Uri, and passed through 
 meadows where men were mowing the hay, and 
 the air was fragrant, not now with Southern vines, 
 but with the Northern apple-blossoms. Here we 
 heard all around us the language of Germany; 
 and then we floated on the enchanting lake of the 
 Four Cantons, and passed through its magnificent 
 scenery, till we reached, at dark, the old city of 
 Lucerne. This wonderful day, in its variety, is a 
 type to me of the career of our brother. His 
 youth was full of ardor and hope, full of imagina- 
 tion and poetic dreams, full of studies in ancient 
 and romantic lore. It was Italian and classic. 
 Then came the struggling ascent of the mountain, 
 — the patient toil and study of his early man- 
 hood ; then the calm survey of the great fields of 
 thought and knowledge, spreading widely around 
 in their majestic repose, and of the holy heavens 
 above his head, — the sublimities of religion, the 
 pure mountain air of devout thought and philo- 
 sophic insight ; and then came the rapid progress, 
 on and on, from this high summit of lonely specu- 
 
132 ■ THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 lation, down into the practice and use of life, — 
 down among the philanthropies and humanities 
 of being, — down from the solitary, serene air 
 of lonely thought, through terrible ravines and 
 broken precipices of struggling reform ; by the 
 roaring stream of progress, where the frozen ava- 
 lanche of conservative opposition falls in thunder 
 to crush the advancing traveler ; and so, on and 
 on, into the human homes of many-speaking men, 
 among low cottages, along the road the human 
 being travels, and by which blessing comes and 
 goes, — the road which follows — 
 
 " The river's course, the valley's peaceful windings, 
 Carves round the cornfield and the hill of vines ; 
 And so, secure, though late, reaches its end." 
 
 Out of classic, Roman-Catholic, medieval Italy, 
 into Protestant Germany; out of the land of 
 organization and authority into the land of indi- 
 vidual freedom ; out of the historic South, inherit- 
 ing all treasures of the past, into the enthusiastic, 
 hopeful, progressive North, inspired with all the 
 expectations of the future, — such was the course 
 and progress of his earthly day. A long life, 
 though closed at fifty years ; as that day on the 
 St. Gothard seemed to us already three days, long 
 before sundown. 
 
 And now, after this survey, I must conclude 
 him to have been a really great man ; because de- 
 ficient in none of the elements which constitute 
 greatness. A great intellect was in him directed 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 133 
 
 by a great will toward an aim given by a great 
 heart. The heart of love poured life into his 
 thoughts and actions. His is a name to stand 
 always high in the catalogue of New-England 
 worthies ; and, as long as Benjamin Franklin is 
 remembered, Theodore Parker will not be forgot- 
 ten. No monument will be erected to his mem- 
 ory at Mount Auburn ; at least, not in our day ; 
 but very probably the grandchildren of those who 
 condemned him most may call on our grandchil- 
 dren to subscribe for his statue, or to take tickets 
 for the centennial celebration of his birthday. 
 
 I am reminded of the saying of Jesus concern- 
 ing John the Baptist, in which the Saviour seems 
 to excuse the harshness and rudeness of his pre- 
 cursor, on the ground that such a work as he had 
 to do required a man whose faults would lie in 
 that direction. A civil and smooth-spoken gen- 
 tleman, a man of proprieties, would not have 
 drawn the multitudes into the vdlderness to hear 
 their sins denounced and their wickedness con- 
 demned. Nor would such an orator have gathered 
 crowds into the Music Hall. Theodore was the 
 John the Baptist of our day, — the prophet of a 
 transition state, when the law had ended, but the 
 gospel only just begun. He belonged to the pe- 
 riod when the kingdom of God is taken by vio- 
 lence. He was not a reed shaken by the wind, 
 nor a man clothed in soft raiment ; but he was one 
 of those whom the times require, and who, if es- 
 
M THEODORE PARKER. 
 
 mtially different, could not do their work. And 
 ; Jesus apologized for John, and excused his 
 irshness, on the ground that such a character 
 as required for such a work, so I doubt not, 
 lat, if our brother failed in the same way, it was 
 r the same reason ; and I think that our Master 
 ill make for him the same excuse. 
 
 And now he has gone ! That brain filled with 
 le last results and discoveries of the French, 
 nglish, and German intellect, has gone ! We 
 ,n no more turn into Exeter Place to consult 
 at encyclopaedia. That great worker, who could 
 rim steadily abreast of the rising tide of events, 
 jeping always on its topmost wave, always hav- 
 g his word ready for the hour and for each event 
 
 the hour, has gone to sleep under the blue Tuscan 
 :y. His dust mingles with that of the men of 
 any ages, — with the Oscans and Latins, with 
 le Tarquins and old Etruscan chiefs, with Ro- 
 an consuls and Roman orators, with Carthage- 
 an invaders from Africa, with Keltic invaders 
 om Gaul, with Cimbri and Greek, with Ostro- 
 )th and Lombard, with mediaeval monks and 
 )ctors, with the dust of St. Francis, Dante, 
 :ichael Angelo, Petrarch, and Tasso. And, if 
 3 may not rest in Santa Croce with the illus- 
 ions dead of Florence, neither is Dante there, 
 5r Savonarola. The kindred dust of the great 
 alian reformer was dispersed in flame on that 
 athedral Square, near which our brother's re- 
 
THEODORE PARKER. 135 
 
 mains repose. Let him sleep there after life's 
 fevered task, our New-England cosmopolite, in 
 that cosmopolitan society, — in that soil made up 
 of the dust of men of all races, all creeds, and all 
 characters. But we in Boston shall often miss 
 him. When that great Hall shall stand silent 
 and empty, Sunday after Sunday ; when plausible 
 rhetoricians utter their sophisms without contra- 
 diction, because our great critic is not here to an- 
 swer them ; when great national crises come and 
 go unanalyzed, because he is not here with his 
 ever ready brain and well-filled memory to give 
 the immediate judgment which history is after- 
 ward to assign, — in such hours as these we shall 
 remember the greatness and mourn the absence of 
 our Boston Socrates, — of our gift of God, — our 
 Theodore. 
 
SAMUEL GEIDLET HOWE. 
 
THE CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Illtjstbatbd in the Lite and Character 
 OF Samuel G. Howe.^ 
 
 Among the Romans, courage made the essence 
 of all virtue. The word virtus, or manliness, or 
 courage, was the same as our virtue. 
 
 Courage has not been always considered a vir- 
 tue among Christians. Not to fight but to submit, 
 was long supposed to be the chief duty of a relig- 
 ious man. The Christ himself was supposed to be 
 made up of passive virtues — patience, submission, 
 non-resistance, meekness, humility. In all medi- 
 seval pictures, he was represented as bowing down 
 his head like a bulrush ; standing mute like the 
 sheep that is sheared. And through many centu- 
 ries, the saint, par excellence, was the "man who re- 
 tired from the world and its evils to fast and pray, 
 and save his own soul, instead of remaining in the 
 world to fight with its evils, to resist its abuses, 
 to meet falsehoods in battle with honest argument, 
 
 1 A sermon preached to the Church of the Disciples, Boston, 
 January 16, 1876. 
 
140 SAMUEL GRIBLEY HOWE. 
 
 to make war against triumphant and powerful vil- 
 lainy. 
 
 Not such the view of the apostle Paul. To him 
 life was a long battle for right against wrong, for 
 freedom against slavery, for humanity against all 
 that would harm it. " Put on the whole armor, 
 the panoply, of God," says he. " Fight the good 
 fight of faith." " Take the helmet of salvation 
 and the sword of the Spirit." " Stand fast, quit 
 you like men, be strong." " Son Timothy, war a 
 good warfare." He meant -every blow to tell. "^I 
 do not fight as one who beats. the air," said he; 
 when he struck, he struck to hit. But it was a 
 moral strife. He had no hostility to men, except 
 when they represented principles. " We wrestle' 
 not against flesh and blood," but against wrong 
 principles, against evil forces, against the influ- 
 ences which darken life, against triumphant wick- 
 edness, no matter how highly placed. 
 
 Nor was the goodness of Jesus merely or mainly 
 passive. He went forth from the quiet air of his 
 Nazarene home to a conflict with the ruling prin- 
 ciples and ideas of his time. The Pharisees were 
 the masters of the nation's mind, the guides of 
 public opinion. He denounced and opposed them. 
 What was harder, he must disappoint all the ex- 
 pectations of the people. They hated the Romans, 
 with their soldiers and tax-gatherers. He went to 
 the house of the Roman centurion to heal his 
 child ; he made a Roman tax-gatherer one of his 
 
SAMUEL GRID LEY HOWE. 141 
 
 apostles. They hated the Samaritans — he made 
 a Samaritan the hero of a lovely story. They 
 were hungering for a Messiah who should lead 
 them against the Roman power — he told them 
 that his kingdom was not of this world. All the 
 virtues of Christ were active, not passive. His 
 love was active love, going about to do good. His 
 piety was practical piety, resisting and opposing 
 all formalism, all ceremonial worship, and calling 
 on men to worship God in spirit and in truth. 
 The life of Jesus was one long act of heroic cour- 
 age. 
 
 If we distinguish between the essence of cour- 
 'age and its accidents, we shall see what an indis- 
 pensable ingredient it is in all goodness. It is the 
 power which makes us ready to encounter difficul- 
 ties, meet opposition, go without delay or hesita- 
 tion to each duty, attacking every task of life as 
 soon as it presents itself, not shirking the work of 
 to-day, or putting it off till to-morrow; being 
 ready to speak the truth, whether men hear or 
 forbear ; standing by our convictions, though cus- 
 tom, authority, and friendship are all on the other 
 side. This is courage ; and without it, goodness is 
 a sickly plant, virtue a pale shadow, religion a hol- 
 low decorum, exercising no influence and deserv- 
 ing none. 
 
 The distinction usually made is between physi- 
 cal courage and moral courage. I prefer a differ- 
 ent classification. I should make three kinds of 
 
142 SAMUEL GRID LEY HOWE. 
 
 courage, namely : Personal courage, Moral cour- 
 age. Christian courage. 
 
 I do not like the phrase, "physical courage," 
 because this is often only insensibility to danger. 
 In this sense, a stone would have more courage 
 than a brute ; a brute more courage than a man ; 
 a coarse and brutal man more courage than a man 
 of thought and imagination. But insensibility, 
 which plunges blindly into danger, does not de- 
 serve the name of courage. That alone is true 
 courage which sees the danger, knows all the risk 
 it must run, and yet is willing to encounter it. 
 There is no courage in risking a peril to which 
 we are insensible. If a man can truly say, " I 
 never knew what fear was," he must also say, 
 "I never knew what courage was." The capacity 
 of feeling fear is essential to all true courage. To 
 feel fear and rise above fear — that is what we 
 understand by courage. 
 
 "We have just followed to his grave a man the 
 like of whom has never been seen in New Eng- 
 land. In him were united the qualities of Sir 
 Launcelot and the good Samaritan. He was not 
 a saint, in any sense of the word; but he was in 
 some ways better than a saint, perhaps nearer to 
 Christ than most saints. He had his faults, no 
 doubt ; he was probably far from perfect. Per- 
 haps his strong will sometimes made him despotic ; 
 his determination may have made him intolerant 
 of the tendencies of minds different from his own. 
 
SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 143 
 
 According to the common definition, he was not 
 a religious man, for he made little profession, and 
 cared little for ceremonial worship. But accord- 
 ing to the definition of Jesus, he may be called a 
 citizen of Heaven : " Not every one that saith 
 unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the king- 
 dom of Heaven ; but he that doeth the will of my 
 Father, who is in Heaven." But even if I were 
 able to point out his defects, I should not care to 
 do so, for to look at faults seldom does us good. 
 What does us the most good is to see the noble 
 qualities of others, for this lifts us towards a bet- 
 ter life. 
 
 Samuel Gridley Howe, then, as I judge, pos- 
 sessed in a high degree all the three kinds of cour- 
 age of which I have spoken ; and I will illus- 
 trate them all by the story of his life. 
 
 Personal courage loves danger for danger's sake ; 
 not because it is insensible to it, but because it 
 enjoys its excitement and stimulus. What a 
 strange attraction have war and the tumult of 
 battle for many men ! This courage of the battle- 
 field is shared with man by his faithful compan- 
 ion, the horse, who rushes with joy into the thick 
 of the fray ; not from insensibility to danger, for 
 he is a timid and imaginative creature, but be- 
 cause he is lifted, like man, above all fear, by the 
 strange fascination of the battle-field. Two thou- 
 sand years ago this had been noticed by the au- 
 thor of the Book of Job, who wrote of the horse : 
 
144 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 
 
 "He saith among the trumpets 'ha! ha!' and 
 smelleth the battle afar off." 
 
 Dr. Howe, in this respect, was like one of the 
 Knights of the Round Table. When he went to 
 Greece to fight by the side of Byron ; when he 
 risked his life and liberty to help the Poles in 
 their insurrection ; when he stood by Lafayette in 
 the streets of Paris in the struggle of 1830 ; there 
 was mingled with his sympathy for human free- 
 dom, something also of the " gaudium certaminis " 
 — the delightful excitement of peril. But also 
 there was the conviction that in each case there 
 was a principle at stake, and that here was the 
 eternal conflict for the rights of man ; and so the 
 personal courage of the knight was joined with 
 the moral courage of the hero. He was ready to 
 die, but only in a good cause — non indecoro pul- 
 vere sordidum. 
 
 This marks the difference between personal 
 courage and moral courage. Personal courage 
 gives the joy of conflict ; moral courage adds to 
 this a deeper joy, the satisfaction of fighting for 
 truth, justice, freedom, humanity. It also enlarges 
 the sphere of the battle ; lifting it to the vast field 
 where principles of truth and falsehood contend in 
 the grand struggle of reason with reason. And 
 so, when the antislavery controversy began in 
 this country, it was easy to see where Dr. Howe 
 would be. With his friends, John G. Palfrey, 
 Horace Mann, Charles Sumner, Theodore Parker, 
 
SAMUEL GSIDLEY HOWE. 145 
 
 John A. Andrew, Frank Bird, and others like 
 them, his heart, voice, pen, purse, hand, were 
 always given to the cause of the slave. How 
 much he did in that cause few can tell, for he 
 was a man who never spoke of his own past ef- 
 forts or achievements. But it was always well 
 understood that if any help was needed in that 
 cause. Dr. Howe could be relied upon. I only saw 
 Captain John Brown twice — once in Charles 
 Sumner's room on Hancock Street. The other time 
 it happened thus : I met Dr. Howe in the street 
 one day, and he said, "Captain John Brown — 
 Ossawattomie Brown — is in my office. He has a 
 plan in view, and if you would like to help him, he 
 will tell you something about it." I went to the 
 office, and Captain Brown was there alone. He 
 described to me what he had done in Missouri, 
 carrying away slaves from the frontier through 
 Kansas and Nebraska, and said, " I intend doing 
 the same thing, on a larger scale, elsewhere ; but 
 where, and how, I keep to myself. My idea is to 
 destroy the value of slave property along the bor- 
 der, and so drive slavery South." If John Brown, 
 or any one else, had a blow to strike for human- 
 ity, he knew that he had an ally always ready in 
 Dr. Howe. 
 
 But there is a third kind of courage which car- 
 ries the soul up stiU higher. I call it Christian 
 courage, because Jesus Christ J)ossessed it in the 
 highest degree. It is the courage which enables a 
 
 10 
 
146 SAMUEL GRIDLEY BO WE. 
 
 man to attempt the cure of the worst forms of 
 human suffermg and sin, believing that he can 
 overcome them. Jesus Christ made himself the 
 physician to cure the worst diseases of the race. 
 He had the courage to attack all evil, believing 
 that he could put under his feet all enemies. 
 
 Social science, as popularly taught now, teaches 
 "the survival of the fittest." Its theory is that 
 the law of progress consists in the death of the 
 weak and sickly, and the survival of the healthy 
 and strong. According to this view, the best thing 
 that can happen is for all the feeble in mind and 
 body to die as soon as possible, and only the best 
 endowed natures to remain to continue their race. 
 The logic of this system would seem to be that 
 any one who provides hospitals for the sick, asy- 
 lums for the insane, houses of reformation for the 
 vicious, is really an enemy to human progress, by 
 keeping in existence those who had better be out 
 of the way. 
 
 The Christian theory teaches an exactly oppo- 
 site view. It says, "If one member suffer, all 
 suffer." It regards the human race as one body, 
 and declares th,at the body can only be in health 
 when every part is in health. In its large phi- 
 losophy it, indeed, encourages every attempt at 
 making the good better, the wise wiser, the 
 healthy more healthy ; but its own special work • 
 is to raise the fallen, heal the diseased, help the 
 weak, teach the ignorant. This was the sign 
 
SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 147 
 
 which Jesus gave to those who wished to know 
 if he were the Messiah ; that the blind received 
 their sight, the lame walked, the lepers were 
 cleansed, the deaf heard, the dumb spake, the dead 
 were raised up, and that good news had come for 
 the poor. 
 
 To attempt this kind of work requires the high- 
 est kind of courage of all. And this is the work to 
 which Dr. Howe devoted the last forty years of his 
 life in Boston. He made himself — with all his 
 high gifts, his rare accomplishments, his knightly 
 courage — the servant of the blind, of the idiots, 
 the slaves, of the most friendless and the most for- 
 lorn. And I cannot but think that such a life and 
 such labors must do more to carry humanity for- 
 ward than efforts exerted at the other end of the 
 scale. There is an inspiration about such gener- 
 osity as this which kindles a similar enthusiasm, 
 and adds to the motive power of mankind. The 
 real progress of man consists in giving him more 
 soul ; and how many souls have been quickened 
 bythe work of our dead hero, who can tell ? 
 
 One instance I happened to hear of, indirectly, 
 from a Western gentlemaii whom I once met. 
 He told me that a young, woman, one of Dr. 
 Howe's teachers in the School for the Feeble 
 Minded, went out to Ohio and took charge of a 
 similar school just established in the capital of 
 that State. Her salary, paid by the State, was 
 only $300 ; but she refused the offer of twice that 
 
148 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 
 
 sum to go and teach a private school in Ken- 
 tucky, saying " that they could easily find others 
 to go there, but she was afraid no one else would 
 come to take care of her idiots." When this con- 
 duct of hers came to be known, members of the_ 
 Legislature, before indifferent to the school, became 
 interested in it, and one of them, who had been 
 converted from infidelity to some faith in God by 
 reading one of Theodore Parker's books, led the 
 way in securing a good appropriation for the 
 school. So these two friends, Dr. Howe and The- 
 odore Parker, reached hands to each other in Ohio, 
 and, ignorant of it themselves, kindled a flame of 
 generous faith in God and man in that region. 
 
 " How far that little candle sends its beams ! 
 So shines a good deed in this naughty world." 
 
 In this church, at Dr. Howe's funeral, last Thurs- 
 day, was Laura Bridgman, mourning him who had 
 come to her, when she, poor child, was shut into 
 that dismal prison of fourfold darkness, to bring 
 her into the light of knowledge. There she sat, 
 with wisdom at five entrances quite shut out — 
 eyes, ears, taste, smell, speech, all paralyzed. 
 What courage it required to attack such a prob- 
 lem ! What faith, what hope, what confidence in 
 the powers of the soul ready to cooperate with his 
 efforts; what patience, what ingenuity, what un- 
 tiring industry ! Tell me, wise man of this world ! 
 learned doctor of social science ! what was the use 
 
SAMUEL GRIDLET SO WE. 149 
 
 of it all ? Would it not liave been better to ex- 
 pend the same time and toil on some healthy soul 
 in a healthy body, giving a grand education to a 
 perfectly developed genius ? Leave out the prin- 
 ciple of Christianity, which makes one brother- 
 hood of us all, and it was a great mistake to 
 squander this high art on such poor material. 
 But no ! it was an immortal soul, sitting in that 
 shadow of death, and when he lifted her up and 
 showed to her a little of the wonder and beauty of 
 God's world, and gave her language, and brought 
 her into communion with her race, he had done 
 enough to make his life noble. 
 
 Dickens, in his "American Notes," quotes 
 largely from Howe's account of this case, and 
 says : — 
 
 " Well may this gentleman call that a delightful mo- 
 ment, in which some distant promise of her present state 
 gleamed upon the darkened mind of Laura Bridgman. 
 Throughout his Ufe the recollection of that moment will 
 be to him a source of pure, unfailing happiness ; nor will 
 it shine less brightly on the evening of his days of noble 
 usefulness. 
 
 " Ye who have eyes and see not, ears and hear not ; 
 ye who are the hypocrites of sad countenances, learn 
 healthy cheerfulness and mild contentment from the 
 deaf and dumb and blind. Self-elected saints with 
 gloomy brows, this sightless, earless, voiceless child 
 may teach you lessons you will do well to follow. Let 
 that poor hand of hers lie gently on your hearts, for 
 
150 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 
 
 there may be something in its healing akin to that of 
 the great Master." 
 
 I have received the following account of the last 
 visit made by Dr. Howe, a few weeks since, to the 
 pupils of the School for the Feeble Minded. The 
 teacher of the female department thus writes : — 
 
 " At his last visit to the school, on Sunday afternoon, 
 about four weeks ago, the doctor seemed more genial 
 and interested than I had seen him before. As he en- 
 tered the school-room his face was radiant with smiles. 
 The girls were singing a Sunday-school song, and had 
 commenced the chorus, ' Hallelujah, thine be the glory, 
 Revive us again ! ' Surprised at his sudden appearance, 
 I was about to rise and welcome him, but he motioned 
 me to continue playing, and he joined his voice with 
 those of the children, beating time with his uplifted 
 hand until the close of the strain. Then, turning to 
 the children, he spoke these words in a pleasant but 
 pathetic voice: 'lam glad to see you all, looking so 
 well and happy. -I hope you will be good children. 
 Learn all you can.' Then, raising his right hand, and 
 waving it towards them and over them, he said, ' Good- 
 by, God bless you, good-by.' These were his last 
 words to the school." 
 
 The teacher adds : — 
 
 " The scene was strangely significant and touching. 
 The intense earnestness of his manner, the moment of 
 entrance, as the children were singing the appeal, ' Re- 
 vive us again,' his joining in the singing, his final bene- 
 diction, aU seemed prophetic, and we felt that this was 
 the last visit to the school.'' 
 
SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 151 
 
 The teacher of the boys says : — 
 
 " He came in so quietly that I was not aware of his 
 presence till he stood among us. Then, after his usual 
 kind word to myself, came that tone of voice and ex- 
 pression of eye we have all learned to know so well, 
 with which he said, ' Are you good children ? ' I told 
 him we all missed him very much, and his lips quivered 
 as he said softly, as if to himself, ' Poor children, it is 
 little I can do for you.' Then, going suddenly amongst 
 them, he patted the heads and cheeks of the little ones, 
 and stretched out his hand over them as a benediction, 
 feebly uttering the words, ' Be good children, be good.' 
 This was our last remembrance of Dr. Howe. The 
 children were silent ; but in that deep hush there came 
 an awe, as though they had looked upon the face of the 
 dead. We realized that this was his final farewell. It 
 was very sad and solemn, but very sweet. There can 
 be no monument raised to his memory more lasting than 
 will be his remembrance in the hearts of these children." 
 
 It was a great instance of courage, of chivalric 
 courage, to go from Massachusetts in his youth to 
 join in the terrible fight for Greece against the 
 Turkish barbarians, where the mountains looked 
 on Marathon, and Marathon looked on the sea. 
 Surrounded by memories of old heroic days, amid 
 classic scenes, under the shadow of Parnassus, 
 amid the hum of Hyblean bees, this young med- 
 ical student from Boston threw his arm and life 
 into the arena. It was noble to carry help to the 
 starving Poles in their desperate struggle against 
 
152 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 
 
 the gigantic power of Russia. The same spirit 
 led him in after days to go again, to "carry help 
 to the Isle of Crete, and to take part in the at- 
 tempt to lift the people of San Domingo to better 
 fortunes. But was the courage less, or was it 
 greater, which devoted itself to the rescue of the 
 soul of Laura Bridgman and Oliver Caswell ; 
 which plunged into the darkness of the mind of 
 the poor idiots to seek to give them light, and 
 which led the blind by a way they knew not into 
 intelligence and a happy future ? To me it seems 
 that his last work was far greater than his first, 
 and that the chivalry of his youth was crowned by 
 the diviner and more gallant endeavors and suc- 
 cesses of his manhood and age. 
 
 " Would'st know him now ? Behold him 
 
 The Cadmus of the blind, 
 Giving the dumb lip language, 
 
 The idiot clay a mind. 
 Walking his round of duty 
 
 Serenely, day by day, 
 "With the strong man's hand of labor. 
 
 And childhood's heart of play." 
 
 So active, energetic, industrious was this man, 
 that he made a part in all the best activities of 
 his time. He was intimately associated with La 
 Fayette and Lamartine in European republican- 
 ism, with Florence Nightingale in the care for the 
 sick, with Charles Sumner in the reform of pris- 
 ons, with Horace Mann in education, with John 
 
SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 153 
 
 Andrew in the war, with Dr. Cabot in helping 
 Kansas, with Henry Wilson in organizing the free 
 soil party, with John Brown in hostility to slavery, 
 with Dr. Bellows in the sanitary commission, with 
 Owen and McKay e in labor for the freedmen. 
 And when he was seventy years old, he went to 
 San Domingo as a commissioner, to examine the 
 condition of that island, and the expediency of 
 annexing the Republic to the United States. 
 There, for three months, he endured fatigues 
 which would have exhausted younger men', and 
 nothing could exceed the energy and judgment 
 shown by him in his extensive tours to obtain 
 information. 
 
 The lesson of this life is for us all. It may not 
 be given to us to fight for Greece, or Poland, or 
 France; to help Crete or San Domingo; to origi- 
 nate and carry on the education of the blind, or 
 that of the idiots, or to be the inspiration of a 
 sleeping soul, wakening it to life and light. But 
 the spirit in which he lived we all can have. We 
 also can do with our might whatever we find to 
 do. We can find our Greece close by — wherever 
 any man, or woman, or child, or lower animal is 
 oppressed by superior force. Near to each of us 
 are those who need our aid, as Laura Bridgman 
 needed his, and whom we can help by opening 
 the blind eyes, and leading the captive soul out 
 of its prison house. We may not have that lion 
 
154 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 
 
 mood, that iron will, that fearless blood, that in- 
 tense eye, that unmeasured power ; but we also 
 may be brethren and sisters of this fellowship of 
 the brave and true, if we do in our way what he 
 did in his. 
 
vi. 
 
 WILLIAM ELLERT OHANmi^G. 
 
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 
 
 When, twenty-five years ago to-day, tlie hills 
 of Berkshire stood solemn watchers while Chan- 
 ning breathed his last breath on earth, the hearts 
 of all noble men were moved, and two of our best 
 poets laid laurel-wreaths on his tomb. From one 
 of them we take these lines : — 
 
 " Thon livest in the life of all good things ; 
 
 The words thon spak'st for freedom shall not die. 
 Thou sleepest not, for now thy Love hath wings 
 To soar where hence thy Hope could hardly fly. 
 
 •' And often, from that other world, on this 
 
 Some gleams, from great souls gone before, may shine. 
 To shed on struggling hearts a clearer bliss. 
 And clothe the Right with lustre more divine." 
 
 It is twenty-five years since Channing died ; 
 but, during all this time, his spirit has been work- 
 ing in the Church and in the nation. His faith 
 in man, in progress, in freedom, has been more 
 and more widely felt a3d received ; and were he 
 
 1 Address, October 6, 1867, at services held in Arlington 
 Church, Boston, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Dr. Chan- 
 ning's death. 
 
158 WILLIAM ELLEBY CHANNING: 
 
 to look upon us now, as perhaps he does, he would 
 see that his ideas are becoming the commanding 
 opinions of the land and time, — the " master-lights 
 of all our being." 
 
 Twenty-five years have already brought a new 
 generation on the stage, — one which did not know 
 him. Were he here, he would be eighty-seven 
 years old. I am glad to have the opportunity 
 to tell those younger than myself of what Chan- 
 ning was to my generation, — first, by his writ- 
 ings, and then by his character. 
 
 At the time when Channing began to preach, a 
 certain lethargy prevailed in the Church. A 
 sleepy orthodoxy and a drowsy liberalism stood 
 side by side in our pulpits. The letter, which 
 kills, had destroyed the living spirit. " The word 
 of the Lord was precious in those days ; there was 
 no open vision." I have heard my grandfather. 
 Dr. Freeman, describe the electric effect produced, 
 first by Buckminster, and then by Channing. 
 Dr. Freeman belonged himself to the old school 
 of Unitarians ; he was a scholar of Priestley and 
 Belsham ; but he had the head and the heart to 
 see and love the genius of a man like Channing. 
 He spoke of him as the greatest of thinkers, when 
 as yet he was not widely known to fame. Chan- 
 ning rose out of the region of opinions into that 
 of ideas. The ideas of human nature, of freedom, 
 of reason, and of progress, filled him with pro- 
 phetic enthusiasm, and caused him to speak with 
 
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 169 
 
 the tongue of men and of angels. Who that ever 
 
 heard him can forget that solemn fire of his eye, 
 
 that profound earnestness of tone, which took and 
 
 held captive all minds, from the beginning to the 
 
 end of his discourse ? There was nothing like it, 
 
 nor second to it, in any pulpit of America. It was 
 
 not oratory, it was not rhetoric : it was pure soul, 
 
 uttering itself in thoughts clear and strong as the 
 
 current of a mighty stream. As we listened, we 
 
 forgot the weak tabernacle : we were mastered by 
 
 the thought of that mighty soul, which 
 
 " Fretted the pigmy body to decay, 
 And o'erinformed its tenement of day." 
 
 The earth seemed good to live in, while we lis- 
 tened to him. It was a great thing to be a human 
 being. Life was too short for what we wished to 
 do in it. Christianity was such a holy gift that 
 to serve it was joy sufficient for this world. I 
 know at least one who never would have been a 
 Christian minister if he had not heard Channing ; 
 who blesses him to this hour for having directed 
 his steps into so noble a field of duty. The writ- 
 ings of Channing went through America and over 
 Europe, and filled millions of readers with admira- 
 tion and love. I heard of a man in Wisconsin, 
 who, unable to buy the volume, copied with his 
 pen the whole of it from beginning to end. When 
 Dr. Channing wrote his book on slavery, I was 
 living in Kentucky, and reprinted several chapters 
 in a monthly journal I edited there ; and they 
 
160 WILLIAM ELLEBY CEANNING. 
 
 were read with interest by thousands. I knew a 
 Kentucky planter, to whom I gave his letter to 
 Henry Clay, who had it bound up with blank 
 leaves, took it in his pocket as he rode through 
 his fields, and filled it full of notes made during 
 his leisure moments. His son afterwards became 
 attorney-general under Abraham Lincoln, and one 
 of the strongest supporters of emancipation. Who 
 can tell how far Channing's thought has gone, and 
 how much of it was seed which grew up and bore 
 a hundred fold in the emancipation of a race in 
 America ? 
 
 But it was not merely the great thought of 
 Channing, but his pure character, which has borne 
 this fruit. He gave an example of personal noble- 
 ness in all his life. He was the most accessible 
 of men. Young men, poor men, unknown men, 
 could visit him, and find him as ready to talk with 
 them as with the European savans and British 
 noblemen, who, as soon as they landed in Boston, 
 would find their way to the study of Dr. Channing 
 on Mount Vernon Street. 
 
 I owe a great debt of gratitude to Dr. Chan- 
 ning for his kindness to me, when, comparatively 
 a young man, I gathered a church in this city, — 
 in some respects differing from those then estab- 
 lished. He sent for me to come and see him, 
 gave me invaluable advice and encouragement, 
 and even came himself, evening after evening, to 
 the hall where we worshiped, and took a chair 
 
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. ' 161 
 
 near the pulpit. Before that, when I edited the 
 " Western Messenger," he wrote for it a long and 
 very valuable article on Catholicism, which any of 
 the great reviews in England or America would 
 have thankfully received, but which he gave to 
 this obsciire Western periodical. His kindness to 
 all young iften, to all struggling enterprises, his 
 sympathy with every attempt to improve the age, 
 came from his generous interest in truth, and his 
 large expectation. When Mr. Garrison was the 
 most unpopular man in Boston, and himself the 
 most admired. Dr. Channing took him by the 
 hand. When Abolition and Abolitionists were 
 odious, Dr. Channing laid the weight of his great 
 character in this scale. Of all the events of his 
 life, there are few finer than that which was de- 
 scribed afterwards by Miss Martineau. She says 
 that, when a committee of the Massachusetts Leg- 
 islature was in session to inquire whether some 
 bill should not be enacted, making it a penal 
 offense to publish, here in Massachusetts, any- 
 thing against Southern slavery ; and Mr. Garrison 
 and his friends came before that committee to 
 protest against any such law being passed, the 
 door of the committee-room opened, and there 
 stood Dr. Channing. He was invited by the 
 committee to come and sit vrith them: but he 
 walked across the room, came up to Garrison, 
 took him by the hand, and sat down by his side ; 
 thus showing his determination, as he did on all 
 11 
 
162 WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 
 
 occasions, to stand by any one whom it was at- 
 tempted to oppress, no matter what was the 
 weight of power against him. 
 
 In one of the last conversations I had with him, 
 he told me that the wish of his life had been to 
 write a work which should embody his views on 
 the Philosophy of Man and on General Theology; 
 "but," said he, "the cause of freedom demands 
 all the little strength I have. I am continually 
 called upon, by the occasions of the hour, to write 
 pamphlets, which task all my strength; and I 
 shall never be able, I foresee, to do the work 
 which I had hoped was to be the work of my 
 life." 
 
 Among all his noble traits, this ceaseless ex- 
 pectation, this undying hope, this sympathy with 
 every new person who hud anything to say for 
 himself, every new movement which promised 
 anything for itself, — this expectation, so tranquil 
 and calm, but so ready, was one of the noblest. 
 
 Some men live always on the plane of what is 
 common : they live in averages, and take life at 
 low-water mark. Others rise and fall again, 
 sometimes having a moment of enthusiasm, a 
 sparkle of generosity, and then subsiding into 
 their old routine. But Dr. Channing was always 
 breathing the pure air of the mountain-top. 
 Whenever you went into his room, he would 
 begin some strain of a higher mood, some theme 
 of pure religion, something which would lift you 
 
WILLIAM ELLEMY CHANNING. 163 
 
 into the realm of eternal truths, something which 
 would make you better and happier during the 
 whole day. In this, he reminded me of what 
 Goethe wrote concerning Schiller, in the service 
 of commemoration after his death : — 
 
 " For he was ours; and may this word of pride 
 Drown with its lofty tone pain's bitter cry ! 
 
 With us, the fierce storm over, he could ride 
 At anchor, in safe harbor, quietly. 
 
 Yet onward did his mighty spirit stride, 
 To beauty, goodness; truth, eternally ; 
 
 And far behind, in mists dissolved away, 
 
 That which confines us all, — the Common, — lay." 
 
 I remember Dr. Channing once telling me, that, 
 of all the words of Jesus, nothing struck him more 
 than his saying to the Jews around him, " Be 
 perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect." 
 " Why," said he, " when I consider what kind of 
 people they were ; when I consider the hardness 
 of their hearts, the barrenness of their minds, — 
 the faith in humanity which could inspire such a 
 saying as that, seems to me a marvel of the love 
 of Jesus. You or I," said he, " would just as soon 
 have thought of saying to these chairs and tables, 
 ' Be ye perfect, as your Father in heaven is per- 
 fect,' as to those men." 
 
 I recall a day in October spent a^ his house in 
 Newport, during the whole of which ho talked of 
 the need of more spiritual life. The topic of that 
 long conversation was life : that we might have 
 more life ; that we might have it more abun- 
 
164 WILLIAM ELLBRT CHANNING. 
 
 dantly ; that we might have it in the nation ; t 
 we might have it in the churches ; that we mii 
 find it in our own souls. It was like one of 
 Dialogues of Plato ; it was like the " Phsedo ; ' 
 was like the apology of Socrates before his jud^ 
 It was a strain, all through the da-y, of aspirati 
 expectation, hope. 
 
 I quoted two verses from Lowell, written af 
 Dr. Channing's death, in commencing these 
 marks ; and now, in closing them, I will qu 
 some lines, written at the same time, by our otl 
 great American poet, Whittier : — 
 
 " Not rainly did old poets tell, 
 
 Nor vainly did old genius paint, 
 God's great and crowning miracle, — 
 The hero and the saint. 
 
 " For, even in a faithless day, 
 
 Can we our sainted ones discern 
 And feel, while mth them on the way. 
 Our hearts within us burn. 
 
 " And thus the common tongue and pen. 
 
 Which, world-wide, echo Channing's fame. 
 As one of Heaven's anointed men, 
 Have sanctified his name. 
 
 " In vain shall Rome her portals bar, 
 And shut from him her saintly prize. 
 Whom, in the world's great calendar, 
 All men shall canonize, 
 
 " How echoes yet each Western hill 
 
 And vale with Channing's dying word 1 
 How are the hearts of freemen still 
 By that great warning stirred ! 
 
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 165 
 
 " Swart smiters of the glowing steel, 
 Dark feeders of the forge's flame, 
 Pale watchers at the loom and wheel. 
 Repeat his honored name. 
 
 " Where is the victory of the grave ? 
 What dust upon the spirit lies ? 
 God keeps the sacred life he gave : 
 The prophet never dies.'' 
 
VIL 
 WALTER OHAI^JS-ES-G 
 
 AND SOME OP HIS CONTEMPORAKIES. 
 
WALTER CHANNING AND SOME OP 
 HIS CONTEMPORARIES.! 
 
 A GOOD physician has a hard life in many ways. 
 His work is on the shady side of life, by the bed 
 of sickness and pain — sickness which he often 
 cannot cure, pain which he is sometimes unable to 
 alleviate. He has great responsibilities, involv- 
 ing grave anxieties. The life, health, happiness 
 of others depend much on his wisdom, attention, 
 promptness, fidelity. Most of us do our day's 
 work and then go home to rest or to amuse our- 
 selves, to turn to favorite studies or go into pleas- 
 ant society. The work of the physician never 
 ends. He never can rest without the possibility 
 of being suddenly summoned back to his duties. 
 If he is not actually called he is always in expec- 
 tation of being called, and that interferes with 
 perfect rest. He is a sentinel who cannot sleep on 
 his post. His work continues through night and 
 day, through storm and shine, through heat and 
 cold, through summer and winter. Other men 
 may take their vacation, but wherever he goes, 
 ^ A sermon preached alter Dr- Channing's death. . 
 
170 WALTER CHANNING. 
 
 the lightning message follows after and asks, 
 " Where are you ? " At home, he is the slave of 
 the door-bell ; abroad, of the telegraph. 
 
 Yet, with all this labor, care, anxiety, a physi- 
 cian's life has many compensations ; compensations 
 so great that, when a person is able to fulfill its 
 duties aright, it is one of the happiest of all profes- 
 sions. The good physician has the consciousness 
 of usefulness in his work. The family physician 
 studies the constitutions of the members of a 
 household ; he is able to advise them in regard to 
 diet, air, exercise, work, and recreation. He fore- 
 sees danger before it comes, and shows them how 
 to avoid it. If prevention is better than cure, 
 modern medical science which tends that way, is 
 certainly better than that of our fathers. But 
 when the inevitable disease arrives, then the use 
 of the physician appears in alleviations of pain, in 
 taking charge of the case and so relieving the 
 anxieties of the patient and his friends. When 
 we have confided our beloved ones to the care of 
 the wise and faithful physician, we have a sense 
 of reposing trust. If all drugs were abolished, 
 I do not think the need and use of a physician 
 could be sensibly diminished — perhaps it would 
 be increased. All this is compensation for his toil 
 and anxiety, but more still is the affection which 
 gathers around him. The apostle has indicated 
 this reward of the profession in one striking epi- 
 thet, " Luke, the beloved physician." He does 
 
WALTER CHANNING. 171 
 
 not say " the wise," " the learned," " the cele- 
 brated," physician, but the " beloved." The good 
 physician becomes a friend in many homes. Grate- 
 ful love attends his footsteps. As his life ad- 
 vances, there grows up around him a neighbor- 
 hood filled with friends. He is the friend of old 
 and young, for all need his care, and depend on 
 his counsel. He becomes intimately acquainted 
 with the interior life of many families ; but you 
 •will notice that a physician is very seldom a gos- 
 sip. He no more thinks of speaking abroad of 
 what is confided to him, than if he were a father- 
 confessor ; as, indeed, he often is. And he who 
 is able to inspire confidence in another helps 
 the body through the mind, as daily experience 
 teaches. We all feel the truth of what Walter Scott 
 says : — 
 
 I have lain on the sick man's bed, 
 
 Watching for hours for the leech's tread, 
 
 As if I deemed that his presence alone 
 
 Had power to bid my pains begone. 
 
 I have listed his words of comfort given 
 
 As if to oracles from Heaven, 
 
 I have counted his steps from my chamber door. 
 
 And blessed them when they were heard no more- 
 
 I have made these remarks in reference to the 
 recent death of one who has had a long career as 
 a physician in this city, and has been connected 
 with most important persons and events in Boston 
 during more than half a century. Dr. Walter 
 Channing was appointed a medical professor in 
 
172 WALTJBS CHANNING. 
 
 Harvard University sixty -one years ago, and phy- 
 sician in the Massachusetts General Hospital at 
 its very commencement, fifty-five years ago. He 
 was one of the Boston Society of Natural History, 
 and took part in most of the movements which 
 have identified Boston with philanthropic reform, 
 educational progress, and an advanced civilization. 
 As he grew older, he did not, like many men, re- 
 fuse to admit new discoveries and improvements. 
 At the age of fifty-nine he fought actively for the ^ 
 introduction of pure water into Boston. When 
 he was sixty-two he took the lead in introducing 
 the use of ether into medical practice as a means 
 of alleviating pain. When he was seventy-one he 
 published a work on " Reform in Medical Science," 
 and when seventy-two, became consulting physi- 
 cian to the New England Hospital for Women 
 and Children. He was a true child of Boston, in 
 always loving to tell or hear some new thing. This 
 is a habit of Boston people, whence, perhaps, our 
 city has been called the modern Athens. I have 
 been told that in Dr. Channing's lectures he could 
 easily be diverted from his main subject, and use 
 up his time in speaking of some recent theory. 
 But I have also been assured by one of his oldest 
 students that when his notice was called to any 
 important question, or any serious case, his whole 
 atipntion was given to the matter before him. In 
 such instances his patience and devotion never 
 failed. To help the youngest physician who asked 
 
WALTER CHANNING. 173 
 
 his aid, or to visit the poorest patient that needed 
 his presence, he would go at any time of the day 
 or the night. All real physicians, I know, do 
 this ; but physicians themselves have spoken to 
 me of Dr. Channing's loyalty to such calls as 
 something to be specially noticed. How often, in 
 observing these conscientious, unselfish services of 
 medical men, services which bring to them neither 
 renown nor pecuniary reward, I have thought of 
 the touching lines of Dr. Johnson to his poor old 
 friend Dr. Levett : — 
 
 In misery's darkest caTem known 
 
 His us'eful care was ever nigh, 
 When fainting anguish poured her groan, 
 
 And lonely want retired to die. 
 No summons, mocked by chill delay ; 
 
 No petty gain, disdained by pride ; 
 The modest wants of every day 
 
 The toil of every 4ay supplied. 
 
 That medical men are often wanting in religious 
 convictions and religious sentiment is an old 
 charge, mentioned by Sir Thomas Browne in his 
 " Religion of a Physician." That the study of 
 natural causes disinclines to the belief in super- 
 natural ones is certain ; and hence the remark, 
 that " where there are three physicians there are 
 two atheists." But there is no such opposition 
 between the large and profound study of nature 
 and a reasonable form of religious faith. Two of 
 the wisest physicians whom Boston has had and 
 lost in my day. Dr. James Jackson and Dr. John 
 
174 . WALTER CHANNIN6. 
 
 Ware, were religious men in the noblest sense. 
 Both of them told me that they considered it an 
 advantage to have their patients visited by a sen- 
 sible minister, who should come not to agitate, but 
 to give calmness, hope, and courage. Such phy- 
 sicians are themselves gospel ministers. When 
 Jesus compared himself to a physician,, he ac- 
 cepted this work as in the same line with his own ; 
 certainly not in opposition to it. He who makes 
 the soul sound helps the body ; he who makes the 
 body sound helps the soul. Maladies of the body 
 affect the soul ; a diseased soul reacts on the 
 body. 
 
 In Walter Channing, belief and sentiment both 
 ran together in a common religious channel. At 
 least it was so when I knew him. When the 
 Church of the Disciples was founded in Boston, 
 he became a member at the first. He took part 
 in our meetings, and often presided over the Bible 
 class, which then consisted of fifty to a hundred 
 men and women, meeting on Sunday afternoon. 
 In that early day, when I was absent, laymen be- 
 longing to the church would also conduct the ser- 
 vice and preach a sermon, and this Walter Chan- 
 ning would do, in his turn. He was glad to 
 visit the poorest member in the church ; and, 
 though in full practice, would give them a gener- 
 ous portion of his time. I once called to see a 
 lady who was an invalid, a devout and refined 
 person, and she told me she had received a de- 
 
WALTER CHANNING. 175 
 
 lightful visit from Dr. Channing. After he had 
 prescribed for her malady, she asked him if he 
 could tell her anything comforting, and he said 
 " Yes ; the most comforting thing ever spoken ; " 
 and then repeated a large part of the chapters in 
 John, beginning " Let not your heart be troubled." 
 Generations are bonded together, like bricks in 
 a well-laid wall where the joints are broken, or 
 like shingles on a roof ; each generation overlap- 
 ping the two which follow it, and underlapping the 
 two which precede it. Thus there are always 
 three generations in a community at the same 
 time, and every long-lived man transmits the 
 knowledge, manners, and moral life of his parents 
 and grandparents to his children and grandchil- 
 dren. This preserves the character of a commu- 
 nity amid the continual arrival and .departure of 
 individuals, as the identity of the human body re- 
 mains amid a perpetual flux of all its atoms. I 
 recollect, some years ago, hearing the late John G. 
 King of Salem say that, when he was a child, his 
 grandmother had told him that her grandmother 
 had told her how she had gone with her mother to 
 a witch trial in Salem, and that the trial was in a 
 church with high backed pews, and how her 
 mother wore a red cloak, as was not unusual then ; 
 and that one of the witnesses cried out that " the 
 little woman in the red cloak was sticking pins in 
 her," and that her mother, terribly frightened, had 
 crouched down behind the pew. This little piece 
 
176 WALTER CBANNING. 
 
 of life had thus come to me by only three steps 
 from that time, nearly two centuries ago. Thus a 
 single long life is a telegraphic wire from one age 
 to another, transmitting its thoughts and its spirit. 
 Dr. Channing began to practice medicine in 
 Boston in 1812, — sixty-four years ago. From a 
 copy of the Massachusetts Register of that year I 
 learn these facts : In that year Elbridge Gerry, 
 one of the signers of the Declaration of Indepen- 
 dence, was Governor of Massachusetts. So near 
 were they then to the Revolution. WiUiam Grayj 
 the greatest ship-owner in America, was Lieutenant- 
 governor. In the Senate, as a member from Bos- 
 ton, was Harrison Gray Otis, and the speaker of 
 the House was Joseph Story of Salem, afterwards 
 Judge Story. Among the members of the House 
 from Boston were William Sullivan, that courte- 
 ous and stately gentleman whom many yet well 
 remember ; Benjamin Russell, for many years the 
 leading Federal editor in Boston ; Lemuel Shaw, 
 afterwards Chief Justice, and James Savage, the 
 historian and genealogist. The whole of Maine 
 was then a part of Massachusetts ; consequently 
 we find in this Legislature members not only from 
 Portland, Bath, and Augusta, but from Mount 
 Desert, Castine, Eastport, and Calais. Bos- 
 ton, the Register tells us, had then only 33,000 
 inhabitants. The Irish population of Boston to- 
 day are twice as numerous as the whole population 
 then. It was not a city till long after ; the whole 
 
WALTER CHANNING. Ill 
 
 people met in Faneuil Hall for town-meeting, and 
 voted money to lay out streets and pave them. It 
 was governed by nine selectmen, — among whom 
 I find the names of Charles Bulfinch, the architect 
 who built the State-house, and Ebenezer Oliver, 
 whom I remember seeing, when I was a boy, in 
 his pew in King's Chapel. Among the overseers 
 of the poor were Joseph Coolidge, Jr., another 
 King's Chapel gentleman, and Jonathan Phillips, 
 the friend of William EUery Channing. Williain 
 E. Channing, then a young minister not much 
 known to fame, was on the school committee with 
 another young minister already very famous, 
 Joseph Stevens Buckminster, and still another 
 young minister, whom many of us remember well, 
 Charles Lowell. 
 
 In this year, 1812, when Walter Channing 
 opened his office, there were only forty-six physi- 
 cians in Boston, among whom were some well- 
 remembered names, as Dr. Danforth, rough in his 
 ways but sagacious, and Dr. Dexter, much be- 
 loved in families ; and Drs. Spooner, Ingalls, DLx- 
 well, Shurtleff, and Gorman ; Dr. John C. War- 
 ren, the famous surgeon living at 7 Park Street, 
 Dr. Randall on Winter Street, Dr. Shattuck on 
 Cambridge Street, — where they continued to live 
 and practice for long years. Out of the whole 
 list of forty-six who were here in 1812, only one 
 remains, honored and beloved, the last survivor of 
 that race of good physicians, Jacob Bigelow. 
 
 12 
 
178 WALTUR CHANNING. 
 
 There were only twenty-nine churches in Bos- 
 ton in 1812. Wm. E. Channing was minister of 
 Federal Street ; Horace HoUey, a famous oratoi- 
 in his day, drawing crowds to hear him, thought 
 to be somewhat of a heretic, was at Hollis Street ; 
 Charles Lowell at the West Church ; John Mur- 
 ray, founder of Universalism in America, was in 
 Bennet Street; Thatcher at the New South 
 Church; James Freeman and Samuel Cary at 
 King's Chapel ; Buckminster, that soul of fire, at 
 Brattle Street ; and the good Catholic Bishop 
 Cheverus, whom all men loved, was in Franklin 
 Street. There was one Methodist church and five 
 Baptist churches. 
 
 Among the lawyers of Boston, in 1812, were 
 Samuel Dexter, Harrison Gray Otis, Timothy 
 Fuller (father of Margaret Fuller), William Minot 
 (whose venerable and benign countenance has only 
 lately disappeared from our midst), James Savage 
 (the antiquarian), William Sullivan and his 
 brother George, Samuel F. McCleary, Benjamin 
 Guild, and David S. Greenough. The descendants 
 of these men who helped to form the institutions 
 of our city are still among us. 
 
 Dr. Kirkland was president of Harvard College 
 in 1812, and of the corporation, overseers, and 
 twenty professors and tutors, not one remains. 
 Professor Farrar, a man of genius, taught mathe- 
 matics then, as he did in my time. The library, 
 which now contains 155,000 volumes, had then 
 
WALTER CHANNING. 179 
 
 17,000. There were only twenty officers and 
 teachers then ; now there are 145. Among the 
 names of the corporation and overseers I find those 
 of John Lothrop, Abiel Holmes, William E. Chan- 
 ning, Joseph Stevens Buckmiuster, Horace Hol- 
 ley, Governor Gore, Judge Dawes, Samuel Dexter, 
 Josiah Quincy, Nathaniel Bowditch, Theophilus 
 Parsons, Oliver Wendell, and John Lowell. 
 
 Boston was then a small town, but a very pleas- 
 ant one. There was no gas, nor Cochituate water ; 
 no railroads, steamboats, or telegraphs. There 
 were large gardens in different parts of the town, 
 and the cows fed on the Common and were driven 
 home at night. The great merchants, like Joseph 
 Coolidge, Samuel Parkman, Theodore Lyman, 
 Thomas H. Perkins, Israel Thorndike, William 
 Gray, Governor Phillips, and Henderson Inches, 
 lived in large, square, comfortable brick houses, 
 with gardens behind and spacious areas in front. 
 The houses of Governor Phillips and Gardner 
 Greene occupied, when I went to the Latin 
 School, nearly the whole space in Tremont Street 
 from School Street round to Court Street, includ- 
 ing Pemberton Square. One old black-looking 
 house, with diamond window-glass set in lead, 
 stood opposite to our present Museum. It was 
 the house in which Sir Harry Vane had lived, 
 which had remained down to that time. 
 
 I have mentioned among the merchants of that 
 day Thomas H. Perkins. He was a type of the 
 
180 WALTER CHANNING. 
 
 large-minded, generous, and princely merchants 
 of Boston, who early set the example of using 
 their wealth for public ends. These were the 
 men who endowed Harvard College and founded 
 the Massachusetts Hospital and the Athenaeum, 
 and gave liberally to all good objects. Colonel 
 Perkins, as is well known, was the great benefac- 
 tor to the blind asylum which bears his name. 
 The charities of Boston, in fact, date far back. In 
 this Register of 1812 I find a large number al- 
 ready established — such as the Boston Dispensary; 
 the Massachusetts Charitable Society ; the Irish, 
 Scotch, Episcopal, and Congregational Charitable 
 Societies ; the Charitable Fire Society ; the Char- 
 itable Mechanic Association ; the Female Asylum ; 
 the Boylston and Franklin Donations ; the Hu- 
 mane Society ; and many missionary and educa- 
 tional associations. Wealth in Boston has always 
 tended toward such good objects as these. 
 
 Those who grow up among good institutions, in- 
 stitutions of education, of religion — who live in 
 a city like Boston, with its beautiful common, its 
 public library, its churches and schools, its hospi- 
 tals and charities, are apt to think that these 
 things come of themselves, by some natural proc- 
 ess of evolution. They forget the wisdom, the 
 energy, the generosity, the high ideal aims, which 
 have combined to produce them. These institu- 
 tions, our noble heritage, are the gifts of those who 
 have gone before us. They were built up by men 
 
WALTES CHAINING. 181 
 
 inspired by a liberal Christianity, — for Boston 
 has always been the home of liberal Christianity. 
 They are legacies left us by large-souled men and 
 women, who have walked these streets before us 
 with minds meditating good works. They have not 
 come of themselves. All such institutions had to 
 be fought for, prayed for, worked for. They were 
 resisted then, as they are resisted now, by the dead 
 weight of indifference, by the active opposition of 
 combined selfishness, by personal interest and blind 
 prejudice. And this is why we ought to remember 
 those who, amid bitter opposition, held on and con- 
 quered, and left us these fair results. " Other men 
 labored ; ye have entered into their labors." 
 
 In that company was the wise physician, James 
 Jackson. He stood at the head of his profession, 
 uneqiialed in his sagacious, clear judgments, his 
 benign good-will, his unspotted Christian charac- 
 ter. He also left his stamp on his time, a stamp 
 not to be effaced. The whole medical profession 
 in Boston occupies a higher position of honor and 
 usefulness because of this one life. 
 
 Nor can we forget the upright statesman, magis- 
 trate, and scholar, — who led a life of such varied 
 usefulness, as member of Congress, mayor of 
 Boston, president of Harvard College, — Josiah 
 Quincy. He stood among us as one of the solid 
 pillars of our social edifice. Boston rested on him, 
 and felt safe. He was embodied integrity ; not to 
 be touched by anything low, anything mean. We 
 
182 WALTER CHANNING. 
 
 may apply the Scripture blessing to any commu- 
 nity where such men live, and say : " Happy the 
 people that are in such a case." Through such 
 honorable citizens, such pure lives, religion be- 
 comes incarnate as goodness. Christianity, too 
 often deemed only a creed or a profession, is seen 
 as a living, working power to sustain the whole of 
 society in right-doing. 
 
 In the letters of John Adams to his wife, we 
 learn that the people of Massachusetts, as late as a 
 hundred years ago, had a prejudice against law- 
 yers, and thought them not safe or useful citizens. 
 The lawyers of Dr. Channing's generation, and 
 those who have succeeded them, have left a record ■ 
 which has effaced all such prejudices. The judges 
 in our courts, from the days of Theophilus Par- 
 sons until now — the bar of Suffolk, illustrated by 
 such upright, pure, and useful men, have raised the 
 standard of intelligence, refinement, and character 
 in this community. I will not stop to repeat 
 names familiar to all of you. 
 
 The year 1812, when Walter Channing com- 
 menced practice in Boston, was the beginning 
 of what we call the last war with Great Britain. 
 May it always bear that name ! Madison was Presi- 
 dent ; George Clinton, Vice-president ; Henry Clay, 
 speaker of the House of Representatives. The 
 naval force of the United States in commission 
 consisted of six frigates and a few brigs. With 
 this lilliputian fleet, we went out to attack Great 
 
WALTER CHANNING. 183 
 
 Britain, ruler of the seas. It was like little David 
 going to fight Goliath. But what events have 
 intervened since the day when Walter Channing 
 began his modest practice in Boston till the day 
 he was carried to his grave ! How this nation 
 has extended from sea to sea ! How it has devel- 
 oped art, literature, agriculture, commerce, manu- 
 factures ! What difficulties it has surmounted, 
 what sufferings borne ! And when we look back 
 on what has occurred in the course of a single 
 human life, can we help thanking God and taking 
 courage ? Thanking God, — for if there is a 
 Providence in human affairs we must see it in 
 ours. If God led the Israelites through the Red 
 Sea and the wilderness to the promised land, 
 surely he has guided our feet through the terrible 
 trials of civil war to universal freedom and na- 
 tional integrity. And shall we not take courage 
 in looking back over the past ninety years ? We 
 have still, no doubt, many evils to contend with, 
 many trials to encounter. Folly and corruption 
 are to be found among us still ; many reforms are 
 still needed ; but the God of our fathers is ours, 
 and the plant they planted and watered — the 
 plant of a liberal and practical Christianity, of 
 freedom joined with order, of liberty guided by 
 justice, that plant is still to grow and spread and 
 bear fruit for the healing of the nations and the 
 blessing of mankind. Looking back, then, on our 
 fathers' honorable and useful lives, let us manfully 
 
184 WALTER CHANNING. 
 
 take tHeir places and do their work. Grateful for 
 the institutions they founded, let us cherish and 
 improve them. We are not here for our sakes 
 alone. We are members of a great body; we 
 belong to the past and to the future. If we were 
 only here to make money for ourselves, to get 
 position and reputation for ourselves, and then 
 die, that would be a small affair. But we are 
 here as the representatives of all who have gone 
 before us ; taking their places when they go, ac- 
 cepting their responsibilities. We are here to 
 support and elevate the schools, the churches, all 
 the good methods which they initiated. If we 
 abdicate this position, selfishly indifferent to the 
 mother-land which has cherished us, cynically 
 despising the human life around us, thinking it 
 a fine thing to neglect doing anything for society, 
 while we criticise what is done by others, we 
 are degenerate sons of Boston. But let us rather 
 gladly take our part in all that will lift and help 
 others, so that when we shall follow this " innu- 
 merable caravan " to the mysterious Beyond, and 
 meet our fathers there, we shall not hear from 
 their lips the sad rebuke : " O negligent children ! 
 we labored and toiled that you might be born 
 amid the influences of religion, education, and good 
 manners, and you have hidden your talent in a 
 napkin. When your brothers were marching to 
 battle, you have stepped out of the ranks and gone 
 
WALTER CHANNING. 185 
 
 to the rear. O degenerate children, why have you 
 thus dishonored our names ? " 
 
 Let it not be so with us ; but, while we remain, 
 let us each do with our might what our hands 
 find to do, for truth and humanity, for God and 
 for man. 
 
VIII. 
 EZEA STILES GAIsTNETT. 
 
EZEA STILES GANNETT. 
 
 Once, after a lopg and severe illness, 1 was 
 walking on Boston Common, and met Dr. James 
 Jackson. The wise and kind old man took my 
 arm and went a little way with me, while he 
 made these remarks : " I will say to you what I 
 once said to Henry Ware. Let us estimate a 
 man's usefulness in a community at some num- 
 ber — say ten. If the man continues to live in 
 the place ten years, then, though he may only do 
 just as much work as he did at first, his influ- 
 ence is no longer ten but twenty. Simply by 
 continuing to work, his usefulness is doubled, be- 
 cause each year he is extending his acquaintance 
 and becoming better known. But if, by inatten- 
 tion to his health and by neglecting the laws of 
 his physical nature, he becomes an invalid, he 
 never reaches that point of influence represented 
 by twenty. Good morning, sir." 
 
 Dr. Gannett, long before his death, had become 
 such an influence in Boston. We all felt a little 
 better and happier for knowing that he was living 
 
190 EZRA 'STILES GANNETT. 
 
 among us. He was one of the men who gave 
 character to the city. Wherever he was seen 
 passing with his rapid step, jumping along on his 
 two canes, men felt the presence of the Sense of 
 Duty. Conscience was incarnate before their 
 eyes. The Moral Sense was made flesh, and dwelt 
 among them. Such a man, by continuing to live, 
 does more for a city than half a dozen banks, 
 and is a greater power than the whole Common 
 Council. 
 
 In Dr. Gannett we have lost, I fear, the last 
 man in our circle who had a full sense of ministe- 
 rial brotherhood. He believed, with all his heart, 
 in the brotherhood of the clergy. No man ever 
 stood by his order as heartily as he. How he 
 loved the meeting of ministers — how he wel- 
 comed them to his hospitable table — what loy- 
 alty he manifested to all his brethren ! He never 
 could think ill of a brother minister. He always 
 gave to them " the benefit of clergy." When a 
 young man passed from the ranks of the divinity 
 students into that of the ministers, he felt himself 
 welcomed by that cordial hand to a new sphere. 
 No matter who gave the formal " right hand " at 
 his ordination, that pressure of Dr. Gannett's was 
 the real "right hand of fellowship." It almost 
 seemed as if he regarded ordination in the Cath- 
 olic sense, as a sacrament communicating some 
 new spiritual quality to him who received it. To 
 him all his ministerial brethren were sacred and 
 
EZRA STILES GANNETT. 191 
 
 sanctified. Brother A. might seem to others dull, 
 brother B. a bigot, brother C. too self-indulgent, 
 brother D. a cold, dry man. Not so to him. He 
 refused to recognize anything but good in them. 
 He himself, the very opposite to them in all these 
 things, never seemed to have the sense of their de- 
 fects. Or, if his sharp eye could not help notic- 
 ing them, he spoke of them with a smile, as one 
 notices a trifling blemish on some great work of 
 art. He was " The Last of the Brethren." 
 
 It was among the mountains that I heard of the 
 terrible disaster which desolated so many homes, 
 and took from us our father and friend. When 
 my first shock of surprise and grief was over, I 
 said, "What does it matter to him how he went ? " 
 Death fell on him suddenly, unexpectedly, but 
 it did not find him unprepared. The Litany of 
 the Episcopal Church deprecates " sudden death." 
 The improved form of it, as used in the King's 
 Chapel service, prays to be delivered, not from 
 " sudden death," but from " death unprepared 
 fox-," which is a better prayer. All of Dr. Gan- 
 nett's life was a preparation for death. I think 
 he was the most conscientious man I ever knew. 
 He was even too conscientious. His conscience 
 was often a morbid one, or rather a tyrannical 
 one, and ruled him too despotically. He never 
 seemed to forgive in himself what he willingly 
 forgave in others. He went mourning all his days 
 because he could not attain his own lofty ideal of 
 
192 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 
 
 duty. He was only contented when he could be 
 making sacrifices, renouncing comfort, giving up 
 something to some one else, denying himself and 
 taking up his cross. That, to him, was the chief 
 command of Christ, and he lived a life of perpet- 
 ual, remorseless self-denial and labor. He ought 
 to have been an anchorite — a hermit, living on 
 herbs, in a cave, in order to be satisfied. And 
 certainly, when we think how our life runs to 
 luxury and self-indulgence, it was a great thing 
 to have among us one man who never indulged 
 himself, but always longed to bear hardship as a 
 good soldier of Christ. I do not think he ever 
 quite saw that side of the Gospel which brings 
 pardon and peace to the soul, and makes us feel as 
 safe in the love of God as the little child feels safe, 
 sleeping in its small crib by the side of its mother. 
 I often longed that he should see more of this 
 part of Christianity, and thought what immense 
 power he would have to shake society, and pour 
 into it a new revival of faith and love, if to all 
 his other gifts he could have added a fuller faith 
 in the pardoning love of God. I do not mean that 
 he doubted or denied it, but he never seemed 
 to me wholly to realize it. He could believe that 
 God would pardon the sins of others, but not his 
 own. This deprived him of a portion of the power 
 he would otherwise have had, and threw a certain 
 austerity into his services, which made them too 
 severe for young and sensitive natures. His young 
 
EZRA STILES GANNETT. 193 
 
 people sometimes left him for churches where 
 there was more comfort and hope; and then he 
 blamed himself for it, as he did for every trial 
 that befell him. But it was no fault of his — he 
 •was made so ; his conscience was too strong for 
 him, and, as I said, too despotic. 
 
 And yet how sweet he was ! What a lovely 
 smile of affection played on his lips as he met 
 you ! how warm and generous his greeting ! how 
 glad he was to do full justice to the work of 
 others ! how tender his sympathies ! and how his 
 sense of justice flamed against evil and wrong 
 everywhere. 
 
 Here let me relate a little anecdote. I once 
 went into Theodore Parker's study, just after Dr. 
 Gannet had preached a sermon in which he main- 
 tained it to be our duty, under the Constitution, to 
 return fugitives to slavery. For no man had more 
 the courage of his opinions than he ; what his 
 mind thought, that his tongue uttered. His truth- 
 fulness was perfect. He was perhaps often a lit- 
 tle too subtle in his reasonings, and so seemed 
 to argue like a lawyer, with special pleading. 
 But this was merely because his mind was natu- 
 rally very quick, very acute, and keen rather than 
 broad. But he was always the incarnation of 
 truthfulness ; and if he believed a thing, no mortal 
 power could keep him from expressing it. So, 
 against his sympathies, which were always with 
 the unhappy, he had preached his sermon, taking 
 
 13 
 
194 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 
 
 what was called conservatiye ground. When I 
 went into Theodore Parker's study, he was read- 
 ing this sermon, and expressed his indignation 
 strongly against Gannett. I said : " Theodore, 
 I wish to tell you a story which I lately heard 
 about Gannett." So I told him of a case of a 
 poor, wretched, despised character, whom Gan- 
 nett had devoted himself to helping and saving, 
 I told, as I had heard it, how he spared himself 
 no time, labor, nor reproach, to save this one 
 brand from the burning. When I finished, Park- 
 er's eyes were full of tears, and he said, " Well, 
 he is a dear, good old soul after all." 
 
 And the other day, looking over some old letters, 
 I found one relating to the time when Parker was 
 most offensive to the conservatives, and it was 
 proposed to put him out of the Boston Asso- 
 ciation. Dr. Gannett and John Pierpont were 
 among the few of the older members who opposed 
 it. He disliked and feared Parker's views, but 
 he would not consent to the spirit of exclusion or 
 persecution, and he resisted it with all the fire 
 and ardor of his eloquence ; and it was so resisted 
 by him and by others that every such attempt was 
 defeated. 
 
 For he was one to whom that often used, much 
 abused, word, eloquence, might justly be applied. 
 When he kindled into flame, his words had a 
 singular power, which pervaded and charmed an 
 audience. I never have known a greater mag- 
 
EZRA STILES GANNETT. 195 
 
 netism than they exercised at such moments. His 
 power of language was so great, he was so fluent 
 and affluent in his expression, and so inspired by 
 his passion, that he swept away all our coldness, 
 and was almost sure of carrying his cause, what- 
 ever it was, right or wrong. To him his opinion 
 was not only right, but absolutely right ; and his 
 smallest judgment seemed to him to be freighted 
 with immense consequences ; and this sincerity of 
 passion was very apt to make even a poor argu- 
 ment triumphant. 
 
 In regard to all matters of this world, Gan- 
 nett was the most disinterested of men. It was 
 impossible to make him accept a favor, or allow 
 anything to be done for him which he could do 
 himself. Once his congregation voted an increase 
 of salary. He refused to a'ccept it. They paid 
 no attention to his refusal, and when quarter-day 
 came the treasurer paid him according to the new 
 tariff. He sent back the surplus. The treasurer 
 returned it, saying he had no right not to pay it. 
 Gannett sent it back again, and became so indig- 
 nant at their persisting to pay him that at last 
 they could merely lay it aidse and let it accumu- 
 late till they could do something with it for his 
 benefit. Whether they succeeded in this I have 
 never learned. When I heard the story, their 
 failure was a decided one. 
 
 He is happy now. Now he is able to see that 
 side of the gospel which, during life, was too 
 
196 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 
 
 much hidden from his eyes. At last he has en- 
 tered into his rest. Peaceful close of a tumultu- 
 ous and laborious day — sweet sense of calm after 
 many a storm. I grieve not for his death. I 
 thank God for what he has been, and for what 
 he has done ; and I am grateful for that noble, 
 generous, never-resting, always-aspiring and strug- 
 gling soul, which one day we shall meet again, in 
 a state where, all his limitations removed, he will 
 be an angel both of power and of peace in the 
 many mansions of the Heavenly Father. 
 
IX. 
 
 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAT. 
 
SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 
 
 I HAVE just been reading, with much interest, 
 the biography of this remarkable man. I am 
 glad that the work fell into the hands of one who 
 has made of it a labor of love. The writer was 
 one of Mr. May's " children " — one of the many 
 drawn into the. ministry by the encouragement 
 and welcome which he always gave to young men 
 of promise. In fact, the view of the ministry 
 taken by Mr. May was so cheerful, hopeful, prac- 
 tical, that its work, as illustrated by himself, was 
 attractive. In the ministry he knew no constraint. 
 He was free as air. All trammels of custom, all 
 formalities of the profession, dropped away from 
 him. He was free, and made others free, wher- 
 ever he came. And this he did without com- 
 plaint, railing, or dispute. Some men are born 
 free ; others have liberty thrust upon them ; and 
 some gain it through a bitter conflict, which leaves 
 them a little sour and cynical. Mr. May's free- 
 dom was of the first sort. 
 
 I also received, from some kind friend, a pamph- 
 
200 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 
 
 let containing the services, in Syracuse, at the 
 funej-al of this good man. All in the book is 
 good, except the black lines of mourning around 
 the pages. Such emblems of sorrow, at the birth 
 into a higher state of a Christian soul, are seldom 
 appropriate, and never less so than at the depar- 
 ture of such a man as Samuel J. May. If the 
 Republican journals in Illinois had been draped 
 in mourning when Abraham Lincoln was chosen 
 President, because he was about to leave the State* 
 and reside in Washington, it would not have been 
 more inappropriate than to do this on the occa- 
 sion of the departure of Samuel Joseph May to a 
 higher work and a serener joy. 
 
 Mr. May's father, Colonel Joseph May, was one 
 of those striking figures not easily forgotten. As 
 a boy attending King's Chapel, I recollect him 
 passing our pew every Sunday morning, on his 
 way from the vestry to his own seat ; his sharp, 
 clear eye, firm step, knee-breeches, and shoe-buck- 
 les giving the impression of a noticeable charac- 
 ter. From his distant pew, his voice, in response 
 to the minister, came louder than that of the clerk 
 close by. That clerk was, in those days, Mr. 
 Joseph T. Buckingham, who rather slighted his 
 responses, as it seemed to us young folks. How- 
 ever that may be, Colonel May's responses made 
 an essential part of the service to our minds, and 
 we should have regarded the ceremonies as incom- 
 plete without them. 
 
SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 201 
 
 Colonel May was an upright, intelligent, deter- 
 mined character ; universally respected, and one 
 of the earliest and firmest supporters of Dr. Free- 
 man in his movement in behalf of a reformed lit- 
 urgy and a Liberal Christianity. Between the 
 two, as long as both lived, there was an indissolu- 
 ble friendship, — such an one as exists between 
 those who have fought side by side in the same 
 battle for truth and freedom. 
 
 A graduate of Harvard University, both in its 
 Academic Department and its Divinity School, 
 Samuel J. May began life under conditions which 
 might have made him conservative in politics and 
 morals. But it was otherwise determined ; and 
 his first step in radicalism he took at the Divinity 
 School, under the guidance of that good man, Dr. 
 Henry Ware, the elder. 
 
 Down to the time of his entering the Divinity 
 School, Mr. May had never thought much on 
 theological questions, but had reverently received 
 the instructions of his father and pastor. But 
 now he had great questions laid before him, and 
 was told to look at both sides faithfully. He was 
 too honest to pretend to look at both sides while 
 he only saw the reasons for one, and not those in 
 favor of the other. Being honest, he honestly 
 weighed the arguments in favor of opposing opin- 
 ions, and soon found himself in a condition of 
 doubt. One by one, every belief he had been 
 taught to revere became uncertain. He had be- 
 
202 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 
 
 come a skeptic, so it seemed to him, in regard to 
 all the main doctrines which he was expecting 
 by and by to preach. Under these circumstances 
 there was only one thing for him to do. It was a 
 hard thing to disappoint his father's hopes and 
 his own, and renounce the ministry, but he must 
 do it. So he went to see Dr. Ware, the head of 
 the Divinity School, and mustered courage to tell 
 him that he must quit the school and give up his 
 profession. He then described the state of mind 
 into which he had fallen. When he had finished, 
 and was waiting, expecting to be rebuked for his 
 skepticism, Dr. Ware looked at him from under his 
 bushy eyebrows, and over his large spectacles, and 
 said, quietly, " I am very glad to hear all this." 
 Struck dumb with astonishment, the youth could 
 only stare in silence. The good man proceeded : 
 " Yes, I am very glad to hear it. It shows you have 
 begun to think. To doubt is the beginning of 
 belief. Go on thinking. Do not be afraid — you 
 will come out all right. You are doing what you 
 came to this place for — you are really thinking. 
 It is an excellent sign." 
 
 This lesson was never lost on Mr. May. He 
 continued all his life to think for himself on all 
 subjects, and advised all others to do the same. 
 He was hospitable to all honest thought. The 
 following anecdote was told me, many years ago, 
 by the gentleman who is its subject : — 
 
 A youth in Brooklyn, Conn., a farmer's son, 
 
SAMUEL JOSEPH MAT. 203 
 
 was seized witli a desire to study for the ministry. 
 So he went to Mr. May, told him his wishes, said 
 he had only received a common-school education, 
 and asked what he should study. Mr. May gave 
 him "L9cke on the Understanding," and told him 
 to read it through carefully. Some two or three 
 months after, meeting the young man, he asked 
 him how he got on with the book. " Rather 
 slowly," replied the student. Nothing further 
 occurred until a year had passed. At the end 
 of that time the young man returned* the book, 
 and said, " It is of no use, Mr. May, for me to try 
 to be a student. You see it has taken me a whole 
 year to read one book." " But let us see," said 
 Mr. May, " what you know about it." On ex- 
 amination, it appeared that the youth knew eyery- 
 thing in these volumes. There was not a point 
 made anywhere but he knew all about it. He 
 had mastered the whole argument. Whereupon 
 Mr. May assured him that a year spent in this 
 way in studying one work was itself a liberal 
 education. He encouraged him to pursue his 
 studies. I afterward met, in the West, this 
 " homo unius libri" and found him a most intelli- 
 gent and able man ; and he told me he owed to 
 the encouragement and good advice of Mr. May 
 his success in life. 
 
 It was while Mr. May was preaching to the 
 society in Brooklyn, Conn., that he became the 
 champion of an oppressed woman. Miss Prudence 
 
204 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 
 
 Crandall. This lady was guilty of the grave 
 offense of opening a school for colored young 
 •women, in the adjoining town of Canterbury. 
 The Legislature of Connecticut passed an act for- 
 bidding any teaching, within that State, of colored 
 youth from other States. She continued to teach ; 
 her school was broken up by a mob, and she her- 
 self imprisoned. Mr. May stood by her side and 
 advocated her cause in the meetings called to de- 
 nounce her and to put her down. This excited 
 opposition to him in his own society, and one man, 
 a neighbor, was especially abusive in his language 
 concerning Mr. May. Mr. May took no notice of 
 this at the time, made no reply to the attacks, and 
 would not allow his friends to reply to them. 
 Some time after, driving past his neighbor's gar- 
 den, he saw him at work there. He stopped his 
 horse, and said, in those pleasant tones which no 
 one will forget who ever heard them, "My dear 
 sir, what fine melons you have there ! I wish you 
 would give me one for my wife ; she is very fond 
 of melons, and I have seen none as good as yours 
 this summer." Nothing which could have been 
 said or done could have convinced the man so en- 
 tirely that Mr. May cherished no ill-will toward 
 his assailant. So — confused, joyful, and grateful 
 — he cried out, " A dozen, Mr. May, let me give 
 you a dozen. I will bring them myself to your 
 house." Mr. May at first declined this abundant 
 civility, but as the man insisted, he allowed him 
 
SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 205 
 
 to do so. From that hour the opponent became 
 his devoted friend, and when Mr. May left Brook- 
 lyn this man took leave of him with tears. 
 
 Mr. May was one of the earliest friends and 
 fellow-workers with Mr. Garrison in the anti- 
 slavery cause. It is a great thing for a young 
 man or woman to be taken hold of by some gen- 
 erous idea or great truth. It transforms, renews, 
 transfigures life. Mr. May was not by nature a 
 man of genius. He had in him good blood, and 
 came of a good stock, — of an honest, patriotic, 
 truth-loving race. He was early convinced of the 
 truth of the antislavery doctrine, and was' so 
 honest that he at once gave his adherence to it ; 
 and that made him a man of power. In those 
 days it was exceedingly unpopular, even in Bos- 
 ton. One can hardly believe, what yet is a fact, 
 that Mr. May, having arranged to preach in Holhs 
 Street for John Pierpont, was besought by. men 
 in that society, who afterwards were distinguished 
 for their antislavery convictions, not to do so, be- 
 cause it would occasion such dissatisfaction to have 
 him in the pulpit. But, more than any man I 
 ever knew, Samuel Joseph May combined the two 
 elements of courage and gentleness. He was a 
 gentle knight — a knight as brave as Launcelofc, 
 and as courteous as Calidore. His Christianity 
 was aggressive, and yet liberal, generous, and kind. 
 His influence was like that of a June Sunday — a 
 pei-petual breath of summer and Sabbath-days. 
 
206 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 
 
 A leading peculiarity of our friend was the 
 combination of traits usually disjoined. One of 
 the most serious of Christians in his earnestness 
 of purpose, he was also one of the most cheerful. 
 Looking continually with a tender pity upon the 
 woes and wrongs of men, he was full of a glad 
 hope concerning the issues of human destiny. 
 One of the most practical of men in his habits of 
 thought, and always aiming at definite results, he 
 yet would never sacrifice a principle or surrender 
 abstract right to any apparent expediency. A 
 peace man and non-resistant, both by disposition 
 and conviction, he was a born belligerent, and his 
 life was one long battle against falsehoods and 
 wrongs. He united a courage which never feared 
 the face of man and shrunk from no opposition 
 in expressing his convictions, with an almost un- 
 equaled modesty and a genuine respect for views 
 differing from his own, no matter by whom those 
 views were maintained. A democi-at in all his 
 convictions and feelings, he nevertheless had an 
 unfeigned reverence for all superiority of genius 
 and of character. This manly modesty, this com- 
 bative peacefulness, this reverential independence, 
 this practical idealism, this sympathetic self-reli- 
 ance, this entire toleration of the opinions of others 
 joined to clear and confident assertion of his own, 
 gave to our friend an extraordinary influence 
 everywhere. His love had edge to it, his kind- 
 ness was not " a mush of concession." A strong 
 
SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 207 
 
 man on whom many leaned, he was a sweet man 
 whom every one loved. His disposition was fortu- 
 nate, for it was full of the spirit of content. He 
 seemed, more than most men, at home in this 
 world. He found, or made, opportunities of use- 
 fulness wherever he went. He sympathized so 
 heartily with all about him, such glad interest in 
 their affairs beamed from his eyes, that he walked 
 through the world attended by hosts of friends. 
 His enemies were always at a distance, for no 
 man could come near him without being instantly 
 changed into a friend. Always interested in some 
 good cause "not his own," he was lifted up by 
 the greatness of the subject, and walked with 
 larger steps in the transfiguration of that idea. 
 He devoted himself thrTDugh life to the cause of 
 the slave, of peace, of education, of the Christian 
 church, of Unitarian Christianity, of temperance, 
 of the emancipation of woman, — and carried into 
 all the same wise and courageous activity ; always 
 ready to speak the truth, and always speaking it 
 in love. 
 
 Mr. May arrived one afternoon at the house of 
 Mr. Henry Oolman, at Deerfield, where he was to 
 pass the night. It was in the height and bitter- 
 ness of the antislavery conflict. Mr. Colman met 
 him at the door, and said, " Oh, Mr. May, I hope 
 you will not speak about slavery to-day. We 
 have a Southerner staying here, who is very irri- 
 table ; and it would be extremely disagreeable to 
 
208 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAT. 
 
 have a dispute." Mr. May replied, " I shall not 
 introduce the subject, but if my opinion is asked 
 I must give it, you know." He bad scarcely en- 
 tered, and taken his seat next to the Southern 
 gentleman, when a lady on the other side, who 
 knew that Mr. May had just come from an anti- 
 slavery meeting, asked him some question about 
 it. "I was glad," said he, "of the opportunity 
 to let the slaveholder know what our objects really 
 were, and so I told the lady what we had been 
 doing and what we meant to do." The South- 
 erner was evidently becoming more and more ex- 
 cited every moment, and at last, unable to control 
 himself any longer, he cried out, " And what busi- 
 ness is it of yours, I should like to know, what 
 is to be done about slavery ? It is our affair, not 
 yours." Whereupon Mr. May turned toward him, 
 and asked the Southerner whether he thought it 
 right to hold a man as a slave. As, in those days, 
 slaveholders had not yet been taught by Chris- 
 tian divines to defend slavery on principle, he re- 
 plied, " No. I don't believe in slavery in the 
 abstract. But you have no right to interfere in 
 the matter." On this Mr. May proceeded to 
 explain that the abolitionists did not propose to 
 interfere in any other way than by reason and ar- 
 gument, and that addressed to the mind and con- 
 science of the masters, not of the slave. He 
 added that it was not only every man's right but 
 also his duty to take an interest in the sufferings 
 
SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 209 
 
 and wrongs and sins of his fellow-men — no mat- 
 ter where they might live, or how far off they 
 might be. In fact, he communicated so many 
 new ideas to the mind of the Southerner, and did 
 it with so much good-temper, and such respect for 
 the opinions of the other, that at- last the man 
 was quite overcome. He rose from his chair, 
 walked up and down the room, much excited ; 
 and then, turning to Mr. May, said, " You must 
 not think as badly of us slaveholders as if we 
 had been brought up at the North, where slavery 
 does not exist, and had not become accustomed to 
 it." " Oh, no ! " answered Mr. May, " I certainly 
 can make great allowance for your situation. I 
 do not think as badly of you as if you had al- 
 ways breathed an atmosphere of freedom ; but I 
 should think very badly of myself if I, who have 
 been always taught to believe in liberty, did not 
 do all I could to promote it, here and everywhere 
 else." 
 
 At another time Mr. May sent a note to his 
 friend, Rev. Thomas K. Beecher, of Elmira, 
 N. Y., telling him that he knew the Beechers 
 were afraid of nothing, but that now he could 
 give the Beecher courage a severe trial. " I write 
 you," said he, " to exchange pulpits with me, who 
 am a Unitarian, a non-resistant, a woman's rights 
 man, an anti-capital punishment man, and a Gar- 
 risonian abolitionist." To this Mr. Beecher re- 
 plied : " Pooh, pooh ! that is nothing. Come and 
 
 14 
 
210 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 
 
 exchange." Mr. May went to Elmira and preached, 
 avoiding, however, the questions on which he might 
 be supposed to differ from Mr. Beecher. 
 
 Such anecdotes as these, which might be indef- 
 initely multiplied, will, perhaps, give a better idea 
 than any mere description of the charm of his 
 character. But, in truth, no words can adequately 
 describe it. Fortunate are those who knew him. 
 They will never cease to recall that wonderful 
 union of qualities which gave him such power and 
 made him so great an influence wherever he was 
 known. It was this harmony of truth and love, 
 manly courage and a womanly gentleness, mag- 
 nanimity and modesty, which gave to his char- 
 acter the quality of greatness. Because of this, 
 the people of the city where he lived were dis- 
 solved in tears at his departure. Well might 
 they mourn for him ; not soon shall such another 
 man be found. Persons gifted with more splendid 
 talents are not very rare ; men of more extensive 
 attainments are not infrequent. But he is to be 
 congratulated who once in his life comes to know 
 a man like Samuel Joseph May, who was a con- 
 servative without bigotry and a radical without 
 narrowness ; who felt all wrong done to others 
 as a personal injury, and yet could pardon the 
 offender; who was full of sunshine, radiant 
 with hope, trusting always in Godj and believing 
 always in man. 
 
X. 
 
 SUSAN DIMOOK. 
 
SUSAN DIMOCK. 
 
 When a person so highly gifted and accom- 
 plished is taken away, it is well to think of what 
 she has been, and what we have lost. 
 
 One of our eminent surgeons, Samuel Cabot, 
 said to me yesterday : " This community will 
 never know what a loss it has had in Dr. Dimock. 
 It was not merely her skill, though that was re- 
 markable, considering her youth and limited ex- 
 perience, but also her nerve, that qualified her 
 to become a great surgeon. I have seldom known 
 one at once so determined and so self-possessed. 
 Skill is a quality much more easily found than 
 this self-control that nothing can flurry. She had 
 that in an eminent degree ; and, had she lived, 
 she would have been sure to stand, in time, among 
 those at the head of her profession. The usual 
 weapons of ridicule would have been impotent 
 against a woman who had reached that high po- 
 sition which Susan Dimock would certainly have 
 attained." 
 
 The striking fact about Dr. Dimock was that 
 
214 SUSAN DIMOCK. 
 
 she combined energetic determination and firm- 
 ness with extreme feminine gentleness. Her voice 
 was soft and low, her manners refined and mod- 
 est in the highest degree. In speaking of her 
 we can reverse the riddle of Samson, and say: 
 " Out of sweetness came forth strength." These 
 qualities made her services invaluable to her pa- 
 tients. In lecturing to her students she said : " If 
 I were obliged in my practice to do without sym- 
 pathy or medicine, I should say, do without med- 
 icine." She did not care to have any woman study 
 medicine who was naturally unsympathetic. One 
 student having said : " I have not much pity for 
 hysteric patients," Dr. Dimock remarked : " If 
 medical science is not yet so far advanced as to 
 discover any lesion in what we call ' hysteria,' this 
 is no reason why we should have no sympathy 
 with those thus afflicted, for they suffer severely." 
 Born in North Carolina in 1847, she early 
 saw the evils of the institution of slavery. She 
 once said to her mother, " I am slow to take an 
 idea, and always have been. I was eight years 
 old before I realized the injustice of slavery." 
 Most of her fellow-citizens were much older than 
 that before they realized it. At twelve years she 
 told her father that she wished to study medicine 
 and become a physician. As her family were 
 then in easy circumstances, and lived in a commu- 
 nity where no woman ever worked except from 
 necessity, this was regarded as an eccentricity. 
 
SUSAN DIMOCK. 215 
 
 But she had formed her purpose, and adhered to 
 it. When about thirteen or fourteen, being at a 
 watering-place, she was observed to be absorbed 
 in a book ; and continued sitting in the corner of 
 the piazza reading for an hour or more. " What 
 interesting story has Susie got ? " asked one. An 
 old physician, standing by, replied : " It is one 
 of ray medical books, which I have lent her ; and 
 one' of the driest, too." 
 
 After her family had come to the North during 
 the rebellion, she pursued her studies here, and 
 finally applied for admission into the Medical 
 School of Harvard University, preferring, if pos- 
 sible, to take a degree in an American college. 
 Twice she applied, and was twice refused. Hear- 
 ing that the University of Zurich was open to 
 women, she went to that institution, and was re- 
 ceived with a hospitality which the institutions of 
 her own country did not offer. She pursued her 
 medical studies there, and graduated with honor. 
 A number of the " Revue des Deux Mondes" for 
 August 1, 1872, contains an article called " Les 
 Femmes a I'Universit^ de Zurich," which speaks 
 very favorably of the success of the women stu- 
 dents in that place. 
 
 The first to take a degree as doctor of medi- 
 cine was a young Russian lady, in 1867. Be- 
 tween 1867 and 1872, five others had taken this 
 degree, and the article speaks of them as all suc- 
 cessfully practicing their profession. Among these 
 
216 SUSAN DIMOCK. 
 
 was Susan Dimock It adds : " It will be seen 
 that the attempt made in Switzerland, by men 
 emancipated from prejudice, has been crowned 
 with a striking and well-deserved success. It had 
 been feared that the promiscuous character of an 
 audience composed of both sexes would be an 
 embarrassment to the professors, or even occasion 
 disagreeable scenes. Nothing of the sort has oc- 
 curred. The modest and serious attitude of the 
 young women has, on the contrary, exercised a 
 happy influence on the tone and behavior of the 
 other students. At the examinations the women 
 have obtained high marks, and in hospital prac- 
 tice they have manifested remarkable aptitude for 
 their work." 
 
 From the medical school at Zurich, she went 
 to that at Vienna ; and of her appearance there 
 we have this record : A distinguished German 
 physician remarked to a friend of mine residing 
 in Germany, that he had always been opposed to 
 women as physicians — but that he had met a 
 young American lady studying at Vienna, whose 
 intelligence, modesty, and devotion to her work 
 was such as almost to convince him that he was 
 wrong. A comparison of dates shows that this 
 American student must have been Dr. Dimock. 
 
 On her return to the United States, Susan Dim- 
 ock took the position of resident physician at 
 " The Hospital for Women and Children," on 
 Codman Avenue, in Boston. Both the students of 
 
SUSAN DIMOCK. 217 
 
 medicine, and the patients became devotedly at- 
 tached to her. They were fascinated by her re- 
 markable union of tenderness, firmness, and skill. 
 The secret of her influence was in part told by 
 what she said in one of her lectures in the train- 
 ing-school for nurses connected with the woman's 
 hospital : " I wish you, of all my instructions, es- 
 pecially to remember this. When you go to nurse 
 a patient imagine that it is your own sister before 
 you in that bed ; and treat her, in every respect, 
 as you would wish your own sister to be treated." 
 While at this hospital she was also able to carry 
 out a principle in which she firmly believed ; 
 namely, that the rights of every patient, poor and 
 rich, should be sacredly regarded, and never be 
 sacrificed to the supposed interests of medical stu- 
 dents. Except with the consent of the patient, 
 no students were allowed to be present at any 
 operation, except so far as the comfort and safety 
 of the patient rendered their presence desirable. 
 They were not admitted as mere spectators, and 
 she applied this rule" to the patients who were re- 
 ceived gratuitously as well as to those who paid 
 their board. She was satisfied that this system 
 worked well, and had been perfectly successful, 
 and that the students were more thoroughly taught 
 by being admitted for practical services than by 
 being frequently present only as spectators. 
 
 Her interest in the New England Hospital was 
 very great. She was in the habit, at the begin- 
 
218 SUSAN DIMOCK. 
 
 ning of each year, of writing and sealing up her 
 wishes for the coming year. Since her death her 
 mother has opened the envelope of January 1, 
 1875, and found it to contain a prayer for a bless- 
 ing on " my dear hospital." 
 
 And now, this young, strong soul, so ardent in 
 the pursuit of knowledge, so filled with a desire 
 to help her suffering sisters, has been taken by 
 the remorseless deep. 
 
 It was that fatal and perfidious bark 
 
 Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, 
 
 That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
 
 But we must believe that there is some higher 
 purpose in such events than we can see. No acci- 
 dent of a fog or a low tide explains adequately 
 the departure of such heroic souls as these. We 
 cannot doubt that there is as good work for them 
 to do in the unknown beyond as that they have 
 left here. We thank God for all we have had 
 from such a presence among us, and trust in his 
 perfect providence in regard to what we cannot 
 understand or explain. 
 
XI. 
 
 GEOEGE KEATS. 
 
GEORGE KEATS.i 
 
 To THE Editor of ■' The Dial " : — 
 
 Dear Sir, — When last at your house I men- 
 tioned to you that I had in my possession a copy 
 of some interesting remarks upon Milton, hitherto 
 unpublished, by John Keats the poet. According 
 to your wish I have copied them for your periodi- 
 cal. But I wish, with your permission, to say 
 how they came into my possession ; and in doing 
 this I shall have an opportunity of giving the im- 
 perfect tribute of a few words of remembrance to 
 a noble-minded man and a dear friend. 
 
 Several years ago I went to Louisville, Ky., to 
 take charge of the Unitarian church in that city. 
 I was told that among those who attended the 
 church was a brother of the poet Keats, an Eng- 
 lish gentleman, who had resided for many years 
 in Louisville as a merchant. His appearance and 
 the shape of his head arrested my attention. The 
 heavy bar of observation over his eyes indicated 
 
 1 First published in The Dial, then edited hy R. W. Emer- 
 son. 
 
222 GEORGE KEATS. 
 
 the strong perceptive faculties of a business man, 
 while the striking height of the head, in the region 
 assigned by phrenology to veneration, was a sign 
 of nobility of sentiment, and the full development 
 behind marked firmness and practical energy. All 
 these traits were equally prominent in his charac- 
 ter. He was one of the most intellectual men I 
 ever knew. I never saw him when his mind was 
 inactive. I seldom knew him to acquiesce in the 
 thought of another. It was a necessity of his 
 nature to have his own thought on every subject; 
 and when he assented to your opinion, it was not 
 acquiescence but agreement. Joined with this 
 energy of intellect was a profound intellectual 
 modesty. He considered himself deficient in the 
 higher reflective faculties, especially in that of a 
 philosophical method. But his keen insight en- 
 abled him fully to appreciate what he did not him- 
 self possess. Though the tendency of his intellect 
 was critical, he was without dogmatism, and full of 
 reverence for the creative faculties. He was well 
 versed in English literature, especially in that of 
 the Elizabethan period ; a taste for which he had 
 probably imbibed from his brother and other liter- 
 ary friends, among whom Leigh Hunt was prom- 
 inent. This taste he preserved for years in a re- 
 gion where few could be found who had so much 
 as heard the names of his favorite auth-ors. The 
 society of such a man was invaluable, if only as in- 
 tellectual stimulus. It was strange to find, in those 
 
GEORGE KEATS. 223 
 
 days, on the banks of the Ohio, one who had suc- 
 cessfully devoted himself to active pursuits, and 
 yet retained so fine a sensibility for the rarest and 
 most evanescent beauties of early song. . 
 
 The intellectual man was that which you first 
 discovered in George Keats. It needed a longer 
 acquaintance before you could perceive, beneath 
 the veil of a high-bred English reserve, that pro- 
 found sentiment of manly honor, that reverence 
 for all truth, loftiness, and purity, that ineffaceable 
 desire for spiritual sympathy, which are the birth- 
 right of those in whose veins flows the blood of a 
 poetic race. George Keats was the most manly 
 and self-possessed of men — yet full of inward as- 
 piration and conscious of spiritual needs. There 
 was no hardness in his strong heart, no dogma- 
 tism in his energetic intellect, no pride in his self- 
 reliance. Thus he was essentially a religious man. 
 He shrunk from pietism, but revered piety. 
 
 The incidents of his life bore the mark of his 
 character. His mind, stronger than circumstances, 
 gave them its own stamp, instead of receiving 
 theirs. George Keats, with his two younger 
 brothers, Thomas and John, were left orphans at 
 an early age. They were placed by their guardian 
 at a private boarding school, where the impetuosity 
 of the young poet frequently brought him into 
 difficulties in which he needed the brotherly aid 
 of George. John was very apt to get into a fight 
 with boys much bigger than himself, and George, 
 
224 GEOROE KEATS. 
 
 who seldom fought on his own account, often got 
 into a battle to protect his brother. These early 
 adventures helped to bind their hearts in a close 
 and lasting affection. 
 
 After leaving school, George was taken into his 
 guardian's counting-room, where he stayed a little 
 while, but left it, because he did not choose to 
 submit to the domineering behavior of one of the 
 partners. Yet he preferred to bear the accusation 
 of being unreasonable rather than to explain the 
 cause, which might have made difficulty. He 
 lived at home, keeping house with his two broth- 
 ers, and doing nothing for some time, waiting till 
 he should be of age, and should receive his small 
 inheritance. Many said he was an idle fellow, 
 who would never come to any good ; but he felt 
 within himself a conviction that he could make his 
 way successfully through the world. His guard- 
 ian, a wise old London merchant, shared this opin- 
 ion, and always predicted that George would turn 
 out well. 
 
 His first act on coming of age did not seem, to 
 the worldly wise, to favor this view. He married 
 a very young lady, without fortune, the daugh- 
 ter of a British colonel, and came with her to 
 America. They did not, however, act without 
 reflection. George had only a few thousand dol- 
 lars, and knew that if he remained in London he 
 could not be married for years. Nor would he be 
 able to support his wife in any of the Atlantic 
 
GEORGE KEATS. 225 
 
 cities, in the society to which they had been ac- 
 customed. But by going at once to a western 
 State, they might live, without much society to be 
 sure, but yet with comfort and the proSpect of 
 improving their condition. Therefore this boy 
 and girl, he twenty-one and she sixteen, left their 
 home and friends and went away to be content in 
 each other's love in the wild regions beyond the 
 Alleghanies. Happy is he whose first great step 
 in the world is the result, not of outward influ- 
 ences, but of his own well-considered purpose. 
 Such a step seems to make him free for the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 Journeys were not made in those days as they 
 are now. Mr. Keats bought a carriage and horses 
 in Philadelphia, with which he traveled to Pitts- 
 burg, and thence descended the Ohio in a keel-boat. 
 This voyage of six hundred miles down the river 
 was full of romance to these young people. No 
 steamboat then disturbed, with its hoarse pant- 
 ings, the sleep of those beautiful shores. Day 
 after day they floated tranquilly on, as through a 
 succession of fairy lakes, sometimes in the shadow 
 of the lofty and wooded bluff, sometimes by the 
 side of wide-spread meadows, or beneath the 
 graceful overhanging branches of the cotton-wood 
 and sycamore. At times, while the boat floated 
 lazily along, the young people would go ashore 
 and walk through the woods across a point around 
 which the river made a bend. All uncertain as 
 
 15 
 
226 GEORGE KEATS. 
 
 their prospects were, they could easily, amid the 
 luxuriance of nature, abandon themselves to the 
 enjoyment of the hour. 
 
 Mr. Keats stayed some months ia Henderson, 
 Ky., where he resided in the same house with 
 Audubon, the naturalist. He was still undetei'- 
 mined what to do. One day he was trying to 
 chop a log, and Audubon, who had watched him 
 for some time, at last said, " I am sure you will 
 do well in this country, Keats. A man who will 
 persist, as you have been doing, in chopping that 
 log, though it has taken you an hour to do what 
 I could do in ten minutes, will certainly get along 
 here." Mr. Keats said that he accepted the omen, 
 and felt encouraged by it. 
 
 After investing a large part of his money in a 
 boat, and losing it, he took charge of a flour mill, 
 and worked night and day with such untiring 
 energy that he soon found himself making prog- 
 ress. After a while he left this business and 
 engaged in the lumber trade, by which in a few 
 years he accumulated a handsome fortune. In 
 the course of this business he was obliged to make 
 visits to the lumberers, which often led him into 
 wild scenes and adventures. Once, when he was 
 taking a journey on horseback, to visit some 
 friends on the British Prairie, in Illinois, he ap- 
 proached the Wabash in the afternoon, at a time 
 when the river had overflowed its banks. Follow- 
 ing the horse path, for there was no carriage road, 
 
GEORGE KEATS. 227 
 
 he came to a succession of little lakes, whioli lie 
 was obliged to ford. But when he reached the 
 other side it was impossible to find the path again, 
 and equally difficult to regain it by recrossing 
 The path here went through a cane-brake, and 
 the cane grew so close together that the track 
 could only be distinguished when you were act- 
 ually upon it. What was to be done? There 
 was no human being for miles around, and no one 
 might pass that way for weeks. To stop or to go 
 on seemed equally dangerous. But at last Mr. 
 Keats discovered the following expedient, the only 
 one, perhaps, that could have saved him. The 
 direction of the path he had been traveling was 
 east and west. He turned and rode toward the 
 south until he was sure that he was to the south 
 of the track. He then returned slowly to the 
 north, carefully examining the ground as he passed 
 along, until at last he found himself crossing the 
 path, which he took, and reached the river in 
 safety. 
 
 George Keats not only loved his brother John, 
 but reverenced his genius and enjoyed his poetry, 
 believing him to belong to the front rank of Eng- 
 lish bards. Modern criticisni concurs with this 
 judgment. A genuine and discriminating appre- 
 ciation of his brother's poetry, from any one, gave 
 him great pleasure. He preserved and highly 
 prized John's letters and unpublished verses, the 
 copy of John's Spenser filled with his marks, 
 
228 GEORGE KEATS. 
 
 which he had read when a boy, and which had 
 been to him a very valuable source of poetic in- 
 spiration, and a Milton in which were preserved 
 in a like manner John's notes and comments, 
 which appear to me among the most striking crit- 
 icisms we possess upon this great author. That 
 the love of the brothers was mutual, appears from 
 the following lines from one of John's poems, in- 
 scribed " To my brother George : " — 
 
 " As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them, 
 I feel delighted, still, that you should read them. 
 Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment. 
 Stretched on the grass, at my best loved employment, 
 Of scribbling lines to you " — 
 
 In the prime of life and the midst of usefulness, 
 George Keats passed into the spiritual world. 
 The city of Louisville lost in him one of its most 
 public-spirited and conscientious citizens. The 
 Unitarian society of that place lost one who, 
 though he had been confirmed by the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, was too honest not to leave the 
 popular and fashionable church for an unpopular 
 faith, since this was more of a home to his mind. 
 For myself, I have ever thought that it was quite 
 worth my while to have lived in Louisville, even if 
 I had gained thereby nothing but the knowledge 
 and friendship of such a man. I did not see him 
 in his last days. I was already in a distant region. 
 But when he died I felt that I had indeed lost a 
 friend. We cannot hope to find many such in this 
 
GEORGE KEATS. 229 
 
 world. We are fortunate if we find any. Yet I 
 could not but believe that he had gone to find his 
 brother again among 
 
 " The spirits and intelligences fair, 
 And angels waiting on the Almighty's chair." 
 
 The love for his brother, which continued through 
 his life to be among the deepest affections of his 
 soul, was a pledge of their reunion again in an- 
 other world. 
 
 Perhaps I have spoken too much of one who 
 was necessarily a stranger to most of your readers. 
 But I could not bear that he should pass away 
 and nothing be said to tell the world how much 
 went witli him. And " The Dial," which he 
 always read, and in whose aims he felt a deep 
 interest, though not always approving its methods, 
 seems not an improper place, nor this a wholly un- 
 suitable occasion, for thus much to be said con- 
 cerning George Keats. 
 
XII. 
 EOBEET J. BEEOKINEIDGE. 
 
ROBERT JEFFERSON BRECKINRIDGE. 
 
 When, in 1836, Robert J. Breckinridge preached 
 in Louisville, Kentucky, I thought him the best 
 extempore preacher I had ever heard. Matter 
 and manner were both simple and strong. It was 
 like the direct, earnest conversation which one 
 holds with you, on a subject of which his mind 
 and heart are full. He never hesitated for a 
 word, never repeated himself, but went on rap- 
 idly and easily from point to point, like Goethe's 
 star, "without haste and without rest." There 
 was little or no metaphor, few illustrations, and 
 nothing of the ornate style and oratorical delivery 
 which were very popular then in the West. Two 
 favorite speakers, Mr. Maffitt and Mr. Bascom, 
 had lately been preaching in the city, and draw- 
 ing large crowds of admirers. Nothing could be 
 more opposed to their florid style than his severe 
 simplicity. It was a delight to me to listen to 
 him, notwithstanding the vigor of his orthodoxy ; 
 and I thought it showed the good sense of the 
 Kentuckians, that, though caught by the flowery 
 
234 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 
 
 grandiloquence of the others, they yet regarded 
 Mr. Breckinridge as one of their finest orators. 
 It is evidence of good taste when one prefers the 
 early English pointed architecture to the flam- 
 boyant style of later centuries. 
 
 And the Kentuckians in those days were good 
 judges of public speaking. They did not read 
 books, and had very little of the culture which 
 derives from literature — but they were passion- 
 ately fond of good speech. They assembled in 
 great numbers at the political barbecues, where, 
 under the shadows of the majestic beeches and 
 tulip trees of the Kentucky forest, they spent 
 long summer days in hearing Whig and Demo- 
 cratic speakers discuss questions of public polity. 
 They then had an opportunity of hearing both 
 sides ; and speakers of both parties spoke to both 
 parties. Members of Congress were called upon 
 to explain to their constituents their course in 
 Congress, and must answer on the spot the most 
 trying questions. This educated a race of stump- 
 speakers, of whom the tradition long lingered in 
 Kentucky, — men like the famous Joseph Hamil- 
 ton Daviess, prompt, clear, and confident, — who 
 could 
 
 " Bend, like perfect steel, to spring again and thrust." 
 
 And, among these ready speakers of his own day, 
 Robert J. Breckinridge stood easily the chief, and 
 was accounted the best stump-speaker in Ken- 
 tucky. 
 
ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 235 
 
 Mr. Breckinridge and his brothers, John and 
 William L., were all originally lawyers, and all 
 afterward became Presbyterian ministers. The 
 gift of fine extemporaneous speech belonged to 
 all three. In John there was perhaps more of 
 illustration and more appearan-ee of emotion than 
 Robert. Both were full of fire, but in John it 
 appeared in lambent flames, while in Robert it 
 was a central force, on which his whole nature 
 rested. I once was listening to John Breckin- 
 ridge, and as I sat directly in front of the pulpit 
 he could not help seeing me, and, knowing me no 
 doubt as the Unitarian minister of the place, he 
 took occasion to denounce all those who taught 
 Unitarian doctrines as men " dripping with the 
 blood of souls." No doubt he believed it, and he, 
 like his brothers, always had " the courage of his 
 opinions." But afterward, in New Orleans, visit- 
 ing a dying lady, a relative of his own, and a 
 warm Unitarian, finding that, notwithstanding 
 her heresy, her faith in Christ was sincere and 
 strong, the good man forgot his theology, and 
 said, " If you feel so, cousin, I have nothing to 
 say against your faith." Robert J. Breckinridge 
 was as brave as a lion, and his chivalric nature 
 led him always to take part with the oppressed. 
 A relative of his, an older man, told me this an- 
 ecdote, which belongs to the period before he 
 became a preacher. They were riding together, 
 on horseback, on their way to Frankfort, Ken- 
 
236 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 
 
 tucky, and as they approached the city they came 
 up with a wagoner who was cruelly abusing a 
 negro boy. Mr. Breckinridge rode up to him, 
 and asked him why he treated the boy in that 
 way. The wagoner replied by a curse and 
 threat, which, however, were no sooner out of his 
 mouth than Mr. Breckinridge responded by ad- 
 ministering to him a severe beating, cutting him 
 about the face with his riding-whip, so that the 
 ruffian ran, got on one of his horses, and rode 
 away. Then my friend said to Mr. Breckinridge, 
 " The fellow has got what he deserved, but it be- 
 comes us to go into Frankfort as soon as possible, 
 for he has gone back to get that party of wagon- 
 ers whom we passed half a mile back." So they 
 rode on toward Frankfort — but as they descended 
 the long hills which surround the place, fast rid- 
 ing was difficult, for these hills are of limestone, 
 lying in horizontal strata, which crop out, making 
 the descent like a flight of steps. When about 
 half-way down they heard a loud noise behind, 
 and found that half a dozen wagoners were com- 
 ing on after them, full speed, in one of their wag- 
 ons. Dangerous or not, they were obliged to ride 
 down the hill at the same pace, and just suc- 
 ceeded in escaping their pursuers. 
 
 The same courage and energy were shown by 
 Mr. Breckinridge, afterward, on a more important 
 field. He, with Drs. Junkin, Plumer, Baxter, 
 and others, led the Old School party in the Gen- 
 
ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 237 
 
 eral Assembly when they cut off four Synods, 
 containing some forty thousand members — a step 
 which caused the disruption of the church. The 
 pretext for cutting oft' these Synods was some 
 alleged unconstitutionality in their original union. 
 But as they had remained in the church without 
 objection for thirty-seven years, it is not likely 
 they would have been removed if they had been 
 considered as orthodox. But these New York 
 and Ohio Synods were tainted with New School 
 heresies. So Mr. Breckinridge, a Calvinist gen- 
 uine and sincere, if there ever was one, considered 
 it necessary to save the church at all hazards from 
 the poison of these heresies. Under his splendid 
 captaincy the deed was done, and the victory 
 was gained for Calvinism pure and simple. 
 
 But another generation has now come, which 
 knows not Joseph. The interest in those severe 
 discussions has died away, and many will wonder 
 why such a vehement controversy should have 
 raged around such abstract and purely metaphys- 
 ical questions. The principal " error" of the 
 New School men, and one which was denounced 
 as being equivalent to " another gospel," was 
 this : — 
 
 " That God would have prevented the existence of sin 
 in our world, but was not able, without destroying the 
 moral agency of man ; or, that for aught that appears in 
 the Bible to the contrary, sin is incidental to any wise 
 moral system." 
 
- 238 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 
 
 The substance of the dispute was just at this 
 point. The New School divines said that God 
 would have prevented sin, but could not do it. 
 The Old School said He could have prevented sin, 
 but would not. But when - the latter were asked 
 why God would not, they gave the same answer 
 as their opponents — " Because God chose that 
 man should be a free agent." The only difference 
 between the " Could nots " and " Would nots," 
 therefore, vras as to which phrase should come 
 first in the statement. And on this point the 
 church was divided. 
 
 But give due credit even to bigotry. These 
 excommunicating chiefs were narrow, were one- 
 sided, were intolerant, but they were logical and 
 sincere. When you once adopt the principle that 
 any theological statement is essential to salvation, 
 it is difficult to know where to stop. To draw 
 the line between essentials and non-essentials is 
 difficult ; for to a logical mind every part of a 
 system is essential to the integrity of the whole. 
 
 No doubt R. J. Breckinridge was a born fighter, 
 — a man of war from his youth. He snuffed the 
 battle afar off, and rejoiced in the conflict. A 
 sincere antislavery man, though born and raised 
 in the midst of slave-holders, he remained true to 
 his convictions when other men fell away, and the 
 love of many waxed cold. I remember the time 
 when all the leading men in Kentucky, Whigs 
 and Democrats, with few exceptions, were op- 
 
ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 239 
 
 posed to slavery, and declared themselves in favor 
 of amending the State Constitution by inserting 
 an antislavery clause. But vs^hen a convention 
 was called in the State to form a new Constitution, 
 the great majority of these theoretical antislavery 
 men were afraid to act. Not so Robert J. Breck- 
 inridge. During three long summer days he 
 stood in front of the court house in Lexington, 
 maintaining against all opponents that the inter- 
 ests of Kentucky, no less than its conscience, re- 
 quired the abolition of slavery. It was like a 
 knightly tournament, only in a nobler cause, and 
 fought with better weapons. He wrestled not 
 against flesh and blood, but against the rulers of 
 the darkness of this world, and spiritual wicked- 
 ness in high places. Well would it have been for 
 Kentucky if she had listened to that manly voice, 
 and been led by that commanding eloquence. She 
 then would have been the advanced fortress of the 
 Free States during the war, and would not have 
 been ravaged alternately by the opposing armies. 
 She weuld not have seen her families divided, 
 son against father, and brother fighting against 
 brother. She would not have had that still worse 
 record, that in the greatest conflict of the age for 
 truth and freedom, she alone of all the States pre- 
 ferred to remain neutral. 
 
 In that great conflict, also, Robert J. Breckin- 
 ridge was true to himself and his ideas. Amid 
 the falling away on all sides, of those most near 
 
240 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 
 
 and dear, the old man stood by the flag of th.e 
 Union. He saw his fields and home repeatedly 
 ravaged by the rebel troops ; he saw disaster after 
 disaster fall on the Union arms ; he saw his old 
 friends leaving him, but he remained firm and 
 true to the end. 
 
 • Among innumerable false, unmoved, 
 Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified. 
 His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal ; 
 Nor number, nor example, with him wrought 
 To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind 
 Though single. From amidst them forth he passed, 
 Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained, 
 Superior, nor of violence feared aught; 
 And with retorted scorn, his back he turned 
 On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed." 
 
 Mr. Breckinridge was, as we have said, in some 
 things narrow and intolerant. But he had a can- 
 did mind, and if convinced of an error was willing 
 to acknowledge it — if he saw good in an oppo- 
 nent, was glad to admit it. In a journey through 
 Europe, about the year 1836-7, he came to Ge- 
 neva, and there became acquainted wjth the 
 Venerable Company of Pastors, and heard them 
 preach in the cathedral. He frankly confessed 
 his " great surprise and sincere delight " in hear- 
 ing the Scripture expounded " with clearness, 
 truth, and fervor." " I had, also," he says, " the 
 pleasure to make the acquaintance of two of the 
 Venerable Company of Pastors, whose kindness 
 deserved my thanks, as much as their intelligence 
 
ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 241 
 
 excited my interest. And, in general, I think 
 the lives of that body are, in private, blameless to 
 a degree not common either in most established 
 churches or decided errorists." 
 
 One more little anecdote, which we heard in 
 Western Pennsylvania. An elder of the Presby- 
 terian church, in the town of Butler, wished one 
 Saturday to go to Pittsburg on business of im- 
 portance. The stage from. Erie came through so 
 full that he could get no seat, but presently there 
 followed an extra stage, containing only one gen- 
 tleman and two ladies. He asked permission of 
 the gentleman to take a seat and was permitted 
 to do so. As he rode on, he allowed his hand 
 carelessly to drop on some flowers belonging to 
 the ladies, which were in a pot beside him. This 
 happened once or twice, notwithstanding the re- 
 quest of the original traveler to the church elder, 
 to be more cautious. At last he said : " Sir ! I 
 have permitted you to take a seat with us because 
 you said you were anxious to reach Pittsburg, 
 but you shall leave the stage if you touch those 
 flowers again, even if I have to put you out my- 
 self." This made a little " unpleasantness " for 
 the rest of the journey. The elder did his busi- 
 ness and then went to a friend's house, who said : 
 "It is fortunate that you came to-day, for to- 
 morrow we have the celebrated Robert J. Breck- 
 inridge to preach for us." The elder went to 
 church, and saw in the pulpit his stage-coach com- 
 
 18 
 
242 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 
 
 panion, and found that he had used his excellent 
 opportunity for becoming well acquainted with 
 Robert J. Breckinridge by making himself spe- 
 cially disagreeable to him. 
 
 Sleep peacefully in thy grave, good soldier of 
 the cross. We who are fighting in another camp, 
 to which thou wert not very friendly, can see and 
 admire generous, brave, and honest qualities, and 
 force of intellect and character, even in an op- 
 ponent ; and we lay this tribute on thy c'offin : Sit 
 till terra levis ! 
 
XIII. 
 GEOEGE DEH^ISOIJT PEE]^TIOE. 
 
GEORGE DENISON PEENTICE AND 
 KENTUCKY FORTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 It was in the summer of 1833, being then a 
 youth fresh from the divinity school, that I first 
 saw the Ohio River at Wheeling — a river which 
 afterwards became as familiar to me in its quiet 
 beauty as the hills of my native New England. 
 The journey from Boston to Cincinnati occupied a 
 week. Most of it theuj and during many years 
 after, had to be performed by the stage-coach, the 
 usual rate of travel being only three or four miles 
 an hour. The roads were horrible — on the sides of 
 the hills cut into deep gullies by the rain, and on 
 the level surface frequently made almost impassable 
 by mud and pools of water. The rich, black soil 
 which was a blessing to farmers, was a curse to 
 travelers. In order to arrive at our journey's end 
 in any reasonable period, it was necessary to travel 
 all night as well as all day; and I have some- 
 times ridden in this way five days and nights, 
 only stopping for meals. In the night time the 
 dangers of the road were aggravated by the dark- 
 
246 &EOSGE £>. PRENTICE. 
 
 ness. It was not the custom to carry lamps, and 
 tlie tall forests rising close to the road on either 
 side would, especially in a rainy night, create an 
 impenetrable darkness. Then, if the wheel sank 
 suddenly into a hole, or ran over a stump, the 
 stage would be overturned, and it would take a 
 long time to get it up again. Once, in the mid- 
 dle of Ohio, at midnight, the stage was thus 
 overturned into a deep mud-hole in the midst of 
 pitchy darkness ; and the passengers, men and 
 women, were pulled from the inside through the 
 door which was uppermost. Nothing could be 
 done but to sit on the side of the coach in the 
 rain, and wait, while the driver went for help to 
 the nearest house. On another occasion the dark- 
 ness was so profound that the horses wandered 
 away into the woods, th» driver being unable to 
 see which way they were going. At last they 
 stopped, and would go no farther. Then a light 
 was procured, and it was found that the coach 
 and horses were standing on the top of a little hill 
 in the middle of the woods, at a considerable dis- 
 tance from the road. At another time the stage 
 overturned at noon-day, when the horses were 
 slowly walking down a hill. The road had been 
 so gullied by the rain that there was absolutely 
 no place left where the coach could stand upright. 
 Sometimes, in crossing the mountains, the passen- 
 gers would get out and walk, and they would walk 
 so much faster than the horses that it would often 
 be an hour or two before they were overtaken. 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 247 
 
 On my first visit to the West I went over the 
 old Cumberland road to Wheeling. The present 
 generation is ignorant of the controversy which 
 raged in regard to this avenue between the East 
 and the West. The vast subsidies in land and 
 money which have since that time been made 
 to railroads by the United States government, 
 make the grants to the Cumberland road seem 
 quite insignificant. But this was a project of 
 Henry Clay and the Whig party, and so was vio- 
 lently opposed by the Democrats. It was simply 
 a macadamized road running from Cumberland in 
 Maryland to Columbus in Ohio. At the time I 
 passed over it, it was in a terrible state, the large 
 stones from beneath having worked up, and the 
 small ones worked down, so that it seemed uncer- 
 tain to the traveler whether he was riding in a 
 coach or being tossed in a blanket. 
 
 The Ohio River^ as is well known, is apt to be 
 very low in summer. According to John Ran- 
 dolph's saying, it is " frozen up during half the 
 year, and dried up during the other half." In 
 descending the river, therefore, we continually 
 struck on sand-bars. In order to get off, the first 
 effort was to reverse the wheels and try to back 
 off. That failing, a strong rope was carried to 
 the shore, made fast to a tree there, and to the 
 windlass on board, and attempts were thus made 
 to pall the boat off. If these, also, were fruitless, 
 they put spars from the bow against the bottom 
 
248 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 of the river, and, by raeans of tackle, tried to lift 
 the vessel backward into the water. But if nothing 
 else would answer they were obliged at last to bring 
 flat-boats to the side and take out the cargo. All 
 this, of course, caused great delay and protracted 
 the voyage. But the river was so lovely, with the 
 high bluffs on one side, covered with unbroken 
 forests, and the broad meadows on the other, cov- 
 ered with farms and fields, with its long reaches 
 of blue water, like a succession of quiet lakes, that 
 one could well be content to loiter for a long pe- 
 riod upon its bewitching, quiet current. 
 
 When I first reached Louisville, George D. 
 Prentice had been editing the " Louisville Jour- 
 nal " for about two years. This was a Whig 
 paper, and constantly engaged in fierce conflict 
 vrith its Democratic rival, the " Advertiser," ed- 
 ited by Shadrach Penn. The bitterness of news- 
 paper strife in those days was fearful. The last 
 Whig editor had been driven from the town by 
 the violent assaults of his opponents. Mr. Pren- 
 tice, when he arrived, was only known as a young 
 man from Connecticut, who had written some 
 pretty poems of the sentimental order. Mr. Penn 
 no doubt supposed that it would be very easy to 
 crush him. Then commenced an editorial war- 
 fare, which was in full operation when I arrived. 
 Every morning each newspaper would contain a 
 leading article devoted to the destruction of -the 
 antagonist editor. They accused each other, 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 249 
 
 mutually, of the blackest crimes. If we were to 
 believe their statements, both of them should be 
 sent to the penitentiary for life. Each had swin- 
 dled his creditors, committed manifold breaches 
 of trust, deserted his family, slandered the good, 
 lived a life of drunkenness and debauchery, and 
 probably committed many murders. Each was 
 declared to be black with falsehood, corrupted by 
 a life of infamy, and without a single decent asso- 
 ciate or friend. The Dictionary was searched to 
 find abusive epithets, nor was it searched in vain. 
 This was the entertainment which during a year 
 or two was served up at every breakfast table in 
 the city, with the cofEee and rolls. The question 
 was, which would hold out the longest. And 
 that question was finally decided in favor of Pren- 
 tice. He did not exceed Penn in virulence or 
 violence, but he had more, imagination. He could 
 invent more libels and tell more astonishing sto- 
 ries about Penn than Penn could about him. The 
 poetic faculty, hitherto occupied in writing news- 
 paper stanzas, was now employed to invent new 
 stories of infamous rascality about his rival. So 
 Shadrach came one day to see Prentice, and pro- 
 posed that they should stop abusing each other; 
 to which Prentice agreed, and the city had rest 
 from their billingsgate. 
 
 As the Democratic leaders found that this brill- 
 iant Whig editor was not to be silenced by de- 
 nunciation and abuse, they tried to put him down 
 
250 GEORGE J). PRENTICE. 
 
 by terror. He was only a Yankee, and Yankees 
 were supposed not to fight duels ; nor are Yankees 
 accustomed to street fights. He was known chiefly 
 as a writer of sentimental verses in the style of 
 Nathaniel Willis. They thought he would be an 
 easy victim. , By no means. He was more than a 
 match for them at their own favorite weapons. 
 He was perfectly willing to fight, and after one 
 or two duels and a few street fights, in which his 
 opponents generally got the worst, they decided to 
 let him alone. Once I saw a great crowd rush- 
 ing together on Jefferson Street, and running up, 
 found that a man, after meeting Prentice, had 
 turned around and fired a pistol at his back. But, 
 with his usual good luck, Prentice happened to 
 turn round at the moment the pistol was dis- 
 charged, and so escaped the ball. He ran upon 
 the assassin, knocked him down, jumped on him, 
 took out his knife and seemed inclined to stab 
 him, but when the crowd shouted : " Kill him, 
 Prentice ! " he changed his mind, and let the man 
 go. The angry crowd, who were all fond of Pren- 
 tice, pursued the terrified wretch with yells, and 
 he only escaped by jumping, head-foremost, like 
 a harlequin, through a glass window. 
 
 A man named Moore, living in Harrodsburg, 
 was running for Congress on the Democratic 
 ticket. Prentice vilified him every day in the 
 " Journal " until it made his life a burden. So 
 he came down to Louisville, and challenged Pren- 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 251 
 
 tice to fight a duel. Prentice readily accepted the 
 challenge, and proposed to fight with rifles at 
 thirty yards. Moore replied that as his arm was 
 lame he could not support the weight of a rifle 
 unless he was allowed a rest. Prentice responded 
 that if he let him rest his gun on a tree he would 
 be sure to hide behind the trunk, which was not 
 to be allowed ; but he would propose the follow- 
 ing terms : Two posts should be driven into the 
 ground a few feet apart, in front of each combat- 
 ant, and a strong cord fastened from pole to pole, 
 at the proper height, to serve for a rest. Each man 
 should be placed behind this cord, with his rifle 
 at his left side, with its but on the ground. When 
 the word " Fire " was given, he should raise his 
 rifle and fire, either from the rest or otherwise, 
 as he should prefer. After firing the rifle, each 
 might take a double-barrelled gun, which should 
 be lying on the ground by his side, the barrels 
 loaded with fifteen slugs each, and fire it when 
 and as he chose. They should then close with 
 bowie-knives. This terrific programme had the 
 effect which was probably intended — Mr. Moore 
 went back to Harrodsburg, and said no more 
 about fighting. 
 
 In those days street' fights and duels were nor- 
 mal facts of Kentucky life. By preaching a ser- 
 mon against duelling I excited much wonder 
 among the solid and serious citizens. Old Judge 
 Rowan, the famous advocate and senator, ex- 
 
252 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 pressed his astonishment that I should speak 
 against duels. " He might just as well preach 
 against courage," said he. Judge Rowan was a 
 good friend of mine, used to come to church, and 
 talk to me often about Lactantius and other Latin 
 writers, whom he was fond of reading. The judge 
 was also fond of high play, and many stories were 
 told of his exploits in that direction. The peo- 
 ple's consciences were not disturbed by what 
 would seem grave delinquencies to Eastern men. 
 Many respectable people never thought of pay- 
 ing their debts. It did not seem to them worth 
 while to do so. Others, very estimable in other 
 ways, would win or lose a fortune at brag or 
 poker, with a charming feeling of innocence in re- 
 gard to such transactions. To have a spree, or 
 fit of drunkenness of two or three days' duration, 
 did not disqualify a man from moving in good 
 society. Some Mississippi gentlemen on a visit to 
 Louisville attacked and slew two or three tailors 
 in the bar-room of the Gait House, in a quarrel 
 about a badly-cut coat. This murder was utterly 
 unprovoked and barbarous, but the murderers 
 were so well defended by Judge Rowan that they 
 escaped unpunished, although the prosecuting of- 
 ficer was assisted by the equally celebrated Ben 
 Hardin. But public sentiment was wholly in 
 favor of the Mississippi murderers. What would 
 the world come to if a Mississippi slave-holder 
 was not allowed to murder a tailor or two, once 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 253 
 
 in a while? The most fashionable ladies sent 
 flowers and pleasant little dinners to these perse- 
 cuted gentlemen while in prison, and crowded the 
 court-room on the day of trial. In the face of so 
 much beauty, desiring their acquittal, what chival- 
 ric Kentucky jury would venture to convict them? 
 The Mississippians went home in triumph, pre- 
 pared to kill more tailors if they should find it ex- 
 pedient to do so. But I was not sorry to hear that 
 Judge Rowan never received from them the large 
 fee which they had promised to him before the trial. 
 
 One morning John Howard Payne, who was 
 traveling through the West, and had brought me 
 a letter, came to my room and said : " I have seen 
 a great variety of life, but never anything exactly 
 like this society in Louisville. I was last night at 
 a ball at the house of Judge Rowan. In the same 
 cotillion were dancing a son of the judge, Mr. 
 Thomas F. Marshall, and two ladies to whom 
 these gentlemen are said to be respectively en- 
 gaged. Every one in the room knew that Rowan 
 and Marshall were to fight a duel in the course 
 of a week, which would probably result in the 
 death of one or both ; but no one showed any 
 surprise, and all was pleasant on the surface." 
 
 The story of this, duel illustrates the features of 
 society at that period. The judges of the courts 
 were paid such small salaries that no good lawyer 
 would accept the position ; consequently the judges 
 had little influence, and were treated with small 
 
254 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 
 
 respect by the bar. One day the judge of the 
 Jefferson county district, considering hinaself in- 
 sulted by a lawyer, one Colonel Robertson from 
 Virginia, committed him to the county jail for 
 twenty-four hours. The bar, thereupon, agreed 
 to go to jail, too, and have a supper. At this 
 supper a slight quarrel occurred between two gen- 
 tlemen, Mr. Thomas F. Marshall and a younger 
 man named Garnet Howell. A glass of wine was 
 thrown by one in the face of the other, and a duel 
 was the result. Shots were exchanged without 
 effect, and the honor of both parties were satis- 
 fied. Then Tom Marshall took his remaining 
 pistol and fired it at a small tree at some distance, 
 and the bark flew from the sapling. This he did 
 in order to show that he had purposely spared 
 the life of his opponent. Mr. John Rowan, Jr., 
 who was Howell's second, and no friend of Mar- 
 shall, thereupon remarked : "It is singular, Mr. 
 Marshall, that you cannot hit a man, since you can 
 hit a tree so easily." To this sarcasm Marshall 
 replied : " If you were the man, Mr. Rowan, I 
 should not have missed you." Rowan responded : 
 " I will give you an opportunity to try, Mr. Mar- 
 shall." So a duel was thereupon arranged, which 
 was likely to be much more serious than the first, 
 as both parties were first-rate shots. In this duel 
 Marshall was wounded in the leg and lamed for 
 life. 
 
 Mr. Prentice's wit was inexhaustible. Each 
 
G£ORGE D. PRENTICE. 255 
 
 morning's paper contained half a dozen epigram- 
 matic sentences, one or two of which were usually 
 good enough to be remembered and preserved. 
 They sparkled with puns, antitheses, and happy 
 illustrations. His opponents often seemed to say 
 things as if to give him an opportunity for a fine 
 retort. Thus, a Democratic paper having men- 
 tioned that a jackass had fallen from a precipice 
 and broken its neck, added : " That the jackass, 
 which turned such a somerset, must have been 
 a Whig." To which Prentice rejoined: "No 
 Whig, who was not a jackass, would turn a som- 
 erset in times like these — when the Whigs are 
 carrying everything before them." 
 
 In those days General Jackson was very ob- 
 noxious to the Whig party, and Prentice steadily 
 abused him every day. "The stinging, hissing 
 bolts of scorn," as Bryant calls them, flew from 
 his typographical weapon in each morning edition, 
 in the direction of the Hermitage. At last it was 
 reported that General Jackson had become a mem- 
 ber of the Presbyterian Church. People asked 
 each other : " What will Prentice say now ? 
 He cannot ridicule General Jackson for that. 
 The " Journal " has too many subscribers among 
 the Presbyterians, who would be offended if he 
 blamed General Jackson for joining their church. 
 Yet, he will have to say something about it. 
 What will it be ? " The morning " Journal" ap- 
 peared. In it Prentice mentioned the fact that 
 
256 GEORGE D. PBENTICE. 
 
 General Jackson had joined the church, and 
 merely added two lines from Dr. Watts — which 
 no pious Presbyterian could object to : — 
 
 " While the lamp holds out to bum 
 The vilest sinner may return ! " 
 
 Still, it may be doubted whether Prentice, with 
 all his wit, materially aided the cause of his party 
 in Kentucky. He was only a politician, not a 
 statesman. He found the State of Kentucky a 
 Whig State, and an antislavery State. He left 
 it Democratic and proslavery. He had no fixed 
 convictions, no leading principles, but drifted in 
 any way that the current went. He allowed the 
 State to fall into the proslavery ranks, because he 
 had not the moral courage to take, openly, an 
 antislavery position. No doubt he would have 
 lost many subscribers at first, but he would have 
 gained more in the end. Public sentiment in 
 Kentucky, in 1835, was almost unanimous against 
 the continuance of this system in the State. I 
 frequently heard leading public men declare them- 
 selves abolitionists. All agreed that the State 
 would be much better off if slavery were at an 
 end. A newspaper, like that of Prentice, ought 
 to have concentrated and guided this sentiment and 
 directed it wisely toward some practical measures. 
 If Prentice himself had any opinions on this ques- 
 tion, they were opposed to slavery. But he never 
 took this ground plainly and strongly, though he 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 257 
 
 would allow communications in this sense to be 
 inserted in his paper. He permitted me, for ex- 
 ample, to reply in his columns to a certain phy- 
 sician. Dr. M'Dowell, who maintained that the 
 African was little better than a monkey, and 
 that slavery is in accordance with Christianity. 
 Mr. Prentice was perfectly willing to allow such 
 opinions to be contradicted in his paper, though he 
 did not care to do it himself. 
 
 Mr. Prentice was perhaps as fair as most po- 
 litical editors in his treatment of his opponents. 
 But this is not saying much. He would seldom 
 correct any statement which had once appeared in 
 his paper, even though convinced that it was false. 
 I once succeeded in inducing him to do this, but 
 was obliged to use a stratagem for that purpose. 
 The case was this : In a controversy between the 
 professors in the Medical School in Louisville, the 
 " Journal " had taken sides with one party, and 
 had brought some unjust charges against a young 
 man, a graduate of the institution. The young 
 man being absent from the city, I laid before Mr. 
 Prentice proofs that the charges were false, and 
 asked him to retract them ; but he refused to do 
 it. I then said : " Will you, then, Mr. Prentice, 
 allow me to have half a column of to-morrow's 
 paper in which to reply? " and he consented. I 
 then said : " WUl you promise to insert anything 
 which I vnll write ? " to which he also agreed. I 
 then vrrote an article of such a kind that I knew 
 17 
 
258 GEORGE D: PRENTICE. 
 
 that Prentice would be extremely reluctant to in- 
 sert it. In fact, I made it as disagreeable to him 
 as possible. When I took it to him, and he read 
 it, his face grew as black as night. " I can't print 
 this," said he. 
 
 " You promised to print whatever I should 
 write," I replied. 
 
 " I did not think you would write such an arti- 
 cle as this. I do not like to print it." 
 
 " Nor do I wish to have it published, Mr. Pren- 
 tice. I should much prefer to have you retract 
 your charge against Mr. H." 
 
 " What do you wish me to say ? " 
 
 " Not much. Just say that you are glad to find 
 that you were mistaken in bringing the accusation, 
 and that, seeing it to be unfounded, you willingly 
 retract it. Say that, and you need not publish 
 my communication." So Prentice sat down and 
 wrote such a statement, which appeared in the 
 next paper. 
 
 In those days, habits of intemperance were not 
 uncommon, even in the best society. I knew, 
 indeed, many pure and virtuous Kentuckians who 
 were wholly free from any intemperance. But 
 the habit was very common, and no one was 
 ashamed of it. Mr. Prentice was often much the 
 worse for liquor. I once saw him at a party, sit- 
 ting on a sofa, with a gentleman sitting on each 
 side, keeping him from falling over. Afterward 
 he took the pledge, and joined a temperance soci- 
 
GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 259 
 
 ety. How it was in the last years of his life I 
 never knew, but it is certain that a cloud rested 
 over his later days. He lost the commanding 
 position which he once occupied. He tried to 
 maintain slavery and yet oppose the rebellion ; 
 but his position was not logical, and was necessa- 
 rily a failure. The man who once seemed to di- 
 rect the destinies of Kentucky with his pen, the 
 leading journalist of the West, was at last only 
 retained as a subordinate in the oflSce which had 
 been the scene of his great triumphs. So passes 
 away the influence of any mind, however brilliant, 
 which clings to no convictions, and holds to no 
 universal ideas. 
 
XIV. 
 JUNIUS BEUTUS BOOTH, 
 
 THE ELDER. 
 AN INCIDENT IN HIS LIFE. 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN HIS LIFE. 
 
 MoEE than twenty years ago,^ being pastor of a 
 church in Louisville, Kentucky, I was sitting one 
 evening meditating over my coal fire, which was 
 cheerfully blazing up and gloomily subsiding again, 
 in the way that Western coal fires in Western coal 
 grates were then very much in the habit of doing. 
 I was a young and inexperienced minister. I had 
 come to the West fresh from a New England 
 divinity school, with magnificent ideas of the vast 
 work which was to be done, and with rather a 
 vague notion of the way in which I was to do it. 
 My views of the West were chiefly derived from 
 two books, both of which are now obsolete. When 
 a child, with the omnivorous reading propensity 
 of children, I had perused a thin, pale octavo, 
 which stood on the shelves of our library, contain- 
 ing the record of a journey by the Rev. Thaddeus 
 Mason Harris, of Dorchester, from Massachusetts 
 to Marietta, Ohio. AUibone, whom nothing es- 
 1 Written in 1861. 
 
264 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 capes, gives the title of the book, " Journal of a 
 Tour into the Territory Northwest of the Alle- 
 ghany Mountains in 1803, Boston, 1805." That a 
 man should write an octavo volume about a jour- 
 ney to Marietta now strikes us as rather absurd, 
 but in those days the journey to Ohio was more 
 difficult than that to Japan is now. The other 
 book was a more important one, being Timothy 
 Flint's " Ten Years' Recollections of the Missis- 
 sippi Valley," published in 1826. Mr. Flint was 
 a man of sensibility and fancy, a sharp observer, 
 and an interesting writer. His book first taught 
 us to know the West in its scenery and in its 
 human interest. 
 
 I was sitting in my somewhat lonely position, 
 watching my coal fire, and thinking of the friends 
 I had left on the other side of the mountains. I 
 had not succeeded as I had hoped in my work. I 
 came to the West expecting to meet with opposi- 
 tion, and I found only indifference. I expected 
 infidelity, and found worldliness. I had around 
 me a company of good Christian friends, but they 
 were no converts of mine ; they were from New 
 England, like myself, and brought their religion 
 with them. Upon the real Western people I had 
 made no impression, and could not see how I 
 should make any. Those who were religions 
 seemed to be bigots ; those who were not relig- 
 ious cared apparently more for making money, for 
 politics, for horse-racing, for dueling, than for the 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 265 
 
 difference between Homoousians and Homoiousi- 
 ans. They were very fond of good preaching, but 
 their standard was a little different from that I had 
 been accustomed to. A solid, meditative, care- 
 fully written sermon had few attractions for them. 
 They would go to hear our great New England 
 divines on account of their reputation, but they 
 would run in crowds to listen to John Newland 
 Maffit. What they wanted, as one of them ex- 
 pressed it, was " an eloquent divine, and no com- 
 mon orator." They liked sentiment run out into 
 sentimentalism, fluency, point, plenty of illustra- 
 tion and knock-down argument. How could a poor 
 boy, fresh from the groves of our Academy, where 
 good taste reigned supreme, and where to learn 
 how to manage one's voice was regarded as a sin 
 against sincerity, how could he meet such demands 
 as these-? 
 
 I was more discouraged than I need to have 
 been, for, after all, the resemblances in human be- 
 ings are more than their differences. The differ- 
 ences are superficial, the resemblances radical. 
 Everywhere men like, in a Christian minister, the 
 same things, — sincerity, earnestness, and living 
 Christianity. Mere words may please, but not 
 long. Men differ in taste about the form of the 
 cup out of which they drink this wine of Divine 
 Truth, but they agree in their thirst for the same 
 wine. 
 
 But to my story- 
 
266 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 I was sitting, as I said, meditating some- 
 what sadly, when a knock came at the door. On 
 opening it, a negro boy, with grinning face, pre- 
 sented himself, holding a note. The great fund 
 of good-humor which God has bestowed on the 
 African race often makes them laugh when we see 
 no occasion for laughter. Any event, no matter 
 what it is, seems to them amusing. So this boy 
 laughed merely because he had brought me a 
 note, and not because there was anything pecul- 
 iarly amusing in the message which the note con- 
 tained. It is true that you sometimes meet a 
 melancholy negro. But such, I fancy, have some 
 foreign blood in them ; they are not Africans pur 
 sang. The race is so essentially joyful that cent- 
 uries of oppression and hardship could not depress 
 its good spirits. It was cheerful in spite of slav- 
 ery, and in spite of cruel prejudice. 
 
 The note the boy brought me was as follows : — 
 
 " UsiTED States Hotel, Jamiary 4, 1834. 
 " Sir, — I hope you will excuse the liberty of a stranger 
 addressing you on a subject he feels great interest in. 
 It is to require a place of interment for his friend[s] in 
 the church-yard and also the expense attendant on the 
 purchase of such place of temporary repose. 
 
 "Your communication on this matter will greatly 
 oblige, sir, your respectful and obedient servant, 
 
 "J. B. Booth." 
 
 It will be observed that after the word "friend" 
 an [s] follows in brackets. In the original the 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 267 
 
 word was followed by a small mark which might 
 or might not give it the plural form. It could be 
 read either " friend " or friends," but as we do 
 not usually find ourselves called upon to bury more 
 than one friend at a time, the hasty reader would 
 not notice the mark, but would read it " friend." 
 So did I ; and only afterward, in consequence of 
 the denoument, did I notice that it might be read 
 in the other way. 
 
 Taking my hat, I stepped into the street. Gas 
 in those days was not ; an occasional lantern, 
 swung on a wire across the intersection of the 
 streets, reminded us that the city was once French, 
 and suggested the French Revolution and the cry, 
 "A la lanterne!" First I went to my neighbor, 
 the mayor of the city, in pursuit of the desired 
 information. A jolly mayor was he, — a Yankee 
 melted down into a Western man, thoroughly 
 Westernized by a rough-and-tumble life in Ken- 
 tucky during many years. Being obliged to hold 
 a mayor's court every day, and knowing very little 
 of law, his chief study was, as he expressed it, 
 " how to choke off the Kentucky lawyers." Mr. 
 Mayor not being at home, I turned next to the 
 office of another naturalized Yankee, — a Yankee 
 naturalized, but not Westernized. He was one of 
 those who do not change their mind with their 
 sky, who, exiled from the dear hills of New Eng- 
 land, can never be otherwise than the inborn, in- 
 herent Yankee. He was a Plymouth man, and 
 
268 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 religiously preserved every opinion, habit, and ac- 
 cent which he had brought from Plymouth Rock. 
 When Kentucky was madly Democratic, and wept 
 over the dead Jefferson as over her saint, he pub- 
 licly expressed the opinion that it would have been 
 well for the country if he had died long before, — 
 for which expression he came near being lynched. 
 He was the most unpopular and the most indis- 
 pensable man in the city, — they could live neither 
 with him nor without him. He founded and 
 organized the insurance companies, the public 
 schools, the charitable associations, the great canal, 
 the banking system ; in short, all Yankee institu- 
 tions. The city was indebted to him for much of 
 its prosperity, but disliked him while it respected 
 him. For he spared no Western prejudice ; he 
 remorselessly criticised everything that was not 
 done as Yankees do it ; and the most provoking 
 thing of all was that he seldom made a mistake ; 
 he was very apt to be right. 
 
 Finding neither of these men at home, and so 
 not being able to learn about ^the price of lots in 
 the church-yard, I walked on to the hotel, and 
 asked to see Mr. J. B. Booth. I was shown into 
 a private parlor, where he and another gentle- 
 man were sitting by a table. On the table were 
 candles, a decanter of wine and glasses, a plate of 
 bread, cigars, and a book. Mr. Booth rose when 
 I announced myself, and I at once recognized the 
 distinguished actor. I had met him once before, 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUa BOOTH. 26& 
 
 and traveled with him for part of a day. He was 
 a short man, but one of those who seem tall when 
 under excitement. He had a clear blue eye and 
 fair complexion. In repose there was nothing to 
 attract attention to him, but when excited, his 
 expression was so animated, his eye was so brill- 
 iant, and his figure so full of life, that he became 
 another man. 
 
 Having told him that I had not been successful 
 in procuring the information he desired, but would 
 bring it to him on the following morning, he 
 thanked me, and asked me to sit down. It passed 
 through my mind, that, as he had lost a friend 
 and was a stranger in the place, I might be of use 
 to him. Perhaps he needed consolation, and it 
 was my ofiice to sympathize with the bereaved. 
 So I sat down. But it did not appear that he 
 was disposed to seek for such comfort, or engage 
 in such discourse. Once or twice I endeavored, 
 but without success, to turn the conversation to 
 his presumed loss. I asked him if the death of 
 his friend was sudden. 
 
 " Very," he replied. 
 
 " Was he a relative ? " 
 
 " Distant," said he, and changed the subject. 
 
 It is so long since these events took place that I 
 do not pretend to give the conversation accurately, 
 but what occurred was much like this. It was a 
 dialogue between Booth and myself, the third per- 
 son saying not a word during the evening. Mr. 
 
270 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 Booth first asked me to take a glass of wine, or a 
 cigar, both of which I declined. 
 
 "Well," said he, "let me try to entertain you 
 in another way. When you came in, I was read- 
 ing aloud to my friend. Perhaps you would like 
 to hear me read." 
 
 " I certainly should," said I. 
 
 " What shall I read ? " 
 
 " Whatever you like best. What you like to 
 read I shall like to hear." 
 
 " Then suppose I attempt Coleridge's ' Ancient 
 Mariner ' ? Have you time for it? It is long." 
 
 " Yes, I should like it much." 
 
 So he read aloud the whole of this magnificent 
 poem. I have listened to many eminent readers 
 and actors, but none of them affected me as I was 
 moved by this reading. I forgot the place where 
 I was, the motive of my coming, the reader him- 
 self. I knew the poem almost by heart, yet I 
 seemed never to have heard it before. I was by 
 the side of the doomed mariner. I was the wed- 
 ding-guest, listening to his story, held by his glit- 
 tering eye. I was with him in the storm, among 
 the ice, beneath the hot and copper sky. Booth 
 became so absorbed in his reading, so identified 
 with the poem, that his tone and manner were 
 saturated with a feeling of reality. He actually 
 thought himself the mariner, — so I am persuaded, 
 — while he was reading. As the poem proceeded, 
 and we plunged deeper and deeper into its mystic 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 271 
 
 horrors, the actual world receded into a dim, in- 
 definable distance. The magnetism of this mar- 
 velous interpreter had caught up himself and me 
 with him, into Dreamland, from which we gently 
 descended at the end of Part VI., and " the spell 
 was snapt." 
 
 " And now, all in my own countree, 
 I stood on the firm land," — 
 
 returned from a voyage into the inane. Again I 
 found myself sitting in the little hotel parlor, by 
 the side of a man with glittering eye, with a third 
 somebody on the other side of the table. 
 
 I drew a long breath. 
 
 Booth turned over the leaves of the volume. It 
 contained the collected works of Coleridge, Shelley, 
 and Keats. 
 
 " Did you ever read," said he, " Shelley's argu- 
 ment against the use of animal food, at the end of 
 'Queen Mab'?" 
 
 " Yes, I have read it." 
 
 " And what do you think of the argument? " 
 
 " Ingenious, but not satisfactory." 
 
 " To me it is satisfactory. I have long been 
 convinced that it is wrong to take the life of an 
 animal for our pleasure. I eat no animal food. 
 There is my supper," — pointing to the plate of 
 bread. "And, indeed," continued he, "I think 
 the Bible favors this view. Have you a Bible 
 with you ? " 
 
272 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 I had not furnished myself with a Bible. 
 
 Booth rang the bell, and when the boy presented 
 himself called for one. Gar§on disappeared, and, 
 came back soon with a Bible on a tray. * 
 
 Our tragedian took the book, and proceeded to 
 argue his point by means of texts selected skillfully 
 here and there from Genesis to Revelation. He 
 referred to the fact that it was not till after the 
 Deluge men were allowed, " for the hardness of 
 their hearts," as he maintained, to eat meat. But 
 in the beginning it was not so; only herbs were 
 given to man, at first, for food. He quoted the 
 Psalmist (Psalm civ. 14) to show that man's food 
 came from the earth, and was the green herb ; and 
 contended that the reason why Daniel and his 
 friends were fairer and fatter than the children 
 who ate their portion of meat was, that they ate 
 only pulse (Daniel i. 12-15). These are all of his 
 Scriptural arguments which I now recall ; but I 
 thought them rather ingenious at the time. 
 
 The argument took some time. Then he recited 
 one or two pieces bearing on the same subject, 
 closing with Byron's lines to his Newfoundland 
 dog. 
 
 " In connection with that poem," he continued, 
 " a singular event once happened to me. I was 
 acting in Petersburg, Virginia. My theatrical 
 engagement was just concluded, and I dined with 
 a party of friends one afternoon before gfting away. 
 We sat, after dinner, singing songs, reciting poetry, 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 273 
 
 and relating anecdotes. At last I recited those 
 lines of Byron on his dog. I was sitting by the 
 fire-place, my feet resting against the jamb, and a 
 single candle was burning on the mantel. It had 
 become dark. Just as I came to the end of the 
 poem, — 
 
 " ' To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, 
 I never knew but one, and here he lies,' — 
 
 my foot slipped down the jamb, and struck a dog, 
 who was lying beneath. The dog sprang up, 
 howled, and ran out of the room, and at the same 
 moment the candle went out. I asked whose dog 
 it was. No one knew. No one had seen the dog 
 till that moment. Perhaps you may smile. at me, 
 sir, and think me superstitious, — but I could not 
 but think that the animal was brought there by 
 some occult sympathy." 
 
 Having uttered these oracular words in a very 
 solemn tone. Booth rose, and, taking one of the 
 candles, said to me, " Would you like to look at 
 the remains ? " 
 
 I assented. Asking our silent friend to excuse 
 us, lie led me into an adjoining chamber. I looked 
 toward a bed in the corner of the room, but saw 
 nothing there. Booth went to another corner of 
 the room, where, spread out upon a large sheet, I 
 beheld to my surprise, about a bushel of wild 
 pigeons ! 
 
 Booth knelt down by the side of the birds, and 
 
 18 
 
274 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 with evidence of sincere affliction began to mourn 
 over them. He took them up in his hands ten- 
 derly, and pressed them to his heart. For a few 
 moments he seemed to forget my presence. For 
 this I was glad, for it gave me a little time to 
 recover from my astonishment, and to consider 
 rapidly what it might mean. As I look back now, 
 and think of the oddity of the situation, I rather 
 wonder at my own self-possession. It was a suffi- 
 ciently trying position. At first I thought it was 
 a hoax, an intentional piece of practical fun, of 
 which I was to be the object. But even in the 
 moment allowed me to think, I decided that this 
 could not be. For I recalled the long and elabo- 
 rate Bible argument against taking the life of ani- 
 mals, which could hardly have been got up for the 
 occasion. I considered also that as a joke it would 
 be too poor in itself, and too unworthy a man like 
 Booth. So I decided that it was a sincere convic- 
 tion, — an idea, exaggerated perhaps to the bor- 
 ders of monomania, of the sacredness of all life. 
 And I determined to treat the conviction with 
 respect, as all sincere and religious convictiops 
 deserve to be treated. 
 
 I also saw the motive for this particular course 
 of action. During the week immense quantities 
 pf the vdld pigeon (Passenger Pigeon, Columba 
 migratoria) had been flying over the city, in their 
 way to and from a roost in the neighborhood. 
 These birds had been slaughtered by myriads, and 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 275 
 
 ■were for sale by the bushel at the corners of every 
 street in the city. Although all the birds which 
 could be killed by man made the smallest impres- 
 sion on the vast multitude contained in one of 
 these flocks, — computed by Wilson to consist 
 sometimes of more than twenty-tvs^o hundred mill- 
 ions, — yet to Booth the destruction seemed 
 wasteful, wanton, and, from his point of view, was 
 a willful and barbarous murder. 
 
 I could not but feel a certain sympathy with his 
 humanity. It was an error in a good direction. 
 If an insanity, it was better than the cold, heart- 
 less sanity of most men. By the time, therefore, 
 that Booth was ready to speak, I was prepared to 
 answer. 
 
 " You see," said he, " these innocent victims of 
 man's barbarity. I wish to testify, in some pub- 
 lic way, against this wanton destruction of life. 
 And I wish you to help me. Will you ? " 
 
 " Hardly," I replied. " I expected something 
 very different from this, when I received your 
 note. I did not come to see you, expecting to be 
 called to assist at the funeral solemnities of birds." 
 
 " Nor did I send for you," he answered. " I 
 merely wrote to ask about the lot in the grave- 
 yard. But now you are here, why not help me ? 
 Do you fear the laugh of man ? " 
 
 " No," I returned. " If I agreed with you in 
 regard to this subject, I might, perhaps, have the 
 courage to act out my convictions. But I do not 
 
276 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTB. 
 
 look at it as you do. There is no reason, then, 
 why I should have anything to do with it. I re- 
 spect your convictions, but do not share them." 
 
 " That is fair," he said. " I cannot ask any- 
 thing more. I am obliged to you for coming to 
 see me. My intention was to purchase a place in 
 the burial-ground and have them put into a coffin 
 and carried in a hearse. I might do it without 
 any one's knowing that it was not a human body. 
 Would you assist me, then? " 
 
 " But if no one hnew it," I said, " how would it 
 be a public testimony against the destruction of 
 life ? " 
 
 "True, it would not. Well, I will consider 
 what to do. Perhaps I may wish to bury them 
 privately in some garden." 
 
 " In that case," said I, " I will find you a place 
 in the grounds of some of my friends." 
 
 He thanked me, and I took my leave, exceed- 
 ingly astonished by the incident, but also inter- 
 ested in the earnestness of conviction of the man. 
 
 I heard, in a day or two, that he actually pur- 
 chased a lot in the cemetery, two or three miles 
 below the city, had a coffin made, hired a hearse 
 and carriage, and had gone through all the solem- 
 nity of a regular funeral. For several days he 
 continued to visit the grave of his little friends, 
 and mourned over them with a grief which did not 
 seem at all theatrical. 
 
 Meantime he acted every night at the theatre. 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 277 
 
 and my friends told me that his acting was of un- 
 surpassed excellence. A vein of insanity began, 
 however, to mingle in his conduct. His fellow- 
 actors were afraid of him. He looked terribly in 
 earnest on the stage ; and when he went behind 
 the scenes, he spoke to no one, but sat still, look- 
 ing sternly at the ground. During the day he 
 walked about town, giving apples to the horses, 
 and talking with the drivers, urging them to treat 
 their animals with kindness. 
 
 An incident happened, one day, which illus- 
 trated still further his sympathy with the humbler 
 races of animals. One of the sudden freshets 
 which come to the Ohio, caused commonly by 
 heavy rains melting the snow in the valleys of its 
 tributary streams, had raised the river to an un- 
 usual height. The yellow torrent rushed along 
 its channel, bearing on its surface logs, boards, and 
 the debris of fences, shanties, and lumber-yards. 
 A steamboat, forced by the rapid current against 
 the stone landing, had been stove, and lay a wreck 
 on the bottom, with the water rising rapidly 
 around it. A horse had been left fastened on the 
 boat, and it looked as if he would be drowned. 
 Booth was on the landing, and he took from his 
 pocket twenty dollars, and offered it to any one 
 who would get to the boat and cut the halter, so 
 that the horse might swim ashore. Some one was 
 found to do it, and the horse's life was saved. 
 
 So this golden thread of human sympathy with 
 
278 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 
 
 all creatures whom God had made ran through 
 the darkening moods of his genius. He had well 
 laid to heart the fine moral of his favorite poem, 
 that 
 
 " He prayeth well, who loveth weU 
 Both man, and bird, and beast. 
 
 " He prayeth best, who loveth best 
 All things, both great and small ; 
 For the dear God, who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all." 
 
 In a week or less the tendency to derangement 
 in Booth became more developed. One night, 
 when he was to act, he did not appear ; nor was 
 he found at his lodgings. He did not come home 
 that night. Next morning he was found in the 
 woods, several miles from the city, wandering 
 through the snow. He was taken care of. His 
 derangement proved to be temporary, and his 
 reason returned in a few days. He soon left the 
 city. But before he went away he sent me the 
 following note, which I copy from the original 
 faded paper now lying before me : — 
 
 " Louisville Thkatee, January 13, 1834. 
 
 " Mt Dear Sir, — Allow me to return you my 
 grateful acknowledgments for your prompt and benevo- 
 lent attention to my request last Wednesday night. 
 Although I am convinced your ideas and mine thor- 
 oughly coincide as to the real cause of Man's bitter deg- 
 radation, yet I fear human means to redeem him are now 
 
JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 279 
 
 fruitless. The fire must burn, and Prometheus, endure 
 his agony. The Pestilence of Asia must come again, 
 ere the savage will be taught humanity. May you es- 
 cape ! God bless you, sir ! J. B. Booth." 
 
 Though this was an odd adventure for a young 
 minister, less than six months in his profession, it 
 left in my mind a very pleasant impression of this 
 great tragedian. It may be asked why he came 
 to me, the youngest clergyman in the plape. He 
 himseK gave me the reason. I was a Unitarian. 
 He said he had more sympathy with me on that 
 account, as he was of Jewish descent, and a Mon- 
 otheist. 
 
XV. 
 
 WASHI^GTOIT 
 
 AND THE SECRET OP HIS INFLUENCE. 
 
WASHINGTON, HIS ADVICE AND 
 EXAMPLE. 
 
 It is not my purpose to-day to deliver an ora- 
 tion on the character and life of Washington. 
 This has been done too often, and too ably ; and 
 it is not the hour or place for such an oration. 
 But I cannot help remembering that to-morrow is 
 the birthday of the great man whom we have 
 agreed to call the Father of our Country, and 
 now, when the building he founded and helped 
 to finish is nearly one hundred years old,^ we may 
 invoke his spirit to preserve that which his spirit 
 gave. His example is very precious at the pres- 
 ent hour. Let us see what we can learn from it 
 — what it can do for us. 
 
 The four greatest men this country has pro- 
 duced are, I think, Washington, Franklin, Jeffer- 
 son, and Abraham Lincoln. Of these, Jefferson 
 was the greatest genius, Franklin the greatest in- 
 tellect, Lincoln the most marked product of Amer- 
 ican institutions, and Washington the greatest 
 character. 
 
 1 This address was spoken February 21, 1875. 
 
284 WASHINGTON. 
 
 In regard to intellect merely, we may distin- 
 guisli two classes of minds. It is the province of 
 one to manage the present ; of the other, to in- 
 troduce the future. Jefferson belonged to the 
 latter class, Washington to the former, Frank- 
 lin and Lincoln to both. Franklin was, perhaps, 
 the greatest intellect of all, for he combined the 
 genius of Jefferson, the wisdom of Washington, 
 and the American sagacity of Lincoln. But the 
 peculiarity of Washington was the weight of his 
 character. Never has there been, in modern times, 
 a similar example of the influence of personality. 
 Washington, while he lived, was the only man in, 
 the nation whom the people trusted, the only 
 man who had that wonderful power of supporting 
 a nation in its greatest crisis by the strength of 
 his single arm. While he lived there was one man 
 who could save his country. When he died, it 
 was thrown on its own resources — it was obliged 
 to save itself. 
 
 It was this which justified the epithet applied 
 to Washington by Southey : '•'• Awful f^ We are 
 filled with awe in contemplating one so separated 
 from common men as to be the equipoise for all 
 other living men ; to weigh as much, morally, as 
 all of them together. Jupiter, in Homer, tells the 
 gods to take hold at one end of the golden chain 
 which holds the earth in its place, and he will take 
 hold of the other, and draw them all up, gods, 
 goddesses, earth and ocean. It is sometimes 
 
WASHINGTON. 285 
 
 granted to a single man, in whom a perfect loy- 
 alty to right is joined to an iron inflexibility of 
 wiU, to do the same thing in the moral world. If 
 the whole American people inclined in one direc- 
 tion, and Washington in the opposite direction, 
 it was in the power of Washington to hold the 
 whole nation back, and arrest it in its course. 
 He did this more than once. His firmness of 
 purpose saved us in the Revolution. It held the 
 nation back from despair in its darkest hours. 
 His firmness of purpose, after the Revolution, en- 
 abled the- nation to form the Federal Union. His 
 great name, great influence, and perfect conviction 
 brought them up to the point they might not 
 otherwise have reached, — of accepting a constitu- 
 tion which was unquestionably unpalatable to the 
 great majority. He lost more battles than he 
 won, and he often lost them from the want of 
 a military genius. But, after a defeat, the nation 
 continued to trust him more than Marlborough or 
 Napoleon were trusted after a victory. Three 
 times his character saved the country ; once, by 
 keeping up the courage of the nation till the Rev- 
 olutionary War was ended ; then by uniting the 
 nation in the acceptance of the Federal Constitu- 
 tion ; thirdly, by saving it from being swept away 
 into anarchy and civil war during the immense 
 excitements of the French Revolution. Such was 
 the greatness of Washington, — a gift of God to 
 this nation as far beyond any other of God's gifts 
 
286 WASHINGTON. 
 
 as virtue is more than genius, as character is more 
 than intellect, as wise conduct is better than out- 
 ward prosperity. 
 
 Washington, in his portraits, and in history, 
 seems a perfectly calm and self-possessed man, of 
 imperturbable coolness, and, to the superficial ob- 
 server, even wanting in passion. But Taylor, in 
 his " Van Artevelde," paints a portrait which de- 
 scribes him better. 
 
 " An equal nature, and an ample soul, 
 Kockbound and fortified against the assaults 
 Of momentary passion ; but beneath 
 Built on a surging, subterraneous fire, 
 "Which stirred and lifted him to great attempts." 
 
 When the steam-engine is out of order it may 
 make a noise and shake violently, and the steam 
 escaping through the cracks may hiss ; but all 
 this is a sign of weakness, not of power. The en- 
 gine which works without jar and without noise, 
 sending its piston easily to and fro, and turning 
 its shaft quietly round and round, this is the 
 strong engine. Its power is all restrained, guided, 
 and made to do the will of the master. So it 
 is with the fire in the souls of great men. It 
 is the deep lying fire — the tide of fire below, 
 which slowly lifts the whole continent — not the 
 ebullition of fire which wastes itself at the ori- 
 fice of a volcano. The passion in the soul of 
 Washingtorf helped to raise our American conti- 
 nent. 
 
WASHINGTON. 287 
 
 Such was our Washington, — self-possessed, in 
 perfect equipoise of soul, with no unbalanced ten- 
 dencies, with no loose, undirected powers, with con- 
 science always in command, with wisdom always as 
 the counselor — a perfectly disinterested patriot, 
 into whose soul the thought of a private end could 
 not enter ; brave without bravado, and a gentle- 
 man by the threefold right of birth, education, and 
 character. So there came to him at last, by virtue 
 of his perfect fidelity, this miraculous accumula- 
 tion of reverence. He seemed superior to all hu- 
 man weakness — his life was one 
 
 " That dare send 
 A challenge to its end, 
 And when it comes, say, ' Welcome, Friend.' " 
 
 Such being the position of Washington to this 
 nation, we can appeal to his great spirit to-day ; 
 we, who are not men worshipers; we, who do 
 not idolize saints and martyrs, we can appeal to 
 his spirit to look from its high sphere, and counsel 
 the land he loved in every situation. 
 
 Instead of eulogizing again what has so often 
 been the subject of eulogy, — the character of 
 Washington, — let us ask how he would advise us 
 if he were to be able to address the American 
 nation to-day. There are not many men whose 
 advice we should care to have. Most of our great 
 statesmen were too deeply immersed* in the pol- 
 itics of their time. Jefferson and Hamilton, An- 
 
288 WASHINGTON. 
 
 drew Jackson, Calhoun, Webster, Clay may have 
 been intellectually greater than Washington, but 
 they were not so wise. They were all ardent 
 partisans, champions of partial interests ; but the 
 unselfish conscience of Washington raised him to 
 a higher plane of principles, gave him a judgment 
 undistorted by partiality. He could overlook the 
 whole ground ; he could see the value of oppos- 
 ing interests ; the simplicity and honesty of his 
 thought raised it to the level of wisdom. Talent 
 alone, knowledge alone, the most brilliant imagi- 
 nation, the most penetrating insight, the most com- 
 prehensive and exact perceiving faculty — these 
 do not make the wise man. Wisdom is born, not 
 from the head, but from the upright conscience 
 and the pure heart. Singleness of purpose and 
 honesty of intention eliminate all the sources of 
 error arising from personal feeling, from party 
 spirit, from local interests, from individual preju- 
 dices ; and so they leave the judgment free to act 
 on the practical question without bias. In calcu- 
 lating the most complex movements of the heav- 
 enly bodies, the simple rules of mathematics will 
 bring out an accurate result, provided every source 
 of error is carefully removed. In practical life, 
 these sources of error are oftenest found to be in 
 the feelings. That is why purity of heart opens 
 the way to truth, and why things hidden from 
 the learned and the brilliant are revealed to babes. 
 This was the commanding power of Washington's 
 
WASHINGTON. 289 
 
 mind. Of the first American Congress, meeting 
 in Philadelphia in September, 1774, Patrick 
 Henry said that its best orator was Rutledge 
 of South Carolina, but for solid information and 
 sound judgment, Washington was the greatest 
 of all. 
 
 The paper of Washington which contains his 
 most carefully expressed opinions in regard to our 
 national affairs is his parting address. Studiously 
 reserTed on most occasions, the silent man opened 
 his mouth and became almost expressive. As 
 Paul once said, when his feelings overflowed in 
 words of fire, so Washington, in writing this ad- 
 dress, might have exclaimed : " O Americans ! 
 my mouth is open unto you ; my heart is en- 
 larged ! " After forty -five years of public ser- 
 vice he was about to leave public life forever; 
 and, as a father on his death-bed will give advice 
 to his children on subjects to which he has never 
 before alluded, so Washington, in this address, 
 freed his heart and uttered his whole thought for 
 the benefit of the nation. 
 
 The great danger at that time was to the Union. 
 The centrifugal force was stronger than the centrip- 
 etal. Washington, therefore, urges most strongly, 
 at the opening of his remarks, loyalty to the 
 Union, fidelity to the central government, opposi- 
 tion to local and sectional prejudices. He exhorts 
 the North and the South, the East and the West, 
 to regard themselves as one. Since our great and 
 
 19 
 
290 WASHINGTON. 
 
 ter-rible civil war has restored the Union, and made 
 the central government so strong, it may be 
 thought that his advice is not now so very much 
 required. Yet I belieTC this counsel is never quite 
 unnecessary. Before the Rebellion the South gov- 
 erned the North — now, the North _ governs the 
 South. A triumphant political party, representing 
 union, freedom for all, and the rights of the North, 
 has now, during fourteen years, governed the 
 nation. It does not mean to be a sectional party, 
 but there is great danger of its becoming so. I 
 think that, if George Washington could speak, he 
 ■would say, " You have fought and labored to give 
 freedom to Southern black men, and you have 
 done well. But remember that Southern white 
 men have rights also ; do not make slaves of them 
 while freeing the blacks. They also are your 
 brethren. The evil influence w^hich corrupted 
 them — Slavery — has come to an end. The 
 passions excited by the war and its results have 
 had nearly ten years wherein to cool. The inter- 
 ests of North and South, before hostile, are now 
 the same. Recognize their rights, and give real 
 peace to the nation." 
 
 The habit which has grown up since the war, of 
 the interference by the general government in 
 the local politics of the reconstructed States, was 
 for a time, perhaps, excusable, because possibly 
 unavoidable. But it has evidently become verj;^ 
 dangerous. 
 
WASHINGTON. 291 
 
 Recent grave events in Louisiana have called 
 the attention of all thoughtful persons to this sub- 
 ject. An officer of the United States army, with 
 a file of soldiers, entered the hall where the Legis- 
 lature of the State was in session and removed five 
 members ; thus taking the majority from one 
 political party and giving it to another. The 
 action of the general government in approving 
 this proceeding seemed to me so serious, that I 
 signed a call for a meeting in Faneuil Hall to con- 
 sider it. I have been frequently aske__d ■why I did 
 so, since so many good men and women thought 
 the action of the President right. Perfectly will- 
 ing to admit that the intentions of all concerned 
 were good, I think the act a dangerous one. 
 
 Louisiana has been readmitted into the Union 
 as a sovereign State. If so, she has all the rights 
 which Massachusetts has. In Massachusetts we 
 have a Democratic governor and a Republican 
 Legislature. Suppose the governor should request 
 the United States military commandant of this 
 district to go to the state house and remove Re- 
 publican members from the senate chamber, so 
 as to give a Democratic majority to that body. 
 If he should do so, and a Democratic President 
 and Cabinet should approve the action, would 
 those who defend his action in Louisiana approve 
 of it in Massachusetts ? and if not, why not ? 
 
 It will be said in reply that the cases are differ- 
 ent ; that the people of Louisiana are rebels, and 
 
292 WASHINGTON. 
 
 that they must be held down by military power. 
 This is a very good reason for putting the State 
 back into the condition of a territory and giving it 
 a military government, but not for violating all 
 its constitutional rights while it remains one of 
 the States of the Union. 
 
 It may be said that the representatives removed 
 had no right to be there, and that the Legislature 
 was not properly organized. One famous orator 
 has declared that the Louisiana Legislature was 
 not properly organized, and therefore was not a 
 legislature, but a mob. But who is to decide 
 whether it was properly organized or not ? Shall 
 the governor of Louisiana decide it ? He had no 
 more right to decide it than you or I have. The 
 Constitution of Louisiana declares that " each 
 house of the General Assembly shall judge of the 
 qualifications, elections, and returns of its mem- 
 bers." So the Constitution of Massachusetts de- 
 clares that the Senate and the House shall each 
 be the final judge of the elections, returns, and 
 qualifications of its members. Each house, also, 
 by the Constitution, adopts its own rule of pro- 
 ceedings. If it chooses to have a motion put by 
 its clerk, it may ; if it allows a motion to be put 
 by one of its own members, it may. But, at all 
 events, right or wrong, the question of its organi- 
 zation belongs to itself, not to the executive. 
 Allow the governor of the State to decide whether 
 a certain body is the Legislature or only a mob. 
 
Washington: 293 
 
 and the independence of the Legislature is at end. 
 Listen to George Washington's opinion on this 
 subject. If he had foreseen this very case, he 
 could not have expressed himself more plainly : — 
 
 " It is important," he says, in his Farewell 
 Address, " that the habits of thinking, in a free 
 country, should inspire caution in those intrusted 
 with its administration, to confine themselves 
 within their respective constitutional spheres, 
 avoiding, in the exercise of the powers of one de- 
 partment, to encroach upon another. The spirit 
 of encroachment tends to consolidate the powers 
 of all the departments in one, and thus to create, 
 whatever the form of government, a real despot- 
 ism If, in the opinion of the people, the dis- 
 tribution or modification of the constitutional pow- 
 ers be in any particular wrong, let it be corrected 
 by an amendment in the way which the Constitu- 
 tion designates. But let there be no change by 
 usurpation ; for though this, in one instance, may 
 be the instrument of good, it is the customary 
 weapon by which free governments are destroyed. 
 The precedent must always greatly overbalance 
 in permanent evil any partial or transient benefit 
 which the use can at any time yield." 
 
 Many good people think that the rights of the 
 colored people require such acts of military inter- 
 ference on the part of the United States. If this 
 be so, then, I repeat, reduce the Southern States 
 to Territories, and keep them so for a generation. 
 
294 WASHINGTON. 
 
 But do not, in the fancied interests of the colored 
 people, destroy, one by one, all the guarantees of 
 constitutional liberty. 
 
 Perhaps I may be considered as one not wholly 
 indifferent to the rights of the colored people of 
 the South. But I do not think that their safety, 
 peace, happiness, rights will be best secured by 
 such gross violations of the rights of the white 
 people of the South. By persecuting the white 
 people in the interests of the blacks, you are in- 
 tensifying and perpetuating the hatred of one 
 race to another. Their nautual interests are now 
 the same. The prosperity of the whites, who are 
 owners of the soil, depends on the good will of 
 the laborers who cultivate it. This is a much 
 better security for their good treatment than a 
 military force. What John A. Andrew saw and 
 said nine years ago is still the only true method. 
 He proposed to reconstruct the South, "not by 
 its ignorance, but by its intelligence." Governor 
 Andrew said, in his farewell address to the Legis- 
 lature: "We ought to demand, and to secure, the 
 cooperation of the strongest and ablest minds and 
 natural leaders of opinion in the South. If we 
 cannot gain their support of the just measures 
 needful for the work of safe reorganization, reor- 
 ganization will be delusive and full of danger. It 
 would be idle to reorganize those States by the 
 colored vote. I would not consent, having res- 
 cued those States by arms from secession and re- 
 
WASHINGTON. 295 
 
 bellion, to turn them over to anarcliy and chaos." 
 Notliing can be wiser, nothing more true, than 
 this. 
 
 The danger pointed out by George Washington, 
 of the arrival of despotism by the encroachment 
 of one department of government on the consti- 
 tutional rights of another, is not confined to Loui- 
 siana. It has already reached Washington. A 
 bill has been prepared in a Republican caucus, 
 with the intention of forcing it through Congress 
 by the Republican majority, to give to the Presi- 
 dent the power, according to his own discretion, 
 of suspending the bill of Habeas Corpus through- 
 out the Union. The first article of the Constitu- 
 tion designates the powers of Congress ; and in the 
 ninth section of this article the power of suspend- 
 ing the act of Habeas Corpus, but only in times of 
 rebellion or invasion, is committed to Congress, 
 and to Congress only. It has been solemnly de- 
 cided by the courts that only to the Legislature 
 belongs the power of suspending the operation of 
 this great writ, which protects the personal free- 
 dom of us all. Personal liberty is safe, and is only 
 safe, so long as this writ is in force. 
 
 The power of party has shown itself in nothing 
 more than in this attempt to transfer to the Pres- 
 ident what belongs to Congress. I have always 
 been a Republican since the Republican party was 
 first formed. I have never voted any other ticket. 
 But I shall feel bound, with thousands of others, 
 
296 WASHINGTON. 
 
 to resist to the last such encroachments on hu- 
 man Hberty, such rash defiance of all the guaran- 
 tees of personal rights, as is here attempted. The 
 foundation of Saxon liberty was laid here. The 
 chief point in Magna Charta is giving the protec- 
 tion of each man's freedom to the national legisla-_ 
 ture. It is now proposed to put this great and 
 terrible power, which in a moment may deprive 
 every man in the land of all his civil rights, into 
 the hands of the President, to be exercised at his 
 own discretion. The mere suggestion of such a 
 surrender of the great guarantee of freedom ought 
 to have aroused the nation. But the fact that it 
 is proposed illustrates the tyranny of party and of 
 party allegiance. When a party caucus has de- 
 cided on a course, any politician is a brave man 
 who ventures to dissent. " The caucus " is a 
 power not mentioned in the Constitution ; but, 
 with "the ring" and "the lobby," it is seeking 
 to take possession of the whole government. The 
 tyranny of party has resulted, as all tyranny does, 
 in making the tyrant a slave. The tyrant. Party, 
 has become the slave of the despot. Caucus. 
 
 What George Washington would say on this 
 subject may be easily known from his advice in 
 regard to the power of party and party alle- 
 giance. He declares it to be a " fatal tendency " 
 which " puts the will of a party in the place of 
 the delegated will of the nation." He wisely 
 says that most parties are a " small but artful and 
 
WASHINGTON. 297 
 
 enterprising minority of the community," and that 
 " the alternate triumphs of different parties will 
 make the public administration the mission of the 
 ill-concerted and incongruous projects of faction, 
 rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome 
 plans, digested by common councils, and modified 
 by mutual interests." Washington gives us a sol- 
 emn warning against the spirit of party, and de- 
 clares that there is great danger to our institutions 
 in that direction. 
 
 We may be sure, then, that Washington would 
 have favored the plan, liow proposed, which will 
 give to minorities their due share of representa- 
 tion. According to our present methods, minori- 
 ties have little or no influence in legislation. In 
 South Carolina, where the colored vote is about 
 fifty-four per cent, of the whole, the colored peo- 
 ple hold all the power. In Georgia, where the 
 white vote has a small majority, the white people 
 hold all the power. It would be better, in both 
 cases, that the minority should be adequately rep- 
 resented. According to our present system, mi- 
 norities have no rights which a triumphant party 
 is bound to respect. 
 
 Another point on which Washington dwells in 
 his address is general education. He urges us to 
 promote, as an object of primary importance, the 
 general diffusion of knowledge. Since public opin- 
 ion, in this country, governs all things, it is ab- 
 solutely necessary that public opinion should be 
 
298 WASHINGTON. 
 
 enlightened. Such is the distinct declaration of 
 Washington. He founds the necessity and duty 
 of public free schools on the fact that the whole 
 government of the country is in the hands of the 
 whole people. Our lives, our fortunes, our liber- 
 ties, are at the mercy of the majority. If the 
 people are instructed, they will see that their own 
 interests require just and equal laws. If they 
 are ignorant, they can be led by demagogues, by 
 priests, by selfish politicians. Free institutions 
 rest on common schools. 
 
 The only danger to common schools in this 
 country is from the Roman Catholic Church. 
 Since the declaration of Papal Infallibility, the 
 Catholics in this, and in every other country, are 
 bound to obey the decisions of the Roman court, 
 and that is in the hands, as the most distinguished 
 Roman Catholic in England, Dr. Newman, informs 
 us, of a small coterie of Jesuits. The public 
 school system of the United States is in danger 
 from this source, and from this source only. I 
 regard this as the chief danger of the present 
 time. It is to be met fairly, justly, and courage- 
 ously. Under no circumstances whatever must 
 we allow the sectarian school system of Europe 
 to be substituted for the public, unsectarian school 
 system of America. 
 
 Perhaps it may be thought that I have gone 
 out of my sphere as a Christian minister, in dis- 
 cussing in the pulpit, and on the Lord's day, 
 
WASHINGTON. 299 
 
 questions belonging to national affairs. I liave, 
 indeed, been discussing national politics ; but not 
 party politics. I have been criticising the party 
 to which I myself belong. These matters concern 
 the rights, the freedom, the safety of the nation ; 
 they concern the permanency of republican " insti- 
 tutions. If there be any matters in which Chris- 
 tianity is and ought to be interested, anything for 
 which Christian men and women ought to care, 
 anything about which Christian ministers ought 
 to speak, it is the political movements and acts 
 which involve the rights and duties of the whole 
 people. Such has always been my own opinion ; 
 such has always been my own course. During 
 many years, during the long antislavery struggle, 
 I was frequently accused of bringing politics into 
 the pulpit. But I have never spoken of politics 
 unless when politics concerned humanity. I am 
 sorry when my friends differ from me, or when I 
 differ from my friends ; but I am afraid I am too 
 old now to change my course in this matter, unless 
 I see stronger reasons for doing so than I now per- 
 ceive. I claim no authority to dictate to any one ; 
 others have a right to their opinions, and they 
 may be more sound than mine ; but I must hold 
 my own, and utter them when it seems necessary. 
 In the great storm which drove the vessel con- 
 taining the Apostle Paul on the shore of Malta, 
 we are told that the mariners " east four anchors 
 out of the stern, and wished for day." Our four 
 
300 WASHINGTON. 
 
 anchors, holding us fast from behind, are the ex- 
 amples and teachings of Washington, Franklin, 
 Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln. The first rep- 
 resents virtue in politics ; the second, good sense 
 in politics ; the third, democracy/ in politics ; the 
 fourth, humanity in politics. Let us reverence 
 these great examples holding us firm to a noble 
 Past, and so saving us for a better Future. With 
 four such illustrious lives as these to reverence, to 
 study, and to follow, we may feel that in the most 
 stormy hours, and the darkest nights, we may 
 hold safe by these anchors " and wish for day." 
 
XVI. 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
SHAKSPEARE.i 
 
 We meet to-day, my friends, as members of the 
 great family which speaks the English tongue, to 
 commemorate the three hundredth birthday of the 
 man who, in pure intellect, stands at the head of 
 the human race. But how little do we know of 
 Shakspeare, except in his works ! We do not 
 know how to spell his name correctly. We can- 
 not tell the day he was born, but are obliged to 
 assume this on probable grounds. Whether he 
 went to school, or not, is uncertain. The busi- 
 ness of his father is uncertain. His life, till he 
 was married, is a blank. After that date, we only 
 know that he had three children ; that he went 
 to London, became an actor, then a writer of plays, 
 then a joint proprietor of the theatre ; that he 
 was comparatively wealthy ; returned to Strat- 
 ford, and died at the age of fifty-two. 
 
 If, therefore, it should be thought desirable, by 
 
 1 Address before the New England Historic-Genealogical Society 
 on the ter-centenary celebration of the birth of Shakspeare, April 
 23, 1864. 
 
304 SHAKSPEABE. 
 
 the critics of the twentieth century, to treat Shak- 
 speare as certain critics have treated Homer, Mo- 
 ses, and Christ, and deny his existence, they have 
 an excellent opportunity and ample means for 
 their destructive analysis. As they have proved 
 to their satisfaction that the books of Moses are 
 composed of innumerable independent historical 
 fragments carefully joined together, and so are a 
 Mosaic work only in the artistic sense ; as they 
 have taken away Homer, and left in his place a 
 company of anonymous ballad-singers, so that we 
 are able to settle the dispute between the seven 
 cities which claimed to be his birthplace, by giv- 
 ing them a Homer apiece, and having several 
 Homers left; as these able chemical critics have 
 analyzed the Gospels, reducing them to their ele- 
 ments of legend, myth, and falsehood, with the 
 smallest residuum of actual history : so much 
 more easily can they dispose of the historic Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 See, for example, how they might proceed. 
 They might say : " How can Shakspeare have 
 been a real person, when his very name is spelled 
 at least in two different ways, in manuscripts pro- 
 fessing to be his own autograph ; and when it is 
 found in the manuscripts of the period spelled in 
 every form, and with every combination of letters 
 which express its sound or the semblance thereof ? 
 One writer of his time calls him ' Shake-scene ; ' 
 showing plainly the mythical origin of the word. 
 
SHAKSPEABE. 305 
 
 He is said to have married, at eighteen, a woman 
 of twenty-six — which is not likely ; and her 
 name also has a mythical character, — ' Anne Hath- 
 away,' — and was probably derived from a Shak- 
 speare song addressed to a lady named Anne, the 
 first, line of which is ' Anne hath a way, Anne 
 hath a way.' If he were a real person, living in 
 London in the midst of writers, poets, actors, and 
 eminent men, is it credible that no allusion should 
 be made to him by most of them ? He was con- 
 temporary with Sir Walter Raleigh, Edmund 
 Spenser, Lord Bacon, Coke, Cecil Lord Burleigh, 
 Hooker, Queen Elizabeth, Henry IV. of France, 
 Montaigne, Tasso, Cervantes, Galileo, Grotius ; 
 and not one of these, though so many of them 
 were voluminous writers, refers to any such per- 
 son, and no allusion to any of them appears in all 
 his plays. He is referred to, to be sure, with ex- 
 cessive admiration, by the group of play-writers 
 among whom he is supposed to move; but as 
 there is not, in all his works, the least allusion in 
 return to any of them, we may presume that the 
 name Shakspeare was a sort of nom de plume to 
 which was referred all anonymous plays. If such 
 a man existed, why did not others, out of this cir- 
 cle, say something about his circumstances and 
 life ? Milton was eight years old when Shak- 
 speare died, and might have seen him, as he took 
 pains to go and see Galileo, who was born in the 
 same year with Shakspeare. Oliver Cromwell 
 
 20 
 
306 SEAKSPEARE. 
 
 was seventeen years old when Shakspeare died ; 
 Descartes, twenty years old ; Rubens, the artist, 
 thirty-nine years old. None of them had heard 
 of him ; though Rubens resided in England, and 
 painted numerous portraits there. Spenser, it is 
 true, has two stanzas, in one of his poems, that 
 seem undoubtedly to refer to this mythological 
 person : — 
 
 " ' He, the man whom Nature's self had made 
 To mock herself, and Truth to imitate. 
 With kindly counter under miraick shade, — 
 Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late ; 
 With whom all joy and jolly merriment 
 Is also deaded, and in dolour drent.' 
 
 " But this only proves more clearly the mythical 
 character of Shakspeare ; since the poem, in which 
 he is said to be ' lately dead,' was published by 
 Spenser in 1591, when Shakspeare is stated to 
 have been twenty-seven, — twenty-five years be 
 fore the date given for his death. The believers 
 in a personal Shakspeare say, indeed, that Spenser 
 means that he is dead to literature, having left 
 off writing ; and quote the following stanza to 
 support this view, in which Spenser thus con- 
 tinues : — 
 
 " ' But that same gentle spirit, from whose pen 
 Large streams of honey and sweet nectar flow, " 
 Scorning the boldness of such base-born men 
 Which dare their follies forth so rashly throw. 
 Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell, 
 Than so himself to mockery to sell.' 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 307 
 
 " But, unfortunately for this theory, so far from 
 leaving off writing, Shakspeare had hardly begun 
 to write then, and did not print his first work till 
 two years after." 
 
 In this way the critic might argue to prove 
 the non-existence of any personal Shakspeare. He 
 might add that there is something quite suspi- 
 cious in his being said to have been born and to 
 have died on the same day of the month — April 
 23 ; and in the fact that Cervantes was said to 
 die the same day as Shakspeare — April 23, 
 1616 ; and Michael Angelo in the same year. 
 The year of his birth, he might add, seems to have 
 some mythical significance ; sincfe Calvin is said 
 to have died, and Galileo to have been born, each 
 in 1564. The critic might add that many great 
 events occurred in his supposed lifetime, to none 
 of which he has alluded, — as the battle of Le- 
 panto ; the Bartholomew Massacre; the defeat of 
 the Spanish Armada ; the first circumnavigation of 
 the world ; the Gunpowder Plot ; the deliverance 
 of Holland from Spain ; the invention of the tele- 
 scope, and the discovery therewith of Jupiter's 
 satellites. In an era of great controversy between 
 the Roman Catholics and Protestants, no one can 
 tell from his works whether he was Catholic or 
 Protestant. " Unlike Dante, Milton, and Goethe, 
 he left no trace on the political or even social life 
 of his time." And, finally, our twentieth-century 
 critic may say, that alreg-dy, in 1857 and 1866, two 
 
308 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 American writers (Miss Delia Bacon and Judge 
 Holmes) published books to show that Shak- 
 speare's plays were not written by Shakspeare, 
 but by Lord Bacon. 
 
 . So little has been learned in the last three 
 centuries concerning this miracle of the human 
 mind. A whole pack of Shakspeare scholars have 
 been on his track with the sagacity and persever- 
 ance of sleuth hounds. Every trace of Shakspeare 
 has been examined with microscopic care ; every 
 muniment-room, with its mound of musty paper, 
 has been dug over and sifted, as men sift the sands 
 of Australian rivers in search of gold ; and with 
 what result? Two or three autographs of his 
 name, spelt in. two or three different ways ; and 
 half a dozen allusions to him by his contempora- 
 ries. It has been discovered that his father was 
 named John, and was either a glover, a farmer, a 
 butcher, or a dealer in wool ; that his father mar- 
 ried a daughter of the gentry, — Mary Arden, — 
 and lost his property in his latter days ; that there 
 is good reason for thinking that Shakspeare him- 
 self was well acquainted with Latin, Greek, Italian, 
 and French ; good reason also for thinking that he 
 was not. The story of his stealing the deer of Sir 
 Thomas Lucy is believed by Richard Grant White ; 
 who, however, says that " we know nothing posi- 
 tively of Shakspeare from his birth till his mar- 
 riage ; and, from that date, nothing until we find 
 him an actor in London about the year 1589, he 
 
SBAKSPEARE. 309 
 
 being then twenty-five years of age. Here he 
 became actor, afterwards dramatic writer, and 
 finally also proprietor of one of the theatres. The 
 success of his plays was inmniediate and great : 
 they filled the theatres, — ' cockpit, galleries, 
 boxes,' says a contemporary. In 1597, when 
 thirty-three years old, he was able to purchase the 
 finest house in Stratford ; and, in the same year, 
 invested in the securities of his town a sum equal 
 to about thirteen thousand dollars." ^ Nothing is 
 
 1 "But Shakspeare continued to hold his property in the 
 theatre. In 1608 the corporation of London again attempted 
 to interfere with the actors of the Blackfriars ; and, there being 
 little chance of ejecting them despotically, a negotiation was set 
 on foot for the purchase of their property. A document found 
 by Mr. Collier amongst the Egerton Papers at once determined 
 Shakspeare's position in regard to his theatrical proprietorship. 
 It is a valuation, containing the following item : — 
 
 " ' Item. — W. Shakspeare asketh, for the wardrobe and prop- 
 erties of the same playhouse, £500 : and for his four shares, the 
 same as his fellows Burbidge and Fletcher; viz., £933 6s. 8c!. 
 £1,433 6s. Bd: 
 
 " With this document was found another, unquestionably the 
 most interesting paper ever published relating to Shakspeare. It 
 is a letter from Lord Southampton to Lord EUesraere, the lord 
 chancellor ; and it contains the following passage : — 
 
 " ' These bearers are two of the chief of the company ; one of 
 them by name Eichard Burbidge, who humbly sueth for your 
 lordship's kind help ; for that he is a man famous as our English 
 Eoscius, one who fitteth the action to the word, and the word to 
 the action, most admirably. By the exercise of his quality, in- 
 dustry, and good behavior, he hath become possessed of the 
 Blackfriars Playhouse, which hath been employed for plays since 
 it was built by his father, now near fifty years ago. The other is 
 a man no whit less deserving favor, and my especial friend, till 
 
310 SHAKSPEAME. 
 
 known of his intercourse with actors, or men of 
 letters, except the admiration expressed for him 
 by Ben Jonson, the praise of Chettle, and a few 
 vague rumors. He gave up the stage about 1604, 
 when forty years old, and returned to Stratford to 
 live when about forty-six. He was said to have 
 been " a handsome, well-shaped man." From all 
 the portraits, and the bust, it is evident that his 
 head, like those of Homer, Plato, Napoleon, and 
 Goethe, was fully developed, and a fit dome of 
 thought ; probably the noblest head, in its shape, 
 of which we have any artistic record. 
 
 But, though the Shakspeare scholars do not 
 furnish us with much beside this " tombstone in- 
 formation," they have helped us to form a picture 
 of his life by showing the character of the times. 
 
 of late an actor of good account in the company, now a sharer in 
 the same, and writer of some of our best English plays, which, 
 as your lordship knoweth, were most singularly liked of Queen 
 Elizabeth, when the company was called upon to perform before 
 her majesty at court at Christmas and Shrovetide. 
 
 " ' His most gracious majesty King James also, since his com- 
 ing to the crown, hath extended his royal favor to the company 
 in divers ways and at sundry times. 
 
 " ' This other hath to name William Shakspeare : and they are 
 both of one county, and indeed almost of one town; both are 
 right famous in their qualities, though it longeth not to your 
 lordship's gravity and wisdom to resort unto the places where they 
 are wont to delight the public ear. Their trust and suit now is, 
 not to be molested in tlieir way of life whereby they maintain 
 themselves and their wives and families (being both married 
 and of good reputation), as well as the widows and orphans of 
 some of their dead fellows.' " — Knight's English Cijclopmdia, art. 
 Shakspeare. 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 311 
 
 Shakspeare lived in that period known as the 
 Renaissance, — the new birth of the human in- 
 tellect. The great waye of mental life which 
 rolled over Italy in the previous century at last 
 reached the shores of England. Europe had dis- 
 covered that there was knowledge outside of the 
 Church formulas. The literatures of Greece and 
 Rome had been unlocked ; and, instead of a barren 
 theology and a dead philosophy, the intellect of 
 mankind bathed in the pure waters of Hellenic 
 and Latin knowledge. It was the fashion with 
 men and women to read Homer and Plato, Soph- 
 ocles and Euripides, Virgil, Tacitus, and Cicero. 
 In England, at this time, the drama was the vehi- 
 cle of instruction and entertainment. It took 
 the place now occupied by newspaper and novel. 
 The land swarmed with strolling players. Every 
 great nobleman had his private company of act- 
 ors. In London, in spite of the opposition of the 
 corporation and the Puritans, several theatres had 
 been opened. Fourteen of them we find exist- 
 ing at the same time, in and near London, during 
 Shakspeare's life. They were named the Theatre, 
 the Curtain, the Globe, Blackfriars, Paris Garden, 
 Whitefriars, Salisbury Court, the Fortune, the 
 Rose, Hope, the Swan, Newington, the Red Bull, 
 Cockpit, and Phenix. The top was open to the 
 sun and rain : the people stood in the pit, and sat 
 on benches in the rooms and boxes, and also on 
 the stage itself. There were few properties, and 
 
312 SBAKSPEAEE. 
 
 little scenery : sometimes they had to hang up a 
 placard, on which was written, in large letters, 
 " A Castle," " A Country House," " A Temple," 
 " A Ship ; " and the audience were thus requested 
 to imagine themselves in the presence of these ob- 
 jects. The dining-hour in London being twelve, 
 the plays began at three, and lasted two hours : 
 admission at first, a penny ; by and by, sixpence. 
 Those who sat on the stage had a three-legged 
 stool, and paid a shilling. The rage for new plays 
 was great. Every, theatre had authors at work, 
 writing new plays. Thomas Heywood says he 
 wrote part or the whole of two hundred and 
 twenty. Philip Henslowe, whose diary has been 
 recently discovered, a proprietor or manager of 
 one of the theatres, states that he purchased a 
 hundred and ten new plays between 1591 and 
 1597 ; and, in the next five years, a hundred and 
 sixty more. People wanted a new play then, just 
 as they now wish for a fresh newspaper or novel : 
 the old ones did for yesterday ; but others are 
 needed to-day. The prices paid for them varied 
 from five pounds to twelve. Before 1600, eight 
 pounds was the highest ; which would be equal to 
 about two hundred and fifty dollars at this time. 
 When plays had been thus purchased, they be- 
 came the property of the theatre, and the authors 
 abandoned all care of them. As there was no 
 copyright to be had, the theatre could only keep 
 them by not printing them. Even then, they 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 313 
 
 were sometimes printed by emissaries from rival 
 theatres, who "copied by the ear." Thomas 
 Hey wood says, " Though some have used a double 
 sale of their labors, — first to the stage, and after 
 to the press, — I here proclaim myself faithful to 
 the first, and never guilty of the last." 
 
 We see how it was that Shakspeare did not 
 print his plays himself in his life- time. It was not 
 because of any ostrich-like indifference to them, 
 but simply that they did not belong to him. He 
 had sold them to the theatre. We see also one 
 reason of the corruptions of the text, — many of 
 them had been pirated, and were printed from 
 copies taken by the ear, and, as Heywood says 
 of his, were " so corrupt and mangled, that I have 
 been as unable to know them as ashamed to chal- 
 lenge them." 
 
 That Shakspeare knew the worth of his plays, 
 we cannot doubt. He must have been intensely 
 conscious of their vast superiority. But literary 
 fame, in the common sense, they did not bring 
 at first. His literary works were " Venus and 
 Adonis " and " Lucrece." Plays, as yet, had not 
 become a part of literature. After this Ben Jon- 
 son was universally ridiculed for calling a collec- 
 tion of his dramas his "Works." When genius 
 flows into any new channel, and appears in a new 
 form, it takes some half century before it can be 
 recognized. But at last its day comes, certainly 
 and inevitably, though mysteriously; and the 
 
314 SHAK8PEARE. 
 
 world learns to love a great poet, much as Shak- 
 
 speare himself describes the growth of a youthful 
 
 affection : — 
 
 " The idea of his life shall sweetly creep 
 Into its study of imagination ; 
 And every lovely organ of his mind 
 Shall come appareled in more precious habit, 
 More moving, delicate, and full of life, 
 Into the eye and prospect of its soul." 
 
 In this deficiency of information concerning the 
 life of the great Poet of Humanity, recourse has 
 been had to his sonnets, which have been thought 
 to be a journal of his inmost soul. Some persons, 
 indeed, think these wonderful poems to be the 
 mere play of fancy ; but others believe them to 
 be, as Wordsworth says, " the key with which he 
 unlocked his heart." There can be no doubt that 
 the last view is the true one. It has been no un- 
 usual thing for poets to put their deepest life into 
 their poems, and keep a private journal in verse. 
 Horace says of Lucilius, "that he committed the 
 secrets of his soul to his books, as to faithful 
 friends ; going to confide in them his joy and his 
 grief: so that the whole life of the old man ap- 
 pears painted in his poems as in votive pictures." 
 Goethe also says of himself, that, "in prose, no 
 one willingly confesses himself ; but in poetry we 
 trust ourself guh rosd, as in a true confessional. 
 
 " Youthful grief and riper wrong 
 In my stanzas echo long : 
 Joy and pain both turn to song." 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 315 
 
 So, when we read these sonnets, we seem to stand 
 by the door of the confessional, and listen to the 
 most secret secrets of the heart of Shakspeare. 
 These mysteries are veiled in a language so won- 
 derfully delicate, that it at once tells all, and tells 
 nothing. Shakspeare, so wholly objective in his 
 dramas ; with such absolute impersonality passing 
 into one and another of his characters ; so impar- 
 tial, so inclusive, giving every side of life its due ; 
 ranging through such a compass of notes, from 
 the deep organ diapason of " King Lear " to the 
 wild melody of " The Tempest '' and airy carols 
 of "Midsummer Night's Dream," — here, in his 
 sonnets, comes to himself; is all personality; is 
 wholly subjective. As no writer who ever lived 
 left himself so entirely out of his works as Shak- 
 speare does in his plays, so no writer ever gave us 
 himself so purely and personally as Shakspeare 
 does in his sonnets. 
 
 In saying this we have not forgotten the son- 
 nets of Petrarch. The difference between these 
 and Shakspeare's comes from the circumstance 
 that Petrarch's give us the picture of a lover pos- 
 sessed by his love. It is the agitated surface of a 
 mind swept by winter storms of passion, or.sleep- 
 ing in the summer calms of purely emotional re- 
 pose. But from how much deeper depth does the 
 life of Shakspeare flow into his ! It is not pas- 
 sion, but active devotion. It is love, so purified 
 by truth from merely selfish emotion, that it 
 
316 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 might be felt in one angel in heaven for another. 
 Somehow it is perfectly real yet ideal too. It 
 seeks no earthly gratification ; there is no jealous 
 monopoly in it, no self-delusion. He sees all the 
 faults of his friend ; he tells him of his vices. His 
 love does not claim any return : it is sufl&cient for 
 itself. We may all agree with Mr. Alger that 
 these sonnets mainly describe the friendship of 
 Shakspeare for a noble and wonderful young man, 
 — perhaps William Herbert, or perhaps the Earl 
 of Southampton. Some lines of Ben Jonson de- 
 scribe well the character of this friendship of 
 Shakspeare : — 
 
 " 'Tia not a passion's first access, 
 Ready to multiply ; 
 But, like Love's calmest state, it is 
 Possessed ■with victory : 
 
 " It is like Love to truth reducpd. 
 All the false values gone 
 Which were created or induced 
 By fond imagination." 
 
 A friendship something like this was felt by 
 Goethe and Schiller ; and, in our time, we have a 
 parallel to the hundred and twenty-six sonnets 
 addressed by Shakspeare to his boy friend in the 
 hundred and twenty-nine poems addressed by 
 Tennyson to Ms lost friend, Arthur Hallam. Al- 
 lowing for the difference of times and customs, 
 the tone and spirit of these two collections are 
 strikingly the same. 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 317 
 
 The history of opinion in regard to Shakspeare 
 is one of the most interesting records of the prog- 
 ress of human ideas. He stands in the flowing 
 current of thought, as the Nilometer in the Nile ; 
 and the level of taste and intelligence at any time 
 is shown by its relation to him. As far up as it 
 reaches on the mind of Shakspeare, so high is 
 the rise of human thought. In his own day he 
 was the most popular of writers. " The common 
 people heard him gladly." Whenever his plays 
 were performed, the Globe Theatre was full, — 
 in the pit, box-rooms, galleries. But the literary 
 men, though they liked him, rather treated him 
 de haut en has. His immense popularity with 
 the people they could not ignore : and Meres, in 
 1598, when Shakspeare was thirty-six years old, 
 mentions twelve of his plays by name ; compares 
 him with Ovid ; calls him " honey-tongued Shak- 
 speare ; " speaks of " his sugared sonnets among 
 his private friends ; " and concludes, that, if the 
 Muses spoke English, th6y would use his " fine- 
 filed phrase." ^ 
 
 1 " As the Greek tongue is made famous and eloquent by Ho- 
 mer, Hesiod, Euripides, ^schylus, Sophocles, Findarus, Pho- 
 cylides, and Aristophanes ; and the Latin tongue by Virgil, 
 OTid, Horace, Silius Italicus, Lucanus, Lucretius, Ausonius, and 
 Claudianus : so the English tongue is mightily enriched, and gor- 
 geously invested in rare ornaments and resplendent habiliments, 
 by Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, Warner, Shak- 
 speare, Marlow, and Chapman. 
 
 " As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras, 
 so the sweet, witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey- 
 
318 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 That King James liked Shakspeare was then 
 counted to Shakspeare's honor : now it is a great 
 thing for King James, and saves him from being 
 thought only a pedant. Always those who be- 
 lieved they were judging Shakspeare, were, in 
 fact, only judging themselves. 
 
 In truth, these plays were not thought at first 
 to belong to literature at all. The drama, in 
 England, was a newly created form of art. Every 
 new form of art is first enjoyed without being ad- 
 mired ; afterwards it is admired without being en- 
 joyed. It comes up to meet a popular desire or 
 a real want ; comes to be used, not to be looked 
 at. Literary criticism has not reached it ; con- 
 siders it, in fact, below its level. Shakspeare 
 himself appears to have thought his " Venus and 
 Adonis " and " Lucrece " his first-written literary 
 works ; though, when these were published, he 
 
 tongned Shakspeare : witness his ' Venus and Adonis/ his ' Lu- 
 crece/ his sugared sonnets among his private friends, etc. 
 
 " As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for comedy and 
 tragedy among the Latins ; so Shakspeare, among the English, is 
 the most excellent in both kinds for the stage : for comedy, wit- 
 ness his ' Gentleman of Verona,' his ' Errors,' his ' Love's La- 
 bor 's Lost,' his ' Love's Labor 's Won/ his ' Midsummer Night's 
 Dream,' and his ' Merchant of Venice-; ' for tragedy, his ' Rich- 
 ard II.,' ' Eichard HI.,' ' Henry IV.,' ' King John,' ' Titus An- 
 dronicus,' and his ' Komeo and Jnliet.' 
 
 " As Epius Stola said that the Muses would speak with Plau- 
 tus's tongue if they would speak Latin, so I say that the Muses 
 would speak with Shakspeare's fine-filed phrase if they would 
 speak English." 
 
SBAK8PEARE. 319 
 
 had already composed many of his dramatic mas- 
 terpieces. So Shakspeare's contemporaries loved 
 him very tenderly, — " this side idolatry," says 
 Ben Jonson. They called him " pleasant Willy," 
 and other endearing epithets. They very much 
 enjoyed his plays ; but as works of art — no, they 
 were too irregular for that. 
 
 So, all through the next century, Shakspeare 
 was regarded as a wild, irregular genius, — very 
 agreeable, but not very authentic in a literary 
 point of view. Even Milton's best allusion to 
 him says : — 
 
 " Sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, 
 Warbles his native wood-notes wild." 
 
 William Bosse, in 1621, requests Spenser, Chau- 
 cer, and Beaumont to Jie a little nearer to each 
 other in their graves, to make room for the " rare 
 tragedian, Shakspeare." And, in the same style, 
 Holland and Digges and Jasper Mayne, Dave- 
 nant and Shirley, and the like, eulogize his wild 
 fancy and irregular genius ; till good Dr. John- 
 son comes and gives us the picture of " Time " 
 toiling after him, and losing his breath trying to 
 overtake him. Pope informs us that Shakspeare 
 wrote for gain, and " became immortal in his own 
 despite." Gray calls him " Nature's darling." 
 Churchill says that "a noble wildness flashes 
 from his eyes ; " and at last Voltaire arrives, and 
 gives us the ultimatum of this sort of criticism in 
 his famous account of Hamlet : — 
 
320 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " It is a gross and barbarous piece, which would not 
 be endured by the vilest populace of France or Italy. 
 Hamlet goes crazy in the second act ; his mistress goes 
 crazy in the third. The prince kills the father of his 
 mistress, pretending to kill a rat. They dig a grave on 
 the stage. The grave-diggers say abominably gross 
 things, holding the skulls of the dead in their hands. 
 Hamlet replies in answers no less disgusting and silly 
 than theirs. During this time, Poland is conquered by 
 one of the actors. Hamlet, his mother and father-in- 
 law, drink together on the stage : they sing, quarrel, 
 fight, and kill each other. One would think this play 
 the work of the imagination of a drunken savage." 
 
 Shakspeare may be said to have been rediscov- 
 ered in Germany, — first by Lessing, afterward 
 by Goetherand his friends. , Gervinus, whose work, 
 lately translated, gives us the whole literature of 
 the matter in two large volumes of exhaustive crit- 
 icism, says that Lessing was the man who first 
 valued Shakspeare according to his true desert, 
 and Goethe the first who gave an example of 
 the true method of criticism. Then Schlegel and 
 Tieck in Germany, Coleridge and Lamb in Eng- 
 land, assisted in the rehabilitation of Shakspeare. 
 They proved that he was as much of an artist as 
 of a genius ; that he is as full of wisdom as of 
 fancy ; that his supposed faults are often his 
 greatest merits ; and that no one is quite great 
 enough yet fully to know him. 
 
 The effect on literature of this new-born love 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 321 
 
 for Shakspeare was most beneficial. The dead, 
 dry literature of the eighteenth century came to 
 life when the body of Shakspeare touched it, as 
 the corpse rcTived, and stood on its feet, when it 
 touched the bones of Elisha. Thus the course of 
 thought in regard to our poet has been like the 
 course of his own brook, — falling at one time 
 over rough pebbles and hard critical rocks, but 
 again resuming its sweet and placid course with an 
 ever-deepening, ever-enlarging volume of water: — 
 
 " The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou knowest, being stopt, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with the enameled stones. 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage : 
 And so, by many winding nooks, he strays. 
 With willing course, to the wild ocean." 
 
 Thus the opinion of the world, under the guid- 
 ance of the greatest thinkers, has tended more 
 and more to this result, — that William Shak- 
 SPEABE stands at the summit of human intelli- 
 gence ; that of all mankind, since creation, his is 
 the supreme intellect. But, if so, this conclusion 
 follows, — that the imagination is the highest in- 
 tellectual faculty ; for, in him, all others were 
 subordinate to that. That power of creation, al- 
 most divine, which most likens man to God, was 
 supreme in him. Compare him with other think- 
 ers ; with great metaphysicians, like Plato, Aris- 
 totle, Descartes, Spinoza, Bacon ; and how poor 
 
 21 
 
322 SHAKSPEASE. 
 
 does their analysis seem by the side of his majestic 
 synthesis ! They can take a man to pieces : he 
 can create new men. Consider great mathemati- 
 cians and naturalists, like Newton, Galileo, Leib- 
 nitz, Pascal : they can observe the laws of Nature 
 which are the skeleton of the universe ; but Shak- 
 speare brings before us the universe itself, vitalized 
 and harmonious in every part. All master intel- 
 lects make use of the imagination : nothing can be 
 done in the world without it. Imagination is the 
 most practical of all the intellectual faculties : it 
 collects all the broken and scattered knowledges of 
 the mind into one complete picture. But in most 
 thinkers, even in great thinkers, it is the servant 
 of other faculties. The one distinction between 
 Shakspeare and all others is this, — that in him 
 all other faculties were subordinated to this : he 
 was, as he describes his poet, " of imagination all 
 compact." Observation, reason, memory, wit, hu- 
 mor, the analytic judgment, the critical under- 
 standing, — all were its willing servants ; all 
 brought their gifts of gold and silver, iron and 
 stone, gems and pearls, to be used by this impe- 
 rial faculty. No matter what is the special theme 
 and spirit of his subject: it comes immediately 
 and submissively under the rule of its king and 
 chief. In his historic plays, or histories, memory 
 is the chief servant of the imagination. It brings 
 the characters, events, costume, and tone of a past 
 age, taken bodily out of books or previous plays; 
 
SHAK8PEARE. 323 
 
 but they are all immediately harmonized and vitals 
 ized by the creative idea. We are cariied back to 
 the streets of Rome in the days of Caesar. Faith- 
 fully taking his facts from Plutarch in Thomas 
 North's translation (1579), he places us behind 
 the scenes ; shows us Rome as it looked to the 
 eyes and mind, first of Brutus, then of Caesar, then 
 of Antony. All the minutest details he accepts 
 from Plutarch: he copies the text with a ser- 
 vile fidelity, and then, by this wonderful power, 
 breathes life into this dry dust of history. If we 
 had been in Rome at the time of Caesar's death, 
 we should not have known as much of it as we can 
 now know through the mediation of Shakspeare. 
 
 In these histories his imagination is served by 
 memory ; but in such dramas as the " Tempest " 
 and the " Midsummer Night's Dream," another 
 faculty, — namely, fancy — is called up to show 
 its loyalty to the same chief. As memory, uncon- 
 trolled by imagination, gives only dry and dead 
 facts, showing the mere outside of things, details 
 unconnected by any law ; so fancy, uncontrolled 
 by imagination, gives no clear picture, but only 
 kaleidoscopic changes. We have enough of wild 
 fantastic fairy tales, extravaganzas where no law 
 restrains the willfulness of fancy ; but Shakspeare's 
 fairies — like Ariel, like Puck, like Oberon, like 
 Titania — are persons. Though the whole scene 
 is in Dreamland, yet here Dreamland becomes a 
 reality, has laws of its own, a unity pervading and 
 
324 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 restraining all its wildest variety; showing that 
 one idea is steadily in the master's mind, polar- 
 izing all details toward itself. 
 
 Then take another class of plays, — the reflec- 
 tive dramas, like " Hamlet," like " Lear," or 
 " Othello." Here the characteristic faculty at 
 work throughout is reason, — and analytic rea- 
 son. These masterpieces are strictly philosophic 
 studies of human nature. The human mind is 
 searched to the core, tried by every test and re- 
 agent, — shocked by terror, melted by passion, 
 dissolved in grief and pity, put into the fiery 
 crucible of terrible anguish, subjected to the ques- 
 tion by torture, till every element of human nature 
 is disclosed. And yet, during all this most de- 
 structive analysis, the central life of each person 
 remains : the personal identity is not reached. 
 Hamlet, Lear, Othello, do not fall apart into ab- 
 stractions of jealousy, rage, misanthropy : they 
 remain persons, and their lives are the real lives 
 of men. 
 
 Then there are the social dramas, — charming 
 scenes of daily life. Refined social intercourse; 
 brilliant dialogue ; development of character by 
 conversation, not by events, in the absence of any 
 story, — make the staple. The faculty which pre- 
 vails in these plays is that which we call wit, 
 especially that more refined order of wit which 
 appears in the conversation of brilliant women. 
 " Much Ado about Nothing," " The Two Gentle- 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 325 
 
 men of Verona," " Twelfth Night " are dialogue 
 plays of this sort. The main element in all is dia- 
 logue. " As You Like It," » The Winter's Tale," 
 and " Love's Labor 's Lost " differ from these only 
 in having more of nature. In the first, the out- 
 door life of the woods, inhabited by dukes and 
 lords, gives a picnic tone to the conversation. In 
 the " Winter's Tale," a more rustic and wilder 
 rural society of shepherds and clowns, and the air 
 of the hills, cause nature to predominate over man. 
 But in each of these pieces the ideal power mas- 
 ters the subject-matter ; and we may say of each 
 and every play, as Ovid says of the golden palace 
 of the gods : — 
 
 " Materiam superabat opus." 
 To each there is one tone, one spirit, one life. 
 Some of the plays are so purely poetical as to be 
 almost lyrics, as " Romeo and Juliet " and the 
 "Midsummer Night's Dream." Some are satu- 
 rated with humor, as the " Merry Wives of Wind- 
 sor," the " Comedy of Errors," and " Twelfth 
 Night." But whether the element of the piece is 
 comedy, is poetry, is philosophy, is fancy, is his- 
 tory, is outward nature, each one has its own per- 
 vading life, is a unit, is a whole, because of the 
 steady mastery of that grand imaginative faculty 
 which always keeps one idea supreme, and sub- 
 ordinates to that all details. 
 
 This creative, unifying power of imagination 
 causes Shakspeare's characters to become so many 
 
326 8HAK8PEABE. 
 
 real human beings added to mankind. We refer 
 to them as illustrations of human nature, as ex- 
 amples of human conduct, just as we should to 
 real beings. In one sense he has created another 
 world, and peopled it with another race of men 
 and women. Were Shakspeare's characters oblit- 
 erated we should lose about as much as if so 
 many of Plutarch's heroes were annihilated. 
 
 It is not so with the creations of other writers. 
 Take the characters of Scott, of Schiller, of Goe- 
 the : they are not quite persons. They owe some- 
 thing to costume, to circumstances. Take an every- 
 day man, and educate him in the Middle Ages as 
 a knight, and you have Ivanhoe ; take the same 
 man, and let him be brought up in Scotland in 
 the days of John Knox, and you have Halbert 
 Glendinning. In Goethe's characters you get a 
 glimpse of Goethe himself ; in Scott's, you catch 
 the twinkle of the sheriff's eye. " Tasso " is only 
 Goethe as he might have been if he had been an 
 Italian in his Werther-period. So it is with the 
 dramatists of Shakspeare's own day. Massinger's 
 villains only pretend to be villains : the nobleness 
 of Philip Massinger shines out of their gener- 
 ous faces presently. Ben Jonson's dramatis per- 
 sonce are variations of that sturdy, hard-working, 
 crabbed, poetic, prosaic, ill-adjusted great man. 
 But each one of Shakspeare's men and women is 
 as distinctly, though often as slightly, individualized 
 as the leaves of neighboring trees, — almost the 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 327 
 
 same, yet forever immutably different. Especially 
 does this appear in his women. Read Mrs. Jame- 
 son's work on his female characters, and notice 
 how each of the lovely creatures is her own sweet 
 self, though like enough to the others to be their 
 sister : — 
 
 " Fades non omnibus una, 
 Nee diversa tamen, qualis decet esse sororam." 
 
 Thus there is something of the lay figure in the 
 work of other authors, even the greatest. They 
 are built up from without. Take away what is 
 due to the times, to their situation, to their edu- 
 cation, and to certain external habits, and they 
 lose all individuality. But Shakspeare's grow 
 from within. Shylock is not merely a Jewish 
 miser, embittered against Christians by ill usage : 
 he is, first of all, Shylock himself. Falstaff is not 
 merely a glutton, a drunkard, a buffoon : back of 
 all these habits is the individual man. Othello 
 is not a picture of jealousy only ; lago of cruel 
 intellectual malice ; they are persons with these 
 habits of mind and states of feeling. 
 
 And consider the most marvelous of them all, 
 — Hamlet ; the most wonderful, because in this 
 the artist has gone wholly out of his own age and 
 century, and come down to ours. Hamlet belongs, 
 not to the sixteenth-century period of vernal and 
 luxuriant growth, but rather to an epoch in which 
 reflection often outweighs action. Hamlet is a 
 
328 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 man sick of life before lie has begun to live ; to 
 whom " all the uses of the world seem stale, flat, 
 and unprofitable ; " " sicklied o'er with the pale 
 cast of thought." Overthought has paralyzed the 
 will-power in Hamlet. He is in a condition of 
 moral catalepsy ; seeing and knowing eyerything, 
 but incapable of motion, — staying in any position 
 in which he happens to be. This moral torpor 
 of Hamlet gives its gray tone to the whole play. 
 How different is the character of Macbeth ! Here, 
 Shakspeare, instead of throwing himself forward 
 three centuries, has gone back five. Macbeth hes- 
 itates over his deeds, as Hamlet does, but not 
 from the same cause. His indecision comes from 
 too little power of reflection, not from too much. 
 Hamlet is like a man dazzled by too much light ; 
 Macbeth, like one groping in the dark. A wild, 
 rude, half savage stream of life rushes like a 
 mountain torrent through one play ; a languid 
 stream, half hidden with fogs, creeps through the 
 other. 
 
 The conclusion to which we are brought by 
 these studies of Shakspeare's genius is, that man 
 is really what the ancients called him, — a micro- 
 cosm, a little world. Though it is evident that 
 the powers of observation in our poet were ex- 
 traordinary, yet observation could never have given 
 him this knowledge of man and life. The soul 
 of man has unexplored depths of latent knowl- 
 edge, which the imagination uses in these crea- 
 
SBAKSPEARE. 329 
 
 tions. Look at the figures in the Sistine Chapel, 
 hundreds of human forms in every position and 
 attitude, of human faces with every expression 
 of thought and feeling, all dravra in two years by 
 Michael Angelo. Does any one pretend that he 
 had observed the human face in all these states ; 
 that he had noticed the human figure in all these 
 altitudes ; and so only copied what he had seen ? 
 No ; but he, the Shakspeare of art, created new 
 men and women as Nature herself would have 
 created them. He did not remember how they 
 had been ; he created them as they ought to be. 
 And so Shakspeare created his hundreds of per- 
 sons, each such an individual soul as Nature would 
 herself have created, if she had reason for it ; 
 not by putting together this trait and that which 
 he had noticed in men and women, but out of 
 some " pattern shown him in the mount," some 
 instinctive inborn familiarity with Mother Nature's 
 original types and methods. 
 
 No doubt the imagination, in its full activity, 
 kindles the memory. We see examples of this in 
 our dreams, where this creative spirit prepares a 
 stage, scenery, actors, and introduces us as one of 
 the persons in a tragedy or comedy in which we 
 take a part, without knowing beforehand what 
 the dSnoHement is to be. Awaking from such a 
 dream, we have noticed that the characters in it 
 were well preserved throughout, and that it had a 
 plot of its OAvn, though we did not ourselves know 
 
330 8BAK8PEASE. 
 
 what it was to be ; and yet we had arranged it 
 ourselves. And how perfect the pictures of per- 
 sons and places, how exact the scenery, which our 
 sleeping memory had furnished to our imagina- 
 tion ! No such vivid pictures could we create 
 by any effort of our waking memory. Coleridge 
 says that in his dream every man is a Shak- 
 speare. At all events, we see by our dreams 
 something of the nature of that commanding fac- 
 ulty, in its unconscious action, which in Shak- 
 speare worked consciously, in full harmony with 
 all the other powers of thought, and which every 
 other power of that kingly intellect served with a 
 most loyal allegiance. 
 
 Mr. Emerson, in his wise and charming Essay 
 on Shakspeare, qualifies him as " The Poet." 
 Shakspeare is, emphatically, the poet, — the poet 
 of mankind, — poet in the highest sense, combin- 
 ing both classic and romantic definitions, — Totrp-^s, 
 or " maker ; " Trovatore, or " finder." He is the 
 great maker, the master-artist, who forms men 
 and women of the clay. He is also the Trou- 
 badour, " the finder ; " the soul to which every- 
 thing comes ; who discovers as well as forms. In 
 a word, he is both purely passive, and open to 
 the universe to receive; wholly active, self-pos- 
 sessed, and diligent to nse what he sees. He 
 is, therefore, the perfect synthesis of the classic 
 and the romantic school ; the Persian Gulf, into 
 which these twin rivers of thought, this Tigris 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 331 
 
 and Euphrates, running so long side by side, at 
 last mingle their waters in a sweet consent. He 
 disregarded the unities, did he ? — therefore was 
 not classic ? But what is the unity of all unities 
 in art but the bringing into harmony the wildest 
 variety, the most antagonistic forms ? It is the 
 unity of the spirit, not of the letter. The nar- 
 row and limited genius, whether in poetry, archi- 
 tecture, or painting, seeks unity through dilution 
 and emptiness. Let your picture contain only a 
 single figure ; let there be no contrasts of color, 
 no accidental lights, no long-reaching perspectives, 
 no gradation of tints ; certainly you attain a sort 
 of unity ; notably that of monotony. So in archi- 
 tecture : you may have a symmetrical unity just as 
 monotonous, — three windows on one side, and 
 three on the other ; but who does not prefer the 
 unity born of infinite variety in the groupings of 
 a Gothic minster or the spire of Strasburg ? The 
 perfect unity of each Shakspearian drama is that 
 it has its own tone, spirit, life, all through, amid 
 its wildest freedom and extremest contrasts of in- 
 cident and character. 
 
 And, in that other charm of poetry which con- 
 sists in music and melody, our great master is 
 still unsurpassed. We have had other exquisite 
 lyrical writers, but no such lyrics as his. Who- 
 ever has had the pleasure of hearing Mrs. Kem- 
 ble read these perfect gems of song, knows that 
 nothing else resembles them. There is no such 
 music, no such language : — 
 
332 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " When he speaks, 
 The air, a chartered libertine, is still. 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears 
 To steal his sweet ana honeyed sentences." 
 
 If the primal, central element of every poem is 
 its Idea, which gives it its unity, that in which it 
 ultimates itself is the Word. Language is fluent 
 with Shakspeare. Words cease to have any arbi- 
 trary or conventional character ; they take the 
 meaning he chooses to give them. There are no 
 phrases in his writing ; no conventionalisms ; no 
 words obdurate to the fiery faculty which fuses 
 them all, and then gives them new forms and 
 uses. It may, perhaps, be said, that all his lan- 
 guage is suggestive and figurative. There is no 
 mathematical or logical use of words, — no use 
 which allows them to retain a definite sense. 
 Every word is vital, and therefore capable of a 
 new expression in every new position which it 
 may occupy. This alone gives the absolute mas- 
 tery of language to the creative faculty ; and thus 
 Shakspeare, among all writers, is never the servant 
 of his own words. 
 
 To illustrate my meaning here, I will take the 
 first example that comes : — 
 
 " There are a kind of men whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like the standing pool." 
 
 The rigid, self-satisfied stupidity in the face of 
 the pompous blockhead first creams, then mantles. 
 The interior self-complacency comes to the sur- 
 
8BAKSPEARE. 333 
 
 face in a standing smile like cream. But it is 
 a mantle too. It does not express thought ; it 
 merely hides the absence of all thought. And 
 then it is "like the standing pool," — at once you 
 see the green surface of the pool, with no ripple, 
 no flow. A second-rate genius, having hit on such 
 a simile, would have spent twenty lines in elab- 
 orating it. Shakspeare touches it, and passes on. 
 He gives in two lines three distinct pictures, yet 
 all in harmony, and each carrying farther the 
 thought suggested by the other. Thus words be- 
 come vital in his treatment. 
 
 When we speak of the great moral influence 
 of Shakspeare, we do not intend any Puritanic, 
 scholastic, or pedantic morality. We do not mean 
 morality after the letter, but after the spirit. We 
 do not mean that his plays wind up with a moral, 
 that each one teaches a distinct ethical proposi- 
 tion, or that they are constructed on the plan 
 sometimes called moral, — of rewarding the good 
 by earthly success, and punishing the wicked with 
 temporal losses. Shakspeare's moral influence is 
 of a far higher order than this. It lies in his firm 
 persuasion that this world is God's world ; that all 
 things, therefore, have a divine and sacred mean- 
 ing ; that nobleness tends upward, and sin down- 
 ward. That influence is most moral which most 
 inspires us with love for goodness ; which makes 
 faith, integrity, generosity, purity, seem infinitely 
 charming and lovely ; and shows sin, however sue- 
 
334 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 cessful in appearance, to be a miserable failure. 
 Whatever makes us love goodness, and hate sin, 
 is most moral ; and this is what Shakspeare always 
 does. 
 
 There is another important element of morality 
 in literature. Goethe says that the only kind of 
 moral tale is that which shows us that, beside ap- 
 petite and passion, there is a power within us able 
 to deny and control them; that we need not be 
 conquered by our lower nature, but can always con- 
 quer it. Those books are the most immoral books, 
 therefore, which (like Balzac's novels, for exam- 
 ple) assume that it is a matter of course for people 
 to go wrong, to follow usage, to yield to tempta- 
 tion. A man who tries to perguade you to do 
 wrong is not so much of a Satan as the man who 
 assumes, as a matter of course, that you are going 
 to do wrong. For the first admits that there is 
 another way, by trying to induce you to go his 
 way : by urging you to go wrong, he admits that 
 there are motives which may lead you to go right. 
 But the most dangerous, subtle, and successful of 
 all tempters is he who ignores the existence of 
 any other way than the wrong one ; or who treats 
 wrong-doing as a merry joke, that it would be 
 silly and ridiculous to consider seriously. Just 
 so Shylock persuades Antonio to consent to his 
 frightful proposition by treating it as a jest : — 
 
 " Go with me to a notary ; seal me there 
 Your single bond ; and in a merry sport, 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 335 
 
 If you repay me not on such a day. 
 
 In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
 
 Ilxpressed in the condition, let the forfeit 
 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut ofi and taken 
 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me." 
 
 Nothing could be more unnatural than for An- 
 tonio to consent to such a proposal, if made seri- 
 ously, — nothing more likely (if put in the off- 
 hand way, as a mere joke, — to be consented to, 
 of course) than for him to say as he does, — 
 
 " Content, in faith : I '11 seal to such a bond. 
 And say. There is much kindness in the Jew." 
 
 Considered in this light, Shakspeare's writings 
 have a high moral influence. He never makes 
 evil fascinating. His villains are often sagacious, 
 and highly intellectual, like lago ; often very droll 
 and witty, like FalstafE : but they are never made 
 attractive ; we never like them, nor what they do. 
 Did ever any temperance orator hold up such a 
 picture of the evils of a debauched life as we have 
 in the last days of Sir John Falstafl', driveling, 
 silly, fallen from the society of princes into that of 
 Pistol, Dame Quickly, and Doll Tearsheet ? The 
 successful ambition of Macbeth, forcing its way up 
 to the royalty of Scotland, might seem, if wicked, 
 yet full of energy and courage. But Shakspeare 
 withdraws the veil, and shows us how weak, 
 vacillating, cowardly, and empty is such ambition 
 and such success. Not a word of moralizing 
 
336 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 meantime: he shows us the moral; he does not 
 tell us of it. 
 
 So the substance of his works is eminently 
 moral ; for it is reality, truth, beauty, love. If 
 these are moral, he is so. 
 
 " Fair, kind, and true is all my argument, — 
 Fair, kind, and true, Tarying to other words; 
 And in this change is my invention spent, — 
 Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords." 
 
 Perhaps the one feature of Shakspeare which 
 gives most purity to his works is his real respect 
 for woman. He had seen bad women ; there is 
 reason to think that he was not happy in his own 
 marriage ; some of his sonnets are addressed to a 
 woman, whose thousand errors he notes, but says 
 that his five senses, seeing those errors, cannot 
 " dissuade his one foolish heart from serving her." 
 Yet whoever knows the corrupt, cynical tone in 
 which woman and love were spoken of by Shak- 
 speare's predecessors and successors, must wonder 
 at his perception of woman's purity, truth, and 
 nobleness. He could paint wicked women, like 
 Lady Macbeth ; frail women, like Cressida ; unpo- 
 etic women, like Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford ; vulgar 
 women, like Dame Quickly ; and a fine lady, like 
 Beatrice. But he most loved to draw, with deli- 
 cate pencil dipped in celestial tints, characters of 
 the snowy purity of Imogen, the saintly grace of 
 Isabella, the brilliant intelligence of Portia, the 
 poetic soul of Miranda, the devoted tenderness of 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 337 
 
 Desdemona. Never was such an offering of rever- 
 ence laid at the feet of woman as Shakspeare has 
 presented in characters like these. And, to com- 
 plete the expression of his admiration and homage, 
 he has selected his most satanic creation, — the 
 one who neither believed in God nor man, — and 
 put into his mouth that kind of contempt toward 
 the whole sex which folly and wickedness have in 
 every age hastened to utter, thereby pronouncing 
 their own condemnation. It is lago, the bitter 
 cyaic, the man who has no faith in virtue ; the 
 cold materialist ; the man to whom a ruined char- 
 acter seems a less evil than a broken head, — this 
 is the one whom Shakspeare has selected to utter 
 the stock satires, the regulation witticisms, against 
 woman ; and he could not show his reverence for 
 woman more than by thus making lago her li- 
 beler. Therefore, if the happiness and virtue of 
 the world, and the progress of society, depend, as 
 they do, on the position which woman occupies, 
 and the esteem in which she is held, Shakspeare's 
 influence may be considered as one of the motors 
 in Christian civilization. 
 
 This being his view of woman, his idea of love 
 is high and noble. Coleridge says, " There is not 
 a vicious passage in Shakspeare, though many gross 
 ones, for grossness belongs to the age ; " the age of 
 such writers as Beaumont and Fletcher ; and after- 
 ward of Dryden. 
 
 Shakspeare's drama, amid such associates, was 
 
 22 
 
338 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 like the Lady in "Comus " among the obscene and 
 riotous company around her. The love he de- 
 scribed was of the soul. The reasons his heroes 
 give for loving are such as these : — 
 
 " For she is wise, i£ I can judge of her ; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
 And true she is, as she hath proved herself : 
 And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true, 
 Shall she be placfed in my constant soul." 
 
 The lower fascination of love he describes \hus, 
 in lines which do not contain one feeling which is 
 not spiritual and refined : — 
 
 "Except I be by Silvia in the night. 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 
 There is no day for me to look upon. 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive." 
 
 And how noble is Portia's confession of her af- 
 fection for Bassanio, and the pure womanly sur- 
 render of herself, her possessions, her high posi- 
 tion, as the princely heiress of Belmont! Mrs. 
 Jameson, quoting the passage, says it has a con- 
 sciousness and tender seriousness approaching to 
 solemnity : — 
 
 " You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand. 
 Such as I am. But the full sum of me 
 Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed ; 
 Happy in this, — she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
 
SHAKSPEARE. 339 
 
 She is not bred so dull but she may learn ; 
 Happiest of all is, that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to yours, to be directed 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king." 
 
 But that for which, most of all, we remember 
 Sliakspeare's birth with gratitude to-day is his 
 wisdom. He saw the laws which govern the 
 world. " He is inconceivably wise," says Mr. 
 Emerson; "the others conceivably." The follow, 
 ing passage in Ben Jonson's "Poetaster" seems 
 to me to describe Shakspeare, though professing 
 to refer to Virgil : — 
 
 " That which he hath writ 
 Is with such judgment labored and distilled 
 Through all the needful uses of our lives. 
 That, could a man remember but his lines. 
 He should not touch at any serious point 
 But he might breathe his spirit out of him." 
 
 And again, — 
 
 " And for his poesy, 't is so rammed with life, 
 That it shall gather strength of life with being, 
 And live hereafter more admired than now." 
 
 His wisdom is for all times. He possessed 
 knowledge of man, in each of its three forms, 
 more than any other writer. He knew human 
 nature, or the common soul with its depths and 
 heights, — those universal principles the same in 
 all. Then he knew man as an individual, — not 
 the same, but various ; each one himself, no one 
 like another. And, thirdly, he knew mankind, — 
 
340 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 man in action, the social man ; that is, he knew 
 man in repose, man in personal development, and 
 man in society. 
 
 This last knowledge is what we name Wisdom, 
 as the first is Philosophy, and the second is Dra- 
 matic Genius. The wisdom of life, the same in all 
 ages ; the proverbial wisdom of Solomon, of Saadi, 
 of ^sop, of Dr. Franklin ; the sayings which guide 
 men in all affairs great and small, — this is what 
 makes him our teacher, the common teacher of all 
 thinking men in all ages. England and America 
 especially, whose tongue he speaks, have both been 
 taught by him. Perhaps they never needed his 
 teachings more than now. 
 
 Three hundred years have passed since Shak- 
 speare was born; and he is still the educator of the 
 English, German, and American intellect. His 
 works are the university where the teachers of our 
 land are themselves taught. The great inventions 
 which have come since his time, and have revolu- 
 tionized England and America, are of trivial im- 
 portance compared with his thought and speech. 
 Coleridge says of him, " I have been almost daily 
 reading him since I was ten years old. The thirty 
 intervening years have been unintermittingly and 
 not fruitlessly employed in the study of the Greek, 
 Latin, English, Italian, Spanish, and German 
 belles-lettrists ; and the last fifteen years, in addi- 
 tion, far more intensely in the analysis of the laws 
 of life and reason as they exist in man : and upon 
 
8HAKSPEARE. 341 
 
 every step T have made forward in taste, in acqui- 
 sition of facts from histoiy or my own observation, 
 and in knowledge of the different laws of being, 
 and their apparent exceptions from accidental col- 
 lision of disturbing forces, — at every new acces- 
 sion of information, after every successful exercise 
 of meditation and every fresh presentation of ex- 
 perience, I have unfailingly discovered a propor- 
 tionate increase of wisdom and intuition in Shak- 
 speare." 
 
 And Mr. Emerson, whose essay resumes in 
 itself most of our best thoughts concerning this 
 great master, says : " He wrote the airs for all our 
 modern music ; he wrote the text of modern life, — 
 the text of manners ; he drew the man of England 
 and Europe ; the father of the man in America ; 
 he read the hearts of men and women, their prob- 
 ity and second thought and wiles, — the wiles of 
 innocence, and the transitions by which _ virtues 
 and vices slide into their contraries ; he drew the 
 fine demarcations of freedom and fate ; he knew 
 the laws of repression which make the police of 
 nature ; and all the sweets and terrors of human 
 lot lay in his jnind as truly, but as softly, as the 
 landscape lies in the eye." 
 
XVII. 
 JEAN JAOOUES EOTJSSEAU. 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 This book, published some years since, contains 
 interesting naatter for any new biography of the 
 great, sad, prose-poet of France. It contains rem- 
 iniscences concerning him from simple, honest. 
 Christian men, — his fellow-townsmen, who knew 
 him well. They do not think of him as the 
 great philosopher and marvelous writer, who set 
 the French language on fire, and turned its cold 
 phrases into burning eloquence. They think of 
 him only as one whom they could not quite un- 
 derstand, or quite approve ; but whom they could 
 not help loving. It has also contributions from 
 many citizens of Geneva and the neighboring 
 towns, and shows us Rousseau as he was, when 
 his unquiet heart and sensitive nature found peace 
 for a time among his simple fellow-citizens. The 
 period, perhaps, has hardly yet arrived for writing 
 the biography of this great soul ; but, when it 
 comes, this unpretending volume will be one of its 
 
 1 Article in The Christian Examiner, on "Rousseau et les 
 G&evois. Par M. J. Gaberel, ancien pasteur." 
 
846 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 " Memoires pour servir." It informs us, too, that 
 there is a collection of nearly two thousand in- 
 edited letters of Rousseau in the Library of Neuf- 
 chttel, classified by the librarian, M. Bovet. It 
 also mentions that M. le docteur Coindet, grand- 
 nephew of Rousseau's friend of that name, has 
 •A voluminous collection of notes and letters ad- 
 dressed to his uncle by the philosopher. It con- 
 tains many interesting anecdotes, all tending to 
 show that, in the opinion of these good men, who 
 knew Rousseau in his private life, he was a relig- 
 ious man ; a truth-seeking, truth-loving man ; and 
 one who desired human love rather than fame. 
 
 Perhaps the present century may be able to do 
 justice to Rousseau. I have long desired to utter 
 a protest against the wide-spread opinion, held 
 by the Christian public, of his infidelity in opin- 
 ion and his immorality of character. The com- 
 mon view of Rousseau is unjust to his belief and 
 his life. Unfortunate and unhappy in a thousand 
 ways, he is not that ogre of evil which his name 
 represents to so many minds. 
 
 Rousseau was a phenomenon, unintelligible to 
 his own time, and not yet understood by ours. To 
 his contemporaries he was the object of immense 
 admiration and odium ; and to our age he stands 
 as a misty representative of sophistry and un- 
 belief. He is classed with Hume and Voltaire, 
 though radically opposed to them in his ideas, 
 and antipathic in the tendencies of his nature. 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 347 
 
 When his works first appeared they electrified 
 France and Europe. Hume writes from Paris in 
 1765 : " It is impossible to express or imagine the 
 enthusiasm of this nation in his favor ; no person 
 ever so much engaged their attention as Rous- 
 seau. Voltaire and everybody else are quite 
 eclipsed by him." When " La Nouvelle H^lo'ise " 
 appeared, the libraries could not answer the calls 
 made for it from all classes. The book was let 
 by the day and by the hour. But this universal 
 admiration was attended or immediately followed 
 by a terrible persecution. Banished from Paris 
 for the publication of " Emile," a work which 
 contains the germs of our modern improvements in 
 education, he went to Geneva ; threatened with 
 imprisonment there, he fled to Neufch^tel ; driven 
 from that place, he lived on an island in the Lake 
 of Bienne,from which he was again expelled by 
 the Canton of Berne. Longing for repose, he 
 was a perpetual wanderer ; thirsting for sympa- 
 thy, he was in constant warfare. The. one literary 
 man of his time and land who was sincerely re- 
 ligious, he passed then, and has passed ever since, 
 as an example of unbelief. A singular character, 
 certainly, and well deserving of our study. Lord 
 Holland tells us that Napoleon said of Rousseau, 
 that "without him there would have been no 
 French Revolution." The historian Schlosser 
 speaks of his " bringing forward an entirely new 
 system of absolute democracy." Von Raumer, in 
 
848 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 his history of education, gives Rousseau a high 
 place as the founder and inspirer of this modern 
 science. Sismondi says, " Rousseau in his writ- 
 ings went to the foundations of human society." 
 Buckle remarks that he has not found a single in- 
 stance of an attack on Christianity in all Rous- 
 seau's writings; and that in this respect he was 
 entirely distinguished from the other writers of his 
 day. Louis Blanc declares that Rousseau alone 
 withstood the movement headed by Voltaire and 
 all the philosophers, resisting by himself the whole 
 spirit of his time. " The age exalted reason ; he 
 preached sentiment. Among the prophets of indi- 
 vidualism he alone taught the Christian doctrine 
 of brotherhood. The mission of Jean Jacques, 
 in a society which was in a state of disintegra- 
 tion, was to oppose to the exaggerated worship 
 of reason the worship of sentiment." M. Ville- 
 main, one of the foremost among the historians of 
 French literature, considers him " the successor of 
 Montesquieu in political science," " the sincere 
 friend of morality and justice," " magical in his 
 talent," " with a soul of fire ; " and agrees with 
 those who ascribe to his genius an immense influ- 
 ence over the future. He was, says he, " the 
 Bible of his time ; and there was not an act in 
 the French Revolution in which you do not find 
 his good or evil influence." But, as regards re- 
 ligion, Villemain declares that, " at a period when 
 the old religious beliefs had faded away from the 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 349 
 
 public mind, no better and no more useful book 
 than ' Emile ' could have been -offered to it." 
 Rousseau, he adds, " was the religious teacher of 
 his age, inspiring a faith in God, in the soul, in 
 goodness here and immortality hereafter, which 
 was not taught then, even in the Christian pul- 
 pits. For the Catholic pulpit of France then 
 preached mere moral discourses on ' Affability,' 
 on ' Equanimity of Temper,' or ' The Love of 
 Order;' and sought to be pardoned its sacred 
 mission by affecting a kind of judicious worldli- 
 ness." The school of sensation ruled in philoso- 
 phy ; and to the school of sensation Rousseau ut- 
 tered these words : " Judgment and sensation are 
 not the same thing : I am not merely a sensitive 
 and passive being, but also an active and intelligent 
 being ; and, whatever philosophy may say about 
 it, I shall venture to claim the honor of being able 
 to think." In reply to Diderot, D'Holbach, and 
 Helvetius, and to the Atheism which they taught, 
 he inferred an intelligent supreme being from the 
 very existence of matter. To the Encyclopsedists 
 he replies : " Philosophy can do nothing which re- 
 ligion cannot do better than she ; and religion can 
 do a great many other things which philosophy 
 cannot do at all." 
 
 These facts indicate, that down to the pres- 
 ent time Rousseau has not been generally under- 
 stood, and that he deserves a further and more 
 impartial study. 
 
350 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau was born at Geneva in 
 1712, and died near Paris in 1778, at the age of 
 66. He was a contemporary, during most of his 
 life, with Swedenborg, Kant, Voltaire, John Wes- 
 ley, Benjamin Franklin, Linnseus, Dr. Johnson, 
 Hume, and Burke. How different were these 
 men from each other ! how hard for them to un- 
 derstand each other ! How hard for the practical 
 Benjamin Franklin, the tory Samuel Johnson, the 
 pious Wesley, the philosophic Kant, or the mysti- 
 cal Swedenborg, to find any meaning in such a 
 man as Rousseau ! But posterity, looking back- 
 ward, can recognize the good which all have done 
 by their different methods. " There are so many 
 voices in the world, and none without its own 
 signification." 
 
 The family of Rousseau was Fi-ench ; and though 
 he was fond of calling himself a citizen of Geneva, 
 he belonged altogether in his soul, as in litera- 
 ture, to France. His ancestors were Huguenots, 
 who had gone to Switzerland to secure liberty of 
 conscience. His father was a watchmaker. His 
 mother died when he was born ; and he never 
 knew a mother's care. He was a sickly child; 
 and his father, to amuse him, would sit up all 
 night reading novels to him. But when he was 
 ten years old he lost his father also, who went into 
 exile in consequence of fighting a duel, and aban- 
 doned his child to the care of his uncle, who placed 
 him at school in the town of Bossey, At twelve 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 351 
 
 years he was put as an apprentice with an en- 
 graver, who was a harsh employer; and when 
 Rousseau was sixteen he ran away and took ref- 
 uge with a Catholic curate in Savoy, who, instead 
 of sending him back to his family, preferred to 
 keep him, that he might convert him to the Cath- 
 olic Church. For this purpose he sent him to live 
 with Madame Warens, a lady who figures largely 
 in his memoirs. She was a recent convert to the 
 Catholic Church. She had deserted her husband, 
 with whom she did not live happily. Protected 
 by the King of Sardinia, and living on a small 
 pension ; a pretty woman, kind-hearted, but with- 
 out principle, — she persuaded Rousseau to abjure 
 Protestantism, which he did in the city of Turin 
 in 1728. Here, as before, the boy was left with- 
 out friends or protectors. He lived at service, and 
 received good advice from a deistical abb^, who 
 taught him at the same time morality and deism. 
 From Turin he returned to Madame Warens, who 
 was still living at Annecy. He studied music and 
 gave music lessons, by which he gained a partial 
 support. After some wanderings and changes of 
 fortune, at the age of twenty-one he received an 
 office from the King of Sardinia, through the in- 
 fluence of his old friend, Madame Warens. In 
 1736 he went to live with her at Charmettes, in 
 the country, where he passed some happy years in 
 work, in study, and in the enjoyment of nature. 
 In 1741, at the age of twenty-nine, Rousseau 
 
352 JEAN JACQUE8 ROUSSEAU. 
 
 went to Paris in order to exhibit a new method of 
 musical notation. He carried in his pocket fifteen 
 pieces of silver and his comedy of " Narcissus." 
 His musical notation did not succeed ; but he ob- 
 tained introductions to different persons of distinc- 
 tion, and through one of them received the office 
 of Secretary of Legation to the French embassy at 
 Venice, where he distinguished himself by his fidel- 
 ity and energy. Returning to Paris, he became 
 acquainted with Th^r^e le Vasseur. She was a 
 laundress, three and twenty years old, ignorant, 
 and incapable of being educated. She never could 
 learn the names of the months, nor how to count. 
 But she was lively, gentle, and kind. With her 
 Rousseau lived many years, and finally married 
 her. His father dying about this time, Rousseau 
 secured his share of his mother's inheritance, the 
 life interest of which he had allowed his father 
 to enjoy. But all his means were wanted to help 
 his friend, Madame Warens, who had become 
 poor, and the relations of Th^r^se, who were very 
 greedy. 
 
 In 1750, when thirty-eight years old, he wrote 
 the work which introduced him to the public, 
 which was a short treatise for a prize proposed by 
 the Academy of Dijon, on the question whether 
 the revival of learning has contributed to the im- 
 provement of morals. He took the negative side, 
 and here began the career of thought which gave 
 him all his distinction. His doctrine was that 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 353 
 
 man was only good and only happy while follow- 
 ing nature, and that the arts and sciences are the 
 children of a corrupt civilization. His treatise 
 received the prize. It was followed by a success- 
 ful opera, a letter on French music, and, in 1753, 
 a Treatise on the Origin of Inequality among 
 Mankind. In this he carried still farther his fa- 
 vorite doctrine of the fall of man through civiliza- 
 tion. 
 
 He had before him the terrible inequalities 
 which then existed in France. He wished to at- 
 tack despotism, and he attacked all society. He 
 desired to assail the enormous distinctions of 
 property, and he assailed property itself. 
 
 " The first man," said he, " who, having inclosed a 
 piece of ground, said, ' It belongs to me,' and found peo- 
 ple simple enough to believe him, was the true founder 
 of civil society. How many crimes, wars, and murders 
 would not he have spared to the human race who should 
 have plucked up the fence, and said to his companions, 
 ' Beware of listening to this impostor : you are lost if 
 you forget that the fruits of the earth belong to every- 
 body, and that the earth itself belongs to nobody.' " 
 
 This treatise produced great excitement, and of 
 course much opposition as well as admiration. 
 Voltaire, thanking Rousseau for his work, wrote 
 to him, " One feels a desire to go on all fours 
 while reading your essay." Buffon made some 
 serious objections, founded on the physical nature 
 
 23 
 
354 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 of man, which demanded society to protect the 
 feeble age of childhood. 
 
 From this time it was evident that there was a 
 breach between Rousseau and the French philoso- 
 phers Diderot, Grimm, and Holbach. His ideas 
 and theirs were radically opposed. He believed 
 in God, in Immortality, and Retribution : they be- 
 lieved in this present world and the five senses. 
 He believed in the brotherhood of man : they be- 
 lieved in every one for himself. He was the 
 champion of Equality : they were the friends and 
 protigSs of the Aristocrats. They looked down 
 upon him with an air of patronage and of con- 
 temptuous superiority. The blame for these diffi- 
 culties long rested on Rousseau, and was attributed 
 to his morbid jealousy. But M. Villemain says 
 that now, when so many correspondences have 
 been published, we must confess that these friends 
 of Rousseau were very hard upon him. 
 
 In 1754 Rousseau took possession of a cottage 
 at Montmorency, about four miles from Paris, 
 called the Hermitage. It was a present from 
 Mme. d'Epinay, who owned the estate. Walking 
 with her one day in this pleasant valley, he cried 
 out, " What an asylum for me ! " She made no 
 reply, but rebuilt the house, and the next time 
 they visited the place playfully said, " My bear, 
 behold your asylum ! " In this happy retirement 
 he wrote the " Nouvelle H^loise " and most of the 
 "Eraile." What an active employment of his 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 855 
 
 time during the six years which he passed here 
 and at the village of Montmorency afterward ! 
 For, beside the "H^loise" and "Emile," he wrote 
 the letter to D'Alembert and the " Social Con- 
 tract ; " and, when driven from his asylum, during 
 his flight, " The Levite of Ephraim." It was the 
 most fruitful period of his life, — the happy au- 
 tumn in which the long, cold spring-time of his 
 struggling youth and the passionate heats of his 
 summer bore the rich fruits of thought and labor. 
 It was his only really happy time, — the little in- 
 terval of sunshine in the midst of a stormy day. 
 The rest of his years — persecuted at once by Cath- 
 olic and Protestant bigots and by philosophical un- 
 believers ; driven in exile from France into Switz- 
 erland, from Switzerland into Prussia, and from 
 Prussia into England ; half crazy with suspicion 
 and jealousy; the object at the same moment of 
 fanatical hatred, extravagant admiration, and bit- 
 ter ridicule — he never knew a quiet hour till he 
 dropped exhausted into his grave. And, as if the 
 same fate which pursued him in life was to follow 
 him into his tomb, he was not allowed to sleep 
 peacefully on the island in the little lake, shaded 
 with poplars, but was carried, in 1791, with Vol- 
 taire, to the Pantheon, and placed in a kind of 
 stone cellar below the church, in a wooden sar- 
 cophagus, en attendant something better. 
 
 What, then, was the religious belief or unbelief 
 of Rousseau ? 
 
356 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 First : in an age in which atheism was the fash- 
 ion he believed firmly in God. 
 
 For, in the period preceding the French Revo- 
 lution, philosophy in France had sunk into the 
 grossest materialism. De la Mettrie gave himself 
 all possible trouble to deny to man a soul and im- 
 mortality, and to prove him an automaton, or at 
 most a vegetable. He was a decided materialist 
 and atheist. He wrote one book called " The 
 Man-Machine ; " and another called " The Man- 
 Plant." Him followed Denis Diderot and Jean 
 d'Alembert, hating not only Christianity but all 
 religion, — philosophers of matter, believers in 
 sensation alone, preaching the gospel of the five 
 senses. They were the chief editors of the " French 
 Encyclopsedia," the object of which was to revo- 
 lutionize all belief on the basis of atheism. To 
 them associated himself Baron d'Holbach, author 
 of " The System of Nature; " and Helvetius, writer 
 of two shallow books on « Man " and "The Mind." 
 Of all this party only Voltaire was a theist. Vol- 
 taire was by no means an atheist. On the con- 
 trary, he wrote a story called " Cosi-Sancta," 
 containing one of the best arguments from the 
 evidences of design in nature for the existence of 
 Deity. But Voltaire's theism was purely intel-. 
 lectual, and not, like Rousseau's, a sentiment, a 
 feeling, a love. Rousseau believed in God with 
 his whole heart : not merely as a law or an order 
 of the universe ; but as a personal God and friend 
 
JEAN JACQUJiS ROUSSEAU. 357 
 
 to the human race, especially to the poor and 
 wretched. The philosophers pardoned Voltaire 
 his theism, for it was a mere speculation ; but 
 they could never forgive Rousseau, for his was 
 faith — and faith in a living God. 
 
 Take, as one proof of this, not any single pas- 
 page fi-om his own writings which might be sus- 
 pected of not giving his average belief, but an 
 account given by his friend and protector, Mme. 
 d'Epinay, of a conversation in which he took part 
 in her house. There can be no doubt that this 
 expresses his real conviction, since he could not 
 have thought that it would ever be preserved. It 
 was the overflow of his mind at the hour. Rous- 
 seau here maintains, in private and in difficult 
 circumstances, the same positive religious convic- 
 tions which he always announces in his works : — 
 
 " Mile. Quinault said that in religious matters every- 
 one was right; but that each should remain in the relig- 
 ion in which he was born. 
 
 " ' Not so,' replied Rousseau, warmly ; ' not if it is a 
 bad religion, for then it could only do one harm.' 
 
 " I then said that religion often did much good ; that 
 it was a restraint for the lower classes, who had no other. 
 Every one cried out against me, and overwhelmed me 
 with objections ; they said that for the lower classes the 
 fear of being hung was a much better restraint than the 
 fear of being damned. So they went on, till I, fearing 
 they would destroy all religion, begged for mercy, at 
 least, for natural religion. ' Not more for that than for 
 
358 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 the rest,' said St. Lambert. Eousseau said, ' I don't go 
 with you. I say with Horace, " I am more infirm." ' 
 
 " Then St. Lambert and others attacked with bitter- 
 ness all belief, even in God. Eousseau muttered some- 
 thing between his teeth : they laughed at him. 
 
 Rousseau. "'If it is a baseness to hear one's friend 
 abused in his absence, I consider it a crime to listen to 
 things said against one's God, who is here. For myself, 
 gentlemen, I believe in God.' 
 
 " They went on, however, in the same way, till Rous- 
 seau said, ' If you say another word of this sort I shall 
 retire.' 
 
 " Afterward, being seated near Eousseau, I said, ' It 
 troubles me that St. Lambert, so intelligent a man, 
 should not believe in God.' ' I cannot bear,' answered 
 Eousseau, ' this rage for pulling down everything, and 
 never building up anything.' 'Still,' said I, 'his argu- 
 ments are very strong.' ' What ! are you going to be 
 convinced by his atheism ? Don't say that, madame ; 
 for I could not help hating you. Besides, the idea of 
 God is necessary for our happiness ; and I wish you to 
 be happy.' 
 
 " A few days after, as we were walking together out 
 of doors, I confessed to him that I had been disturbed 
 by St. Lambert's arguments. 
 
 " ' I think,' said Eousseau, ' that there are some con- 
 victions so rooted in our nature, so universally received, 
 so efficaciously preached, not by men only, but by the 
 phenomena of nature, always renewed around us, that 
 we cannot resist such concurrent proofs. The animals, 
 the plants, the fruits of the earth, the rain, the seasons 
 of the year.' ' Yet,' said I, ' what St. Lambert said was 
 
JE4N JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 359 
 
 very strong.' ' Madame,' replied he, ' sometimes I am of 
 his opiniou : in my shut-up study, with my two fists in 
 my eyes, or in the darkness of the night. But look at 
 that ' (said he, lifting his hand to the sky, like one in- 
 spired) : ' the sunrise, sweeping away the vapors, and re- 
 vealing the magnificence of nature, sweeps away at the 
 same time these dark vapors from my soul. I recover 
 ray faith in God ; I reverence and adore him ; I bow in 
 his presence.'" 
 
 In 1756 Rousseau published a letter addressed 
 to Voltaire in defense of Providence. In it he 
 
 " No : I have suffered too much in this world to be 
 content to relinquish the hope of another. All the sub- 
 tleties of metaphysics never induce me to waver for a 
 moment in my faith in the Immortality of the Soul, and 
 in a beneficent Providence. I feel it to be true ; I be- 
 lieve it to be true ; and I long to have it true." 
 
 The theism of Rousseau was not the common 
 deism of his time, which was a negation. His was 
 positive, full, warm. His God was with him in 
 all his sorrows as a comforter. No pious Christian 
 was more constant in his devout habits than this 
 so-called philosopher of unbelief. He read the 
 Bible every day, not as a critic, but exactly as 
 the humblest Christian reads it, — for comfort, 
 strength, and inspiration. One anecdote has come 
 up among the recent memoirs, which gives us a 
 little picture of Rousseau, with the " Imitation of 
 
360 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 Christ " in his hand as his companion, wandering 
 among the fields and gathering flowers. It is 
 from the " Memoires d'un Bibliophile, par M. 
 Tenant de Latour, Paris, 1861." 
 
 M. Latour one day picked up at a book-stall in 
 Paris a copy of Thomas k Kempis' " De Imitatione 
 Christi," with the autograph of Jean J. Rousseau 
 on the title-page. It had been evidently read with 
 great care, and more than half the book was un- 
 derlined with the pencil. It bore marks also of 
 having been the constant pocket companion of 
 Rousseau. It had been read in the evening, for 
 there were drops of grease from the candle on its 
 pages; and it had accompanied him in his country 
 walks, for there were dried flowers stuck here and 
 tliere between the leaves. Now a letter of Rous- 
 seau to a Paris bookseller is extant, dated 1763, 
 containing the following sentence : " Voici des ar- 
 ticles que je vous prie de joindre h. votre premier 
 envoi, '-Pensles de Pascal, CEuvres de la Bruy^re, 
 Imitation de Jesus Christ, Latin.' " It may be 
 added, also, that this volume contained a dried and 
 pressed periwinkle; and that, just a year after the 
 date of this order for the purchase of the book, 
 occurred the event recorded in his " Confessions," 
 of his finding a periwinkle in one of his walks near 
 Crozier, and the pleasure it gave him. 
 
 Such being the character of his theism, what 
 were his views concerning Christianity ? Here it 
 will be supposed that he was, of course, an entire 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 361 
 
 infidel. But the whole amount of his infidelity 
 was a skepticism concerning the miracles of the 
 New Testament. He does not profess to disbe- 
 lieve them : he thinks them doubtful. He ques- 
 tions them, and leayes them. He asserts every- 
 where that he believes Christianity, but he be- 
 lieves it on the ground of its own sublime truth, 
 beauty, and usefulness, and because of the holiness 
 of Christ's character. His belief here, also, is no 
 cold assent. So far as he does believe, it is with 
 the passionate faith of an admiring and loving 
 heart. 
 
 It is well known that the book in which his in- 
 fidelity is supposed to be taught, and for printing 
 which he was driven from France, from Geneva, 
 from NeufchS.tel, and from the little island of St. 
 Peters in the Lake of Bienne, is his "Emile." 
 In this book, which is a work on education, an 
 ideal view of the education of a young man is pre- 
 sented — as in the " Cyropsedia " of Xenophon. 
 In the course of it he gives the profession of faith 
 of a vicar of Savoy ; and as this contains the chief 
 offense of Rousseau against Christianity it must 
 not be omitted : — 
 
 "In regard to revelation,'' says the vicar, "if I were 
 a better reasoner, or better taught, I might perhaps be 
 sure of its truth. But if I see in its favor proofs which 
 I cannot refute, I see against it objections to which I 
 cannot reply. There are so many solid reasons for and 
 against, that, not knowing what to determine, I neither 
 
362 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 admit nor reject it. I only reject the obligation to be- 
 lieve it, because this pretended obligation is incompatible 
 with the justice of God. I remain in a state of respect- 
 ful doubt. I am not so presumptuous as to believe my- 
 self infallible. I pason for myself, not for others. I 
 neither blame nor imitate them. Their judgment may 
 be better than mine: it is not my fault that it is not 
 mine. 
 
 " I also confess to you that the majesty of the Script- 
 ures astonishes me: the holiness of the gospel is an 
 argument which speaks ,to my heart, and which I should 
 be sorry to be able to answer. Bead the books of the 
 philosophers with all their pomp : how petty they are 
 beside this ! Is a book at once so sublime and so simple 
 the work of man ? Can it be that he whose history it 
 relates was himself a mere man ? Is this the tone of 
 an enthusiast, or of a mere sectary ? "What sweetness, 
 what purity in his manners ! what touching grace in his 
 instructions ! what elevation in his maxims ! what pro- 
 found wisdom in his discourses ! what presence of mind^ 
 what acuteness, what justness in his replies ! what empire 
 over his passions ! "Where is the man, where the sage, 
 who knows in this way how to act, suffer, and die, with- 
 out weakness and without ostentation? "When Plato 
 describes his imaginary good man, covered with the 
 opprobrium of crime, yet meriting the rewards of virtue, 
 he paints, trait by trait, Jesus Christ "What prej- 
 udice, blindness, or bad faith does it not require to 
 compare the son of Sophroniscus with the son of Mary ! 
 "What a distance between the two! Socrates dies with- 
 out pain, without ignominy; he sustains his character 
 easily to the end. If he had not honored his life with 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 363 
 
 such a death, we should have thought him a sophist. 
 They say Socrates invented ethics ; but others practised 
 morality before he taught it. Aristides was just before 
 Socrates described justice ; Leonidas died for his country 
 before Socrates taught the duty of patriotism. - Sparta 
 was temperate before Socrates praised sobriety ; Greece 
 abounded in virtuous men before he defined what virtue 
 is. But Jesus, — where did he find the lofty morality, 
 of which he alone gave both the lesson and the example? 
 From the midst of a furious fanaticism proceeds the 
 purest wisdom ; among the vilest of people appears the 
 most heroic and virtuous simplicity. The death of Soc- 
 rates, tranquilly philosophizing among his friends, is the 
 sweetest one could desire; that of Jesus, expiring amid 
 torments, abused, ridiculed, cursed by a whole people, is 
 
 the most horrible which one could fear Yes : if 
 
 Socrates lives and dies like a philosopher, Jesus lives 
 and dies like a God! 
 
 " Will you say that the history of Jesus is an inven- 
 tion ! My friend, people do not invent in this way ; and 
 the actions of Socrates, which no one doubts, are less 
 strongly attested than those of Jesus Christ. Besides, 
 you thus merely remove the difficulty farther backward, 
 without overthrowing it. It would be more inconceiv- 
 able that four men should have agreed to invent this 
 story than that one should have furnished its subject. 
 No Jewish authors could ever have found out this tone, 
 or such a morality ; and the gosj)el has traits of truth so 
 imposing, so perfectly inimitable, that its inventor would 
 be more astonishing than its hero. And yet this same 
 gospel is full of incredible things, of things opposed to 
 reason, and which it is impossible for a sensible man to 
 
864 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 conceive or to admit. What shall I do amid such con- 
 tradictions ? Remain modest and circumspect, my child ; 
 respect in silence what we can neither reject nor com- 
 prehend, and be humble before the Great Being who 
 alone knows the truth.'' 
 
 It was for saying this that a storm of persecu- 
 tion arose against Rousseau. All united against 
 him, — the Catholics, because he preached toler- 
 ance toward all churches ; the Protestants, because 
 he preached indifference of dogmas; the atheists 
 because he believed in God ; the deists, because 
 he gave such praise to Christ and to Christianity. 
 Voltaire was so incensed with him for this rever- 
 ence toward Jesus, that he cried out, " The Judas ! 
 he deserts us when we are just about to triumph." 
 Beaumont, Archbishop of Paris, issued a manda- 
 mus condemning " Emile " as containing abomi- 
 nable and pernicious doctrine. The Parliament of 
 Paris issued a decree to seize the book and its 
 author. "Thus," says Rousseau, " the fanaticism 
 of atheism and that of Jesuitism, meeting in their 
 common intolerance, united against me." He was 
 quietly and happily living at Montmorency, under 
 the protection of the Marshal of Luxembourg, 
 when the news came. He had a habit of reading 
 in bed every night till he became sleepy. His 
 usual reading at night was in the Bible ; and he 
 had read it thus through in course five or six times. 
 How many of those who have denounced his in- 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 365 
 
 fidelity can say as much ! That night he had been 
 reading in the Book of Judges; and the painful 
 story of the Levite of Mount Ephraim was in his 
 mind when the news came that he was to be ar- 
 rested and sent to prison the next day. At first, 
 he determined to remain ; but in those days one 
 went to the Bastile without examination or trial, 
 and remained there during life, without the power 
 of communicating with the world. By the ad- 
 vice of all his friends he fled; and on the way 
 to Geneva wrote out as an idyl, in the style of 
 Gessner, the story he had been reading from the 
 Bible. 
 
 How he was driven from Geneva and from 
 Switzerland we will not stop to say ; but that the 
 doubts expressed by the Savoyard vicar went be- 
 yond his own degree of unbelief is probable. He 
 wrote in the midst of a circle of atheists and deists 
 who mocked at Christianity and all religion ; he 
 wrote for people under their influence ; and he 
 thought it best to put less of faith in the mouth 
 of his vicar than he had himself. Two terrible 
 answers to his opponents he wrote: one to the 
 Archbishop of Paris ; the other to the Council of 
 State at Geneva. There is no finer specimen of 
 polemical writing in any literature than these. 
 In eloquence they compare with Milton's " De- 
 fense of the People of England ; " in keenness of 
 satire they rival Voltaire; in compact logic, wit, 
 and terrible invective they remind us of Pascal. 
 
366 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 As a dialectician, Rousseau is unriTaled. He is 
 arguing for toleration, and his theme is a noble 
 one. If one remembers that, while men and wom- 
 en were gayly supping in the skeptical saloons 
 of Paris, heretics were being punished all over 
 France ; ^ that, for example, in 1746 forty Prot- 
 estant gentlemen were condemned to death in a 
 French province for having been present at a re- 
 ligious service in the night-time, — one can see the 
 need of Rousseau's arguments. Consider his posi- 
 tion. On one side the great hierarchy, still sup- 
 ported by the whole power of the state ; on the 
 other, Rousseau, a fugitive, pursued by a parlia- 
 mentary decree, supporting himself by his books 
 and his music, defended by no one, condemned also 
 by the magistrates of Geneva, and then turning on 
 both Catholic and Protestant, citing both before 
 the bar of European Reason, and delivering battle 
 against both for freedom of conscience. He shows 
 easily that he is more religious than his age aind 
 his opponents ; he stands as defender of the cause 
 of God; he tears in pieces, by his ardent logic, the 
 archiepiscopal mandate; and these writings, says 
 Villemain, constitute a great social event in the 
 age. 
 
 In his " Letters from the Mountains," addressed 
 to the people of Geneva, he maintains the proposi- 
 tion, that a belief in miracles is not essential to 
 a belief in Christianity ; and for this reason, that 
 ^ Villemain. 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 367 
 
 Christianity has a variety of proofs, of which 
 miracles are only one. Thus it is proved by the 
 nature of its doctrine, its sublimity, beauty, holi- 
 ness; it is also proved by the character of its 
 founder and of his apostles, by their purity, sim- 
 plicity, and self-denying goodness ; and also, in 
 the third place, it may be proved by miracles. 
 
 " Now," says he, " I declare myself a Christian. My 
 persecutors say that I am not. They prove that I am 
 not, because I reject Revelation ; and they prove that I 
 reject Revelation because T do not believe in Miracles. 
 
 " But in order that this inference should be correct 
 one of two things must be assumed, — either that Mira- 
 cles are the only proof of Revelation or that 1 also reject 
 the other proofs of it. Now it is not true that Miracles 
 are the only proof of Revelation ; and it is not true that 
 I reject the other proofs of it. 
 
 " This, then, is our position. These gentlemen, de- 
 termined to make me reject Revelation in spite of myself, 
 count for nothing that I receive it on grounds satisfac- 
 tory to my own mind unless I also receive it on grounds 
 which are not so. Because I cannot do that they say 
 that I reject it. Can anything be more extravagant than 
 this?" 
 
 " I do not deny the miracles of the New Testament," 
 says Rousseau, in this same writing : " I suspend my 
 faith in regard to them. I also contend that it is not 
 essential to Christianity to believe them." 
 
 "The Savoyard vicar brings forward objections to 
 miracles. But objections are not negations. As for 
 myself, I see miracles attested in the Scriptures : that is 
 
368 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 enougli to arrest my judgment. If I did not see them 
 there I should reject them at once, or not call them 
 miracles ; but since they are there I do not reject them, 
 nor do I admit them, because my reason refuses to do 
 so, and because I do not consider it necessary to do so.| 
 I can believe Christianity without them. 
 
 " I might go farther. I have proved that no one can 
 be sure that any particular fact is a miraculous fact ; 
 .... for since a miracle is an exception to the laws of 
 nature, to decide that a fact is miraculous we must be 
 acquainted with all the laws of nature. For a single 
 law which we do not know, might, in certain cases un- 
 known to us, change the effect of the laws which we do 
 know. Whoever, therefore, declares that any particular 
 fact is a miracle, declares that he knows all the laws of 
 nature, and that this one fact is an exception to all." "I 
 might therefore admit all the facts contained in the 
 Bible, and yet, without impiety, deny that they are mi- 
 raculous. But I do not go so far as this. I do not 
 deny : I suspend my judgment." 
 
 This seems clearly enough to define Rousseau's 
 position in regard to Christian belief. He be- 
 lieved in Christ as a revelation of the divine will, 
 accepted his truth as divine truth, called him his 
 Master, wished to belong to his Church, and stud- 
 ied his words with reverence ; but hesitated upon 
 miracles. Here is a little scene which shows still 
 further his feelings on the subject of Christian- 
 ity : — 
 
 "After my solemn return into the Protestant Church, 
 living in a Protestant country, I could not, without failing 
 
JEAN Jacques rousseau. 369 
 
 in my engagements and in duty as a citizen, neglect the 
 public profession of the worship to which I had returned. 
 I attended, therefore, public worship. But I was afraid, 
 if 1 presented myself at the communion table, of being 
 repulsed. I therefore wrote to the clergyman to say to 
 him that I was in heart a Protestant, but that I did not 
 wish to discuss dogmas. To my surprise and pleasure 
 he came to tell me that he would willingly admit me to 
 the communion with this understanding; and that both 
 himself and his elders would be pleased to have me in 
 their flock. I have seldom had so agreeable and con- 
 soling a surprise. To live always alone in the world 
 was to me a very sad fate. In the midst of so many 
 persecutions.it was very sweet to be able to say, 'At 
 last I am among brethren.' I went to the communion 
 with emotions of tenderness in my heart that were per- 
 haps the best preparation I could make in the eyes of 
 Heaven." ^ 
 
 Accordingly, Rousseau, so far from being an in- 
 fidel, was a Christian who had his doubts about 
 miracles. In this age we should call him, on the 
 side of his unbelief, a rationalist, or a naturalist, 
 — nothing harder. Why, then, it may be said, 
 was he thus fiercely pursued by all parties ? 
 
 The answer to this throws light on the age, the 
 man, and the subject. 
 
 The explanation of Rousseau is given in a single 
 word. He was a man of genius, — that is, a man 
 of ideas ; but the ideas which possessed him were 
 
 1 Confessions, Book xii. 
 24 
 
370 J£AN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 not those of the eighteenth century, but those of 
 the nineteenth. He was before his time in every- 
 thing, and as much before himself as he was be- 
 fore his time. He could no more realize his ideas 
 in his own life than he could realize them in the 
 belief of his contemporaries. His startling origi- 
 nality, his fiery eloquence, interested, beyond all 
 example, the nation, but gave him no disciples, no 
 associates, no converts, no friends. He stood al- 
 ways alone. What was there in common between 
 him and those he called his friends, — a sneering^ 
 Diderot, a worldly-minded Grimm, a frivolous 
 race of fine ladies, a good-natured and common- 
 place Madame Warens, or a poor Th^r^se le Vas- 
 seur ? What did the great noblemen, the Prince 
 of Conti, the Marshal Luxembourg, who were en- 
 tertained by his flashing genius, care for his ideas? 
 They did not understand that a whole revolution 
 lay hidden in them. Possessed, driven, devoured 
 by his thoughts, he could not carry them out in 
 his own life. With a whole modern science of 
 education teeming in his brain, — a science which 
 was to rescue children from many false fetters, — 
 he deposited his own children in the Foundling 
 Hospital. With pure ideas of love, like those de- 
 picted in the "H^loise," which among the nov- 
 els of his dayjs like Milton's Lady among the 
 jabbering satyrs of " Comus," his own intercourse 
 with women was unworthy. He was not a licen- 
 tious man ; but neither had he a single experience 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAV. 371 
 
 of a truly noble love. With a thirst for society, 
 and convictions of what true society is, with a feel- 
 ing of brotherly love toward men of all classes, 
 and a grand democratic socialism, he fled, tor- 
 mented, even from those who really wished him 
 well. The mean and selfish actions and unworthy 
 loves, which he faithfully records in his " Confes- 
 sions," fiUed him with remoi'se all his days. He 
 was an Orestes pursued by the Furies. His aban- 
 donment of his children was contemplated by 
 him, all his life after, with horror ; and he wrote 
 " Emile " as his only way of making reparation 
 to society for this great wrong. So we say that 
 his ideas were as far above his own conduct as 
 they were before the opinions of his contempora- 
 ries. His belief came to him from a better future ; 
 his life flowed into him from the corrupt channels 
 of the miserable eighteenth century. 
 
 Still there were many noble actions in Rous- 
 seau's life. The strain and tendency of his soul 
 was toward whatsoever things were true, just, and 
 generous. He was no flatterer of the powerful; 
 he would not eat the bread of idleness ; he re- 
 fused the pension offered him, and supported him- 
 self by copying music. 
 
 Mme. de Pompadour, the king's mistress, se- 
 cured the services of Voltaire, Duclos, Crebillon, 
 and Marmontel. They were all willing to write to 
 her verses of adulation for the sake of her patron- 
 age. Not so Rousseau. She made him all kinds 
 
372 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 of handsome offers of money, place, position, if he 
 would write a few lines in her favor. Rousseau 
 for a time simply ignored these proposals. At 
 last, as they were continued, he wrote to her, 
 " Madame, the wife of a collier is more respecta- 
 ble in my eyes than the mistress of a prince." 
 Mrae. de Pompadour did not resent this boldness, 
 but simply said he was an owl. " Yes, madame," 
 replied one of her friends, "but the owl of Mi- 
 nerva." 
 
 M. Gaberel, the Genevese pastor, tells us that 
 Rousseau was offered the place of librarian in 
 Geneva in order to give him a support. Hef 
 writes in reply, that it is just what he should 
 like best to do, but that he has not the requisite 
 knowledge. " I do not know," says he, " a single 
 book as a librarian ought to know them. I can- 
 not tell which is the best edition of an author ; I 
 am ignorant of Greek ; I am very imperfectly 
 acquainted with Latin ; and I have not the least 
 particle of memory ! God forbid that I should 
 introduce into this country the habit of accepting 
 duties which one is not able to perform, and tak- 
 ing offices which one cannot properly fill." 
 
 Rousseau was a man of ideas. This is his 
 merit, this is his mission. He was a prophet in 
 the eighteenth century preparing the way of the 
 nineteenth. In our time, how much more sym- 
 pathy would his ideas receive ! But then he went 
 "in the heat and bitterness of his spirit; "his 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 373 
 
 work was " a burden ; " he was obliged to make 
 his face like a flint, and lift up his voice, whether 
 men would hear, or whether they would forbear. 
 
 What, then, were his ideas ? These will best be 
 seen by quoting a few passages from his " Emile," 
 which seems to us his master-piece. 
 
 Its subject is education. Rousseau had faith 
 in nature everywhere. He wished to follow the 
 method of nature in education, and to throw off 
 the shackles of system. The following are some 
 passages from this work, now half forgotten : — 
 
 All is good, coining from the hands of God. All de- 
 generates in the hands of man. 
 
 The man of society is born, lives, and dies in slavery. 
 At his birth he is wrapt in swaddling-bands ; at his death 
 nailed in a coffin ; all his life between, he is fettered by 
 our institutions. 
 
 The man who has lived the most is not he who has 
 counted most years, but he who has felt most of life. 
 
 It is of less importance to prevent one from dying 
 than it is to cause him to live. To live is not merely to 
 breathe : it is to act. 
 
 The earliest education is the most important ; and 
 this belongs unquestionably to woman. Speak, then, to 
 women in your treatises of education. 
 
 The laws are always occupied too much with prop- 
 erty, and too little with persons, because their object is 
 peace, and not virtue ; and therefore they do not give 
 enough of authority to mothers. 
 
 All that which we do not possess at our birth, and 
 which we need when we are grown, comes from educa- 
 tion. 
 
374 ' JEEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 Education comes from nature, from man, or from 
 things. Nature develops our faculties, man teaches us 
 to use this development, and things give us personal ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Distrust the cosmopolites who seek in books far off 
 the duties which they disdain to fulfill to those near at 
 hand. They love the Tartars, but not their own neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 The trade I desire to teach is life. I wish to make 
 my pupil neither magistrate, priest, nor soldier, but man. 
 
 True education consists less in precepts than in ex- 
 ercises. 
 
 Expose your pupil to physical evil to save him from 
 moral evil. One does not kill one's self because of the 
 sufferings of the gout ; only those of the soul produce 
 despair. 
 
 Zeal may take the place of talgnt ; but talent cannot 
 take the place of zeal. 
 
 The humanity of Rousseau appears, in this 
 work, in his care for the little infant. He uses 
 all the resources of his logic and eloquence to 
 procure for him the freedom of his limbs and 
 the food of his mother's bosom. He drives away 
 from the child the potions and medicines of which 
 he himself had so often been the victim. Ten- 
 derness for their infants, it is said, became at 
 once d la mode among the great ladies of Paris, 
 and from being only half-mothers, they became 
 whole-mothers of their children. Rousseau uses 
 and improves the ideas of , Locke. As the child 
 grows up, he does not allow of emulation, he de- 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 375 
 
 presses vanity ; and he substitutes for these con- 
 science and the love of doing good. More salu- 
 tary counsels on the chaste employment of youth 
 were never given from the pulpit. The moral en- 
 thusiasm of the work is a kind of religion through- 
 out its pages ; and if Rousseau had done only this 
 he would have deserved well of his race. 
 
 But he wrote also the " H^lo'ise ; " he wrote the 
 " Social Contract ; " both of them books in which 
 the same lofty ideas of the destiny of man to rise 
 above a degraded society bear full sway, — books 
 belonging to a better age, and meant to bring it 
 nearer. 
 
 No doubt these works contain many errors; 
 how could it be otherwise ? Such a love as that 
 described in the " H^lo'ise " may not be possible 
 to man ; one cannot tread safely in such a narrow 
 way. But the idea of a holy, chaste, respectful 
 love, which does not" seek its own gratification, but 
 the highest good of its object, is certainly as true 
 as it was certainly then unusual in all French lit- 
 erature. How much higher, indeed, is it, and how 
 much purer, than the " Sorrows of Werther," or 
 the selfish passion of Byron ! 
 
 There never was such a thing as the " Social 
 Contract." True ; but the fundamental ideas of 
 the book, — that government is for the good of 
 the people, and that their consent is necessary to 
 make it legitimate, — these are the foundations 
 of all modern political liberty. Yet not liberty 
 
376 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 only, but fraternity, was in the mind of Rousseau, 
 as the object of society. Man was to respect and 
 love man. All aristocracy, all monopoly, all class 
 privileges, were false and evil. This thought, at 
 least, we in America can accept. 
 
 Pure love, born of Christian thought, — love 
 whose object is the soul, and not mere personal 
 charms, — was put into words on the shores of the 
 lake of Geneva. The place where the scene is 
 laid has become holy ground. Even Byron, whose 
 idea of love was so much meaner, could reverence 
 the noble muse of Rousseau, and not pass near 
 Clarens or the rocks of Meillerie without offering 
 his homage in his own inimitably sweet and flow- 
 ing verse : — 
 
 " Clareus, sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep Love, 
 
 Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; 
 
 Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
 The very glaciers have his colors caught, 
 And sunset into rose-hues sees them wi'ought 
 
 By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks, 
 The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 
 
 In them a refuge from the worldly shocks 
 
 Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks." 
 
 As a writer, Rousseau still stands at the sum- 
 mit of French literature. M. Sainte-Beuve says 
 that Rousseau is " the swallow which announces 
 a new spring for the French language." His pa- 
 tience in correcting his sentences was extraordi- 
 nary. He did not attain to his perfect mastery 
 of language without the greatest labor. Here is 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 377 
 
 a specimen of the way in -which a sentence was 
 brought to perfection. He first wrote, " Devant 
 moi s'^talait I'or du superbe genet, et la pourpre de 
 la modeste bruy^re." He then corrected it thus : 
 " Le splendide genet dore, et la bruydre ^clatante." 
 He then again altered it to " L'or du gengt sau- 
 vage, et la pourpre des steriles bruy^res." And 
 finally he left it, " Devant moi s'^talait l'or des 
 genets et la pourpre des bruy^res." 
 
 Yet this perfect writer and man filled with 
 ideas was at first thought an idiot. When he 
 was twenty years old, M. D'Aubonne, cousin of 
 Mme. Warens, said, " Rousseau est un gar^on 
 sans idees, tr^s born^, s'il n'est pas tout-a-fait 
 inepte." 
 
 The life of Rousseau was, unhappily for him, in 
 an age in which Dogmatism and Formalism had 
 resulted in Skepticism. The Church was dead in 
 routine and in doctrinal orthodoxy ; and an in- 
 evitable reaction drove men into unbelief. Cath- 
 olic formalism in France, Protestant formalism 
 in Geneva, resulted, — in the one place, in the 
 atheism of the Encyclopaedists ; in the other, in 
 the milder skepticism of Rousseau. When we 
 make religion to consist in ecclesiastical forms or 
 in stem dogmas we are preparing the way for re- 
 bellion and revolution. The infidelity of France 
 did not come from the philosophers ; it came from 
 the bigotry of the Jesuits who guided Louis 
 XIV. in his persecution of the Huguenots. The 
 
378 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 skepticism of Rousseau was the child of Calvii 
 bitter theology ; and we think that Rousseai 
 warm-hearted and loving skepticism was prefe 
 able to that ferocious, though honest Christianit 
 If the one had more of truth, the other had mo 
 of love. 
 
 The misery of Rousseau's life came partly fro 
 himself. He violated great and sacred laws whii 
 cannot be broken with impunity. He wasb 
 the precious hours of hie youth in weak enjo 
 ment of the leisure provided for him by Madan 
 Warens, — without any healthy labor or ai 
 manly aim. He left her, not from conscience, b' 
 from irritated vanity and self-love. He took 
 his home another woman, no way suited to hii 
 and lived as a husband with her — not real 
 loving her, but making her half-companion, ha 
 housekeeper — for long years. The same wet 
 self-indulgence led him to renounce the charge 
 his children. All through life, he followed fee 
 ing and sentiment rather than any intelligei 
 law of duty. His ideas were noble, his practio 
 were inferior and commonplace. As a man 
 thought he has .done a great work in the world I 
 leading the way toward something higher : as 
 man of action he has served the world as a wan 
 ing to be shunned. His teaching is like the pu: 
 and heavenly light of the stars, pointing marine 
 on their way ; his conduct, the light-house s" 
 among roaring breakers and over perilous rock 
 showing them what they ought to avoid. 
 
JEAN JACQUES R0U8BEAU. 379 
 
 But let us have pity for him, remembering his 
 long sorrows and bitter sufferings. Worn with 
 severe and chronic disease during the most of his 
 life ; undoubtedly insane in his later years ; never 
 understood ; having no real friends ; a forlorn 
 wanderer, an exile, a banished man, the object of 
 alternate enthusiasm and abuse ; having known 
 no mother's love nor father's care in childhood, 
 no wise counsel in youth ; thrown on his own re- 
 sources for support all his life long ; never meet- 
 ing a single noble-hearted and wise friend or 
 adviser ; having never the happiness of real do- 
 mestic joy ; tormented with jealous suspicions ; 
 longing for love and never finding it, — there has 
 not wandered on this earth a more unhappy man, 
 nor one who deserved more truly to be called the 
 apostle of affliction. 
 
 M. Villemain — one of the best of French crit- 
 ics, worthy compeer of Guizot and Cousin, of 
 whose lectures on the eighteenth century we have 
 made frequent use in this essay — thus concludes 
 his remarks on Jean Jacques : — 
 
 "When I speak of Rousseau, and mingle with my 
 sLncere criticisms the admiration which it is impossible 
 to refuse him, I am publicly reproached with having 
 made an apotheosis of that ' vile,' that ' infamous ' Rous- 
 seau. I will stop speaking of him, and then will grow 
 tiresome, since that is more orthodox. And yet, gentle- 
 men, you know with what conscience I have told both 
 the good and the evil ; how I have dwelt long on the 
 
380 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 errors which obscured in Rousseau the brilliancy of his 
 strong imagination, and of the soul which rose naturally 
 toward noble objects. I have explained his errors, but 
 not justified them, out of the history of his time. Well, 
 this, it seems, is not enough. But it is not my fault, if 
 his words, descending like a sword or like fire, have agi- 
 tated the souls of his contemporaries. I do not^ be- 
 long to that age. I am not M. Malesherbes, the Minis- 
 ter of State, who, in his enthusiasm, privately corrected 
 the proofs of the ' Emile.' I am not the Duke of Lux- 
 ^ embourg or the Prince of Conti. I did not, in opposi- 
 tion to the prejudices of my rank and the scruples of my 
 faith, welcome, as they did, to my castle, Jean Jacques, 
 democratic philosopher and free-thinker. It is after 
 sixty years have passed that, led by curiosity, in the 
 course of study, opening a book whose pages are still 
 glowing with an eloquence which can never pass away, 
 I merely give you an account of the impressions of en- 
 thusiasm, of astonishment, of doubt, of blame, which this 
 book occasions within me. These I communicate with- 
 out art ; judge them for yourselves : I neither impose on 
 you my admiration, nor forbid you to censure. I have 
 only told you the truth, — it is the truth which they 
 accuse." 
 
 He loved much ; perhaps he has been forgiven 
 much. He suiEfered much ; perhaps his faults have 
 been enough punished. Sis faults were those of 
 Sclat; those which it is easy for all men to con- 
 demn. Dr. Johnson, denouncing pensioners in 
 his Dictionary as those who sold themselves for a 
 bribe to betray their country, and then accepting 
 
JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 381 
 
 a pension himself from a Whig king ; poured con- 
 tempt on Rousseau, who preferred copying music 
 to taking a pension from the King of Prussia. 
 Rousseau had an upright soul, and a truth-loving 
 soul : he was faithful to his light ; or, if led astray, 
 openly confessed and bewailed his sin. We for- 
 give David his murder because he repented. We 
 forgive Peter his repeated lies because he re- 
 pented. Shall we not forgive Rousseau his chief 
 sin, of abandoning his children, when he bitterly 
 bewailed it ever after, and made an expiation in 
 his " Emile," devoted to saving little children from 
 the sufferings and cruelty they endured in his 
 time? 
 
 We cannot better close this study of Rousseau's 
 life than with the words, of Thomas Carlyle : — 
 
 " Hovering in the distance, with woe-struck, mina- 
 tory air, stern-beckoning, comes Rousseau. Poor Jean 
 Jacques ! Alternately deified and cast to the dogs ; a 
 deep-minded, high-minded, even noble, yet wofully mis- 
 arranged mortal, with all misformations of Nature inten- 
 sated to the verge of madness by unfavorable fortune. 
 A lonely man ; his life a long soliloquy ! The wander- 
 ing Tiresias of the time, — in whom, however, did lie 
 prophetic meaning, such as none of the others offer. 
 Whereby, indeed, it might partly be that the world went 
 to such extremes about him ; that, long after his depart- 
 ure, we have seen one whole nation worship him; and 
 a Burke, in the name of another, class him with the 
 offscourings of the earth. His true character, with its 
 
382 JEAN -JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 
 
 lofty aspirings and poor performings, — and how the 
 spirit of the man worked so wildly, with celestial fire in 
 a thick, dark element of chaos, and shot forth ethereal 
 radiance, all-piercing lightning, yet could not illuminate, 
 was quenched and did not conquer : — this, with what 
 lies in it, may now be pretty accurately appreciated. 
 Let his history teach all whom it concerns to ^harden 
 themselves against the ills which Mother Nature will try 
 them with ; ' to seek within their own soul what the 
 world must forever deny them ; and say composedly to 
 the Prince of the Power of this lower Earth and Air, 
 ' Go thou thy way : I go mine.' " 
 
XVIII. 
 
 THE HEROES OE OI^E OOUI^TRT 
 TOWlS[. 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY 
 TOWN.i 
 
 Meeting to dedicate these stones to the mem- 
 ory of the brave men of this place who gave their 
 lives in the cause of Union and Freedom, our 
 minds are carried back to the time when they 
 went from among us. Who can forget those dark 
 hours at the commencement of the war? The 
 long struggle between Liberty and Slavery had 
 brought face to face two gigantic foes. One was 
 the slave-power, — an oligarchy of about four hun- 
 dred thousand slave-holders, owning some four mill- 
 ions of slaves, worth three thousand millions of 
 dollars. Intermarrying among themselves, hold- 
 ing the chief political offices in the South, the 
 slave-holders were an aristocracy as proud, exclu- 
 sive, and domineering as that of Venice or Poland. 
 United by common interests, — pecuniary, social, 
 and political, — with the single paramount purpose 
 of maintaining and extending slavery, it ruled the 
 South with a rod of iron, allowing no freedom of 
 
 1 An address delivered to the people of West Eoxbury, Mass., 
 on the dedication of a monument to the soldiers of that town. 
 25 
 
386 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 speech, of the press, or of the pulpit. By means 
 of this perfect union it obtained the control of the 
 national government, and, before 1860, had taken 
 possession of the whole national organization. It 
 annexed Texas in 1845, defeated the Wilmot Pro- 
 viso in 1846, passed the Fugitive Slave Bill in 
 1850, repealed the Missouri Compromise in 1854, 
 obtained the Dred Scott Decision in 1857. It 
 controlled both houses of Congress, possessed the 
 executive, and directed the decisions of the judici- 
 ary ; so holding in its hand the army and navy of 
 the Union. 
 
 But, on the other side, there had grown up, with 
 wonderful rapidity, a mighty opposing force. It 
 was unorganized ; it was invisible. Its weapons 
 were not carnal ; its missiles were the imponder- 
 ables of the soul. It had neither fleets nor armies, 
 neither judges nor presidents ; but it was a terrible 
 power, ominous of coming change. It was the 
 antislavery opinion of the North, which bad been 
 opposed first by mobs, then by ridicule, lastly by 
 arguments, but had conquered them all. As Herod 
 the king, in the midst of his power and glory, 
 feared John the Baptist, " knowing that he was a 
 just man," so the slave-power, which feared noth- 
 ing else, feared the antislavery platform. Will- 
 iam Lloyd Garrison might have used the words 
 of Pope, and said, — 
 
 " Yes, I am proud ; I must be proud, to see 
 Men, not afraid of God, afraid of mo." 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 387 
 
 Both the great parties, Democratic and Whig, 
 united in 1850 to put down the antislavery agita- 
 tion. For a few months there was a lull in the 
 storm. Then a woman's pen, inspired by genius 
 and profound conviction, broke the"silence. " Un- 
 cle Tom's Cabin " was published. Five hundred 
 thousand copies were sold before the end of the 
 year, — a million in England. It was translated 
 into nineteen languages, and the whole world was 
 again discussing the great theme. 
 
 At last the " irrepressible conflict " of tongue 
 and pen — as Mr. Seward happily termed it at 
 Rochester in 1858 — drew to its close, and a 
 sterner strife became imminent. Abraham Lin- 
 coln was chosen President in November, 1860. 
 Seven States seceded from the Union. Southern 
 Senators resigned their seats in Congress. The 
 , seceding States seized on the forts and other pub- 
 lic property of the United States in their neigh- 
 borhood. Finally, April 12, 1861, fire was opened 
 on Fort Sumter, and the war began. 
 
 And here let me stop a moment to see how the 
 Providence of God had prepared the way for a 
 successful defense of the Union against its foes. 
 The North had been educated for years by two 
 great political parties : by the Republican, whose 
 war-cry was Freedom ; and the Democratic, whose 
 watchword was Union. Secession struck at both. 
 It defied Freedom, by its purpose of maintaining 
 and extending slavery ; it struck at Union, by its 
 
388 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 purpose of establishing a Southern Confederacy. 
 It therefore united against itself all that was 
 honest and true in the two great Northern parties. 
 Those who had been educated by the Democrats 
 to believe in Union, those who had been educated 
 by the Republicans to believe in Freedom, joined 
 hands to defend both when threatened by seces- 
 sion. Let us remember this, and always maintain 
 Freedom and Union, one and inseparable. 
 
 Again, consider how fortunate we were in the 
 President chosen for the hour. He seems to have 
 been the very man to unite the North. Had he 
 been more of an abolitionist he would not have 
 carried with him the conservatives ; had he been 
 more of a conservative, he would not have had the 
 support of the reformers. Moving slowly, but al- 
 ways moving; cautious, but determined; surround- 
 ing himself with the best and wisest advisers, but 
 at last deciding all great questions himself ; bear- 
 ing the malignant assaults of foes and the impa- 
 tience of friends with imperturbable good temper, 
 — he gained and held the confidence of the people. 
 Remembering all this, let us also bless God for 
 having sent us, in our hour of need, the great and 
 good Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 And once again, a good Providence had pre- 
 pared the nation for this terrific struggle when 
 the Fathers of our State established the system of 
 free schools. Without these we never could have 
 conquered the rebellion. The government could 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. -889 
 
 have done nothing if it had not been supported 
 always by the determined will of the nation. 
 That will was the result of conviction, and that 
 conviction was born of intelligence. Every man 
 at the North knew that his prosperity and secu- 
 rity, his present comforts and his hope for the 
 future, depended on putting down the rebellion. 
 That knowledge alone enabled the people to make 
 the efforts, meet the dangers, and bear the priva- 
 tions of the long war. Without the free-school 
 system, the people could never have attained that 
 knowledge. The common schools saved the na- 
 tion. Therefore let the nation always maintain 
 the common school, — the best democratic institu- 
 tion in the land, where the sons of the richest and 
 poorest man sit side by side, — the unsectarian 
 school, whose doors are open to all the children of 
 the State. 
 
 But still another element was needed to organize 
 these convictions, and to apply them to the work 
 in hand ; and that also was providentially pro- 
 vided by our plan of local self-government. The 
 people, accustomed from the first to assemble in 
 town meetings, did not wait to be called upon from 
 Washington, but came together in their townships, 
 chose committees to raise men, voted money for 
 immediate wants, and proceeded to discipline 
 troops. Let us maintain the townships and the 
 primary meetings, and resist all excessive central- 
 ization. 
 
390" TEE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 Lastly, there was the preparation made by the 
 Northern church in giving a religious education to 
 the conscience. When the general in command 
 went into Faneuil Hall to see the troops who 
 passed the night there before marching to re- 
 lieve Washington, he found them singing psalms, 
 and is reported to have said : " Good heavens ! 
 have the Southerners got to fight men who sing 
 psalnis ? " — remembering, perhaps, Cromwell's 
 iron-clad regiments. The New England churches 
 differ on many points, but in one they agree ; 
 they all teach that religion consists in obedience 
 to God's moral laws, and not merely in the belief 
 of creeds. Religion at the South is often a belief, 
 a ceremony, or an emotion ; religion at the, North 
 has been, in the main, an attempt to do justly, 
 love mercy, and walk humbly with God. 
 
 The nerve of our army was in its religious con- 
 victions. The true leader of our nation's armies 
 was that stern old man, possessed by the sense 
 of justice, — a fanatic if you will, but a fanatic 
 for humanity and right ; awful in his purpose as 
 an old Jewish prophet; the incarnation of Pu- 
 ritanism as applied to the nineteenth century. 
 Wherever our armies marched, John Brown's 
 soul marched before them, making them feel that 
 theirs was the cause of God, and that the Lord 
 was on their side, so that they were sure of ulti- 
 mate success. In that faith Shaw fell at Wagner, 
 and Putnam at Ball's Bluff. In that faith these 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 391 
 
 our noble sons and brothers were sanctified, and 
 the war became a holy war. The battle-hymn of 
 the republic was inspired by this idea, for 
 
 " Their eyes had seen the glory of the coining of the Lord." 
 
 So it came to pass, by means of our free schools 
 and our other Northern institutions, that when the 
 hurricane of secession burst on the land the coun- 
 try was prepared to resist and conquer it. Then 
 it was seen that the cold, hard North was built on 
 a " surging, subterranean fire," which lifted it to 
 the height of the solemn hour. Then, when the 
 awful storm of secession swept like a tropical cy- 
 clone over the South ; black with thunder, red with 
 forked lightning ; it was answered by a Northern 
 earthquake which shook the land from Maine to 
 Minnesota, and poured out its volcanic tires of pa- 
 triotism from the pine forests of Katahdn to the 
 snowy peaks of Colorado. Then one great im- 
 pulse united all hearts and hands in the deter- 
 mined purpose to save the country. Then we 
 knew no longer any distinction of Republican or 
 Democrat, foreign citizen or native American, 
 Catholic or Protestant, capitalist or day-laborer. 
 Then the hardy German and the warm-hearted 
 Irishman joined with the Puritan and Yankee to 
 save the country, the dear, common mother of all. 
 Then the fair-haired boy — the support of his 
 aged father, the joy of his mother's heart, the 
 ripe fruit of our best culture — said, " Father, 
 
392 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 mother, it is my duty to go ; let me go and die, 
 if it must be, for my country ; " and they laid 
 their hands on his young head, and answered, 
 " Go, my boy ; go and die ! " Then from all the 
 towns of Massachusetts came one voice, — from 
 her farms and her manufactories, from her fisher- 
 men and her sailors : — 
 
 " From her rough coasts and isles, which hungry ocean 
 Gnaws with his surges ; from her fisher's skiff, 
 With white sail swaying to the breezes' motion 
 Bound rock and cliff; 
 
 " From the free fireside of her unbought farmer ; 
 From her free laborer, at his loom and wheel ; 
 From her brown smithshop, where, beneath the hammer, 
 Kings the red steel," — 
 
 From each and all, — one grand impulse of con- 
 science, courage, and patriotism hurried the young 
 and old forward to imitate their fathers, and offer 
 in the holy cause " their lives, their fortunes, and 
 their sacred honor." 
 
 Our rulers at Washington, far behind the peo- 
 ple in their appreciation of the situation, were 
 alarmed at the magnitude of the popular move- 
 ment, and tried to check it. May 15, 1861, 
 Secretary Cameron positively refused to accept 
 from Governor Andrew more than six regiments 
 of three months' volunteers, and said, in his letter 
 to our Governor, " it is important to reduce rather 
 than to enlarge this number (oi six regiments), 
 and in no event to exceed it. Let me earnestly 
 
THE HEROES' OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 393 
 
 recommend to you, therefore, to call for no more 
 than eight regiments, of which six only are to 
 serve for three years ; and if more are already 
 called for, to reduce the number by discharge." 
 
 But before the end of the war Massachusetts 
 sent to the front sixty-one regiments of infantry, 
 besides artillery and cavalry ; furnished, out of a 
 population of one million two hundred thousand 
 one hundred and fifty-nine thousand soldiers and 
 sailors to the army and navy of the United States, 
 and raised and expended $42,000,000. At the end 
 of the war it appeared that every city and town 
 had filled its quota upon every call for troops ; and 
 all, except twelve, had furnished a surplus over 
 all demands, the aggregate of which surplus was 
 over fifteen thousand men. These facts have been 
 furnished me by one of our townsmen. General 
 Schouler, whose services during the war, as Adju- 
 tant-general, were of the greatest value to the 
 State and nation. 
 
 In all this work our town took an ample share. 
 Our first town meeting in relation to the war was 
 held May 20, 1861, and its chairman was a man 
 who devoted his time, thought, and means, during 
 the whole war, to his country and its cause. In 
 1863 the town voted him its thanks for his services 
 in procuring volunteers. But no formal vote of 
 thanks can express what we all owe to the energy, 
 patriotism, and devotion of our loved, revered, and 
 lamented fellow-citizen, Stephen M. Weld. 
 
394 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 At a meeting in 1862, it being proposed to lay 
 out a new road, it was resolved, on motion of 
 John C. Pratt, " that the only road desirable to 
 be opened at the present time is the road to Rich- 
 mond." 
 
 West Roxbury furnished seven hundred and 
 twenty men to the war, a surplus of twenty-six 
 over and above all demands, and appropriated 
 $86,000 to war purposes, besides $22,000 from 
 private subscriptions. 
 
 The women of West Roxbury, at the beginning 
 of the struggle, formed a Soldiers' Aid Society, 
 which raised over $8,000, and furnished our sol- 
 diers with more than eight thousand articles of 
 clothing and comfort. I may be allowed here to 
 name the president and active promoter of that 
 Society, Mrs. Geoege W. Coffin. 
 
 In this town was recruited and drilled one of 
 the finest of the Massachusetts regiments. I hap- 
 pened to be the owner of Brook Farm in 1861 ; 
 and when the Second Massachusetts was about to 
 be organized, I offered it to my friend, Morris 
 Copeland, Quartermaster of that regiment, and it 
 was accepted. Before I had the farm it had been 
 the scene of a famous social experiment not emi- 
 nently successful. I never raised much of a crop 
 upon it before ; but in 1861 it bore the greatest 
 crop of any farm in Massachusetts, in the courage, 
 devotion, and military renown of the officers and 
 men of that noble regiment. 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 395 
 
 And now we are here to do honor to the brave 
 men who went from among us to give themselves 
 to this great struggle for Union and Freedom. 
 We have welcomed back, with tears and praises 
 and thanks to God, those whom the cruel horrors 
 of war spared to return. We welcome to-day, 
 with tears and praises, those immortal souls whose 
 mortal bodies could not return alive. They sleep 
 on many fields, — in the lovely valleys of Virginia, 
 on the pestilential plains of North and South Car- 
 olina, on the shores of Texas, on the bluffs of the 
 Mississippi, in the far South, and in the cemetery 
 of Gettysburg amidst the smiling valleys of Penn- 
 sylvania. Of our forty-six West Roxbury soldiers 
 who died in the war for Union and Freedom, 
 one was killed at Bull Run, in the first battle of 
 the war ; nine fell in 1862, seven in 1863, nine in 
 1864, three in 1865, and seven at times unknown. 
 Would that the time would allow us to speak of 
 each separately. But one or two cases of special 
 interest I may be permitted to dwell upon for a 
 moment. 
 
 General Thomas J. C. Amoey, who died of 
 yellow fever at Beaufort, North Carolina, October 
 7, 1864, four days after the death of his wife of 
 the same disease, was the first officer of the regular 
 army who became an ofi&cer of volunteers in Massa- 
 chusetts ; and the first officer of the regular army 
 who received a military commission from Gov- 
 ernor Andrew, who appointed him to the command 
 
396 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 of the Seventeenth Massachusetts. He assisted 
 Governor Andrew greatly at the beginning of the 
 war by his miUtary knowledge in forming regi- 
 ments and dispatching troops ; and the high posi- 
 tion taken by our State at that critical hour is to 
 be attributed in part to his efforts. In command 
 of his regiment, he proceeded to Washington ; and 
 then, with Burnside's expedition, to North Caro- 
 lina ; and there remained, till his death, in a most 
 important outpost, where his judgment was shown 
 in many services, and. his courage tested in many 
 serious engagements. He died honored and loved 
 by all who knew him, and after his death his com- 
 mission of Brigadier-general was received from the 
 War Office, on the back of which is this indorse- 
 ment in the writing of Governor Andrew : — 
 
 " These papers are forwarded through Colonel Henry- 
 Lee, Jr., to the father and family of the late Thomas J. 
 C. Amory, for their information of the fact that the 
 records of the Department of War show that his devoted 
 and meritorious services and character obtained (though 
 too late for his own enjoyment of the honor) the recog- 
 nition of a brevet promotion to the rank of Brigadier- 
 general of Volunteers. 
 
 "John A. Andrew, 
 
 " Governor of Massachusetts." 
 
 Lieutenant-colonel Lucius Manuus Saegent 
 was the son of one of our worthy fellow-citizens 
 and the son-in-law of another. He entered the 
 army as surgeon, but soon became captain in the 
 
THE BEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 397 
 
 First Massachusetts Cavalry ; and for his energy, 
 courage, and skill was promoted to 'the rank he 
 held at his death. He fell near Belfield, Virginia, 
 sword in hand, in the presence of the enemy. His 
 fighting comrades called him a " man of iron : " 
 those who had seen him in his home knew that 
 to this iron strength was added much of culture, 
 taste, tenderness, and Christian faith. 
 
 Would that I might speak fully and in detail 
 of all the noble men whose names are before us. 
 But I must at least mention Captain William 
 B. Williams, who, when he entered the service, 
 said, " I am young and unmarried, and am just 
 the one to go." He fell in the terrible battle of 
 Cedar Mountain, where the Second Regiment, out 
 of twenty-two officers, brought out only eight un- 
 injured. With him, at the same time, fell Caey, 
 Goodwin, Abbott, and Perkins. " It was 
 splendid," says their comrade, Robert Shaw, 
 " to see those fellows, some sick, walk straight up 
 into the shower of bullets, as if it were so much 
 rain, — men who, until this year, had lived lives 
 of perfect ease and luxury. It is hard to believe 
 we shall never see them again, after having been 
 constantly together for more than a year. I do 
 not remember a single quarrel of importance 
 among all our officers at that time." 
 
 He who wrote these words to his mother in 
 August, 1862, himself, in less than a year, fell 
 gloriously on the parapet of Fort Wagner, calling 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 to his regiment to follow him. By his side fell 
 another of 'our brave boys of West Roxbury — 
 Captain William H. Simpkins. His friend and 
 comrade, Cabot Russell, had been .struck by a 
 ball, and fell. Captain Simpkins offered to carry 
 him off. " No," replied the brave boy, " but you 
 may straighten me out." As Simpkins stooped 
 to perform this service, a bullet pierced his breast, 
 and he fell dead on his friend's dying body. Cap- 
 tain Simpkins entered the Fifty-fourth Regiment 
 of colored soldiers, not from enthusiasm, but from 
 a solemn sense of duty, and he died nobly on one 
 of the noblest fields of battle in the war. 
 
 And another name stands on that stone, — the 
 name of one, the child of a dear friend of mine, 
 — one whose purity of heart, sincerity, tenderness, 
 and conscience endeared him to all who knew him. 
 Like Captain Simpkins, Heney May Bond went 
 to the war, and returned to it again, from a pure 
 sense of duty. He had no taste for military life ; 
 in his modesty he distrusted his own fitness for 
 the service ; but he thought it his duty, having 
 served his time, to reenlist and go again ; and he 
 went. In a letter to a brother officer he says: 
 " In the hour of personal danger I am strong and 
 courageous only in the faith that, should it please 
 God to take my life while in the discharge of what 
 I deem to be my highest duty, all will be well 
 with me. I should be worth nothing to my friends 
 or my country without that faith in God." So 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 399 
 
 the good, brave boy lived cheerfully and patiently; 
 so, cheerfully and patiently, he died. 
 
 In speaking of the officers who were more con- 
 spicuous, let us not forget that the services of 
 those who enlisted, fought, and died as private sol- 
 diers were at least as honorable and deserving of 
 our gratitude. The private surrendered his lib- 
 erty, he encountered more hardships, he was often 
 exposed to greater danger, he had fewer of the 
 compensations and little of the glory. Let us, 
 then, give him as full a measure of our gratitude 
 and our love. Among the names of the private 
 soldiers on our monument are those of two broth- 
 ers, Chakles H. Haepek and Joseph Hakpek, 
 whose father and mother are with us. They gave 
 their two boys to their country, and it was a 
 greater gift than the whole fortune of an Astor or 
 a Vanderbilt. 
 
 On the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren, in the 
 crypt of St. Paul's, in commemoration of this great 
 architect who filled London with his churches, 
 are the simple words. Si monumentum quceris, cir- 
 cumspiee, — " If you ask for his monument, look 
 around you." So we may say of those who fell 
 in defense of our common country, — " If you ask 
 for their monument, look around j^ou." The coun- 
 try itself, saved by their devotion, is their true 
 monument. Not for their sakes, then, but for our 
 own, do we erect this monument. They do not 
 need it, but we do. 
 
400 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 The whole land, redeemed, regenerated, and 
 disenthralled, is the only adequate monument to 
 their heroism. But, in the hurry of our busy 
 life, in the pressure of our multitudinous cares, 
 we need to be reminded, by the sight of this sim- 
 ple structure, by the letters of these noble names, 
 that we are bound to keep the country pure which 
 they made safe. 
 
 There are some, I believe, who object to such 
 monuments, on the ground that they tend to keep 
 alive the memory of civil warfare, which had 
 better be forgotten. But this is a mistake. If I 
 were in a Southern State, and stood by a memo- 
 rial erected there in love and gratitude to the 
 soldiers of their lost cause, would it excite any 
 feeling of hostility in my mind ? Rather, I should 
 say, " They died in a bad cause ; but if they be- 
 lieved they were right, I can respect their self- 
 devotion." Such monuments would impress on 
 me the conviction that they believed in their cause 
 and were sincere, and so would lead me to re- 
 spect them. But if Southerners, traveling through 
 the North, should see no testimony on our part to 
 our heroes and martyrs, they might justly infer 
 that we did not believe in our cause. But wher- 
 ever the eye falls on such memorials as this, it is 
 at once felt that we were in solemn earnest ; that 
 we considered the war for Union a holy one, and 
 all who fell in it heroes and martyrs. These 
 stones wiU say to every citizen of the South, " We 
 
THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TJOWN. 401 
 
 did not fight you in anger or from selfishness, 
 but in pure love of Union and Freedom. It is 
 because we believe Union and Freedom as good 
 for you as for ourselves. It was no battle of North 
 against South, but of right against wrong ; and 
 when we won the victory, we won it for you as 
 well as for ourselves. The country these brave 
 men saved is your country as well as ours. We 
 can all be proud in the triumph of our common 
 land." 
 
 To our heroes and martyrs we erect these 
 stones, — not so much for their sake as for our 
 own. They, being dead, still speak. They speak, 
 to teach us never to despair of the country. They 
 tell us that, though the times may be bad, there 
 are yet many noble souls ; that patriotism, cour- 
 age, conscience, and devotion do not die out of hu- 
 man hearts ; that though there may be robbers 
 who plunder the country, aiid demagogues who 
 deceive the people ; though evil abounds, and the 
 love of many waxes cold, — there is yet a power to 
 redeem and to save. In the darkest hour of our 
 nation's night there flamed up this great spirit of 
 generous courage in the souls of our boys, and 
 turned the darkness into day. Let us remember 
 this, and never despair. 
 
 And when we pass this monument, when our 
 eyes fall on these names, let us remember that 
 what they saved we are bound to keep safe. There- 
 fore let me close by adopting the sublime words 
 
 26 
 
402 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 
 
 of Abraham Lincoln at the dedication of- the 
 Cemetery at Gettysburg : " In a larger sense we 
 cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot 
 hallow this ground. These brave men, living and 
 dead, have consecrated it far above our power to 
 add or detract. The world will little note nor 
 long remember what we say here, but it can never 
 forget what they did. It is for us, the living, 
 rather to be dedicated here to their unfinished 
 work, — to be here dedicated to the great task re- 
 maining before us, — that from these honored 
 dead we take increased devotion to the cause for 
 which they gave the last full measure of devotion ; 
 that we here highly resolve that the dead shall 
 not have died in vain ; that the nation shall, un- 
 der God, have a new birth of freedom, and that 
 the government of the people, hy the people, and 
 for the people, shall not perish from the earth." 
 
XIX. 
 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 Amokg the beautiful situations which abound 
 in the Ticinity of Boston, that in Newton, now oc- 
 cupied as the residence of Governor Claflin, is 
 very attractive. The house stands on an elevation 
 above an extensive lawn, through which winds a 
 large brook, and where groups of graceful elms 
 throw their shadows along the soft grass in the 
 summer afternoons. In my childhood this was the 
 home of my grandfather, William Hull ; and one 
 to which all the grandchildren loved to go. He 
 had been an officer in the American army during 
 the whole Revolution ; had known Washington, 
 Lafayette, and other leaders ; had been for many 
 years Governor of Michigan Territory, and could 
 tell numerous anecdotes of his early days, to enter- 
 tain the children who collected around his hospi- 
 table hearth. He would narrate to us stories of 
 the sufferings and exploits of the Revolutionary 
 troops ; of the terrors of the French Revolution 
 which he saw in Paris in 1798 ; and of the wild 
 Indians among whom he lived in Michigan. A 
 
406 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 kind and genial old man, disposed to be a friend to 
 every one, his house was a rendezvous for many 
 sorts of people, veho made themselves at home in 
 its parlors or its kitchen. After a youth, of ad- 
 venture and a manhood which had brought many 
 distinctions and honors, his age liad been clouded 
 by unmerited disgrace. Put in a position of com- 
 mand where success was impossible, deserted by 
 his government and betrayed by his colleagues, 
 he had been made the scapegoat of a blundering 
 administration, and of other commanders who 
 knew how to throw on him tlie blame of their own 
 mistakes. But his sweet temper remained unim- 
 bittered by this ill-treatment ; he was always 
 cheerful ; he was never heard to complain ; and 
 was sure that his character would be finally vindi- 
 cated. And thus he spent his last peaceful years 
 in the pursuits of agriculture, on the farm which 
 his wife had inherited from her ancestors, and 
 which supplied the modest expenses of h.is house- 
 hold. 
 
 This farm, of about three hundred acres, came 
 into his possession through his marriage with 
 Sarah Fuller, only daughter of Abraham Fuller, 
 who was a conspicuous character about the period 
 of the Revolution. His record illustrates the po- 
 sition which might be reached in those days in the 
 country towns by an intelligent farmer of Massa- 
 chusetts. Having only had a common school edu- 
 cation, he held the offices of selectman, town clerk. 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 407 
 
 and treasurer, representative to the general court, 
 delegate to the provincial congress, state senator, 
 state councilor, and judge of the court of common 
 pleas. He was an ardent patriot during the Rev- 
 olution. He was celebrated for four things : his 
 remarkable honesty ; his determined patriotism ; 
 his very loud voice, which could be heard a mile ; 
 and the fact that after he died his body remained 
 undecayed for a long period. Nine years after 
 his death, the tomb in Newton being opened, his 
 features were found nearly the same as when alive. 
 Thirty-six years after his death, in 1830, I myself 
 visited my great-grandfather's tomb, and found the 
 body shrunk away indeed, and changed in color, 
 but resembling leather in color and firmness. He 
 inherited his farm from his great-grand-fathers, 
 John Fuller and Edward Jackson. John Fuller, 
 in 1658, bought seven hundred and fifty acres on 
 Charles River for ^150. Edward Jackson, in 
 1646, bought for X140 five hundred acres, cov- 
 ering what is now called Newtonville, but which 
 ought perhaps to be named Jackson. From these 
 two ancestors Judge Fuller inherited the estate 
 where his son-in-law. General Hull, spent the last 
 years of his life. 
 
 In 1848, long after the death of General Hull 
 and his wife, and when the last of his family had 
 moved from the homestead and left it unoccupied, 
 I penetrated one summer afternoon into the old 
 upper garret of the house, seeking for papers to 
 
408 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 help me in my task of writing a book on the 
 campaign of 1812. I found there a trunk which 
 had evidently not been opened or examined for 
 many years. It was filled with files of letters, 
 closely packed together, many of which had been 
 received by my grandfather during the War of In- 
 dependence. There were four letters from Gen- 
 eral Washington himself, and numerous others 
 from Lincoln, Knox, Steuben, George Clinton, 
 Lord Stirling, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Robert 
 Morris, Aaron Burr, General Heath ; with military 
 commissions, and passports for traveling in Eu- 
 rope, from Governors Hancock and Samuel Adams. 
 Some of these I took, to aid me in my work ; but, 
 being too absurdly conscientious, I left the rest, 
 and they were afterward carried away by some 
 unknown persons. Let us hope that, since they 
 cannot be in my collection of autographs, they 
 may adorn that of some other more enthusiastic 
 collector. 
 
 WiUiam Hull was born in Derby, Conn., in 
 1753. His ancestor, Richard Hull, made freeman 
 in Massachusetts in 1634, removed to New Haven, 
 Conn., in 1639. His son John removed to Derby, 
 Conn. ; and his grandson, Joseph, was the grand- 
 father of WiUiam. William's father, Joseph Hull, 
 was a farmer. His eldest brother, the father of 
 Isaac Hull, who commanded the frigate Consti- 
 tution in its battle with the Gruerriere, became, 
 like William, an officer in the Revolutionary army. 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 409 
 
 Among his exploits was that of taking a British 
 armed schooner in Long Island Sound. He went 
 out of Derby in a boat in the night-time with 
 twenty men, boarded the schooner, and took her 
 into port with her crew. Another brother was 
 also an officer in the Reyolution. 
 
 William Hull, the fourth son, graduated at 
 Yale College with honors ; afterward entered the 
 law school at Litchfield, Conn., and was admitted 
 to the bar in 1775. 
 
 When the news of the battle of Lexington 
 reached Derby a company of soldiers was raised 
 there, and William Hull was chosen their cap- 
 tain, very unexpectedly to himself. But, full of 
 the enthusiasm of the hour, he at once accepted 
 the appointment, and joining Colonel Webb's 
 regiment, of which his company made a part, 
 marched to Cambridge to join the army of Wash- 
 ington. His father dying at this time, he resigned 
 his share of the inheritance, saying, " I only want 
 my sword and my uniform." From that time till 
 the end of the American war he continued in 
 the army, being present in many of the most im- 
 portant operations and engagements, such as Dor- 
 chester Heights, White Plains, Trenton, Prince- 
 ton, Ticonderoga, the surrender of Burgoyne, Fort 
 Stanwix, Monmouth, Stony Point, and Morrisania. 
 He was inspector under Baron Steuben, lieuten- 
 ant-colonel in 1779, and commanded the escort of 
 Washington when he bade farewell to the army. 
 
410 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 His commander, Colonel Brooks (afterwards 
 Goyernor of Massachusetts), wrote a letter in 
 1814, in which he says, " In September, 1776, at 
 White Plains, General Hull (then captain) acted 
 under my immediate orders, and was detached 
 from the line to oppose a body of Light Infantry 
 and Yagers advancing on the left flank of the 
 American army. His orders were executed with 
 promptitude, gallantry, and effect. Though more 
 than double his number, the enemy was compelled 
 to retreat, and the left of the American line en- 
 abled to pass the Bronx." 
 
 He was then hardly more than a boy, twenty- 
 three years old, fresh from college and the study 
 of law. In the brief memoirs he has left of his 
 Revolutionary life, he mentions this action in the 
 abstract and dignified manner which was then 
 supposed to be the proper style for history. In 
 fact, had it not been for Colonel Brooks, we 
 should not have known that he commanded this 
 body, for he does not even mention himself. O, 
 if he, and the other young heroes of that time had 
 only told us of their feelings on being suddenly 
 called to such important duties ; if they had only 
 relinquished the abstract formal narrative and 
 given us pictures of the looks, dress, behavior of 
 the soldiers ; had only condescended to paint the 
 details and add the color which so enliven modern 
 history ! But such was not the style of vrriting 
 they had learned at college from Hume and Lord 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 411 
 
 Karaes. This was the first time that he had stood 
 with his regiment to see a British army marching 
 to attack them, and his MSS. glow for a moment 
 with the admiration he felt as a young soldier for 
 the splendid military equipments and discipline of 
 the enemy. He speaks of " the magnificent ap- 
 pearance " of the British troops, of the glitter of 
 their polished arms under the bright autumnal 
 sun ; of their rich uniforms and equipage. So the 
 boy captain stood with his poorly dressed provin- 
 cials to receive the volleys of grape and chain shot 
 from the advancing foe, looking down on them 
 from Chatterton's hill, till he was called to lead 
 the body which was to oppose the force trying to 
 turn the American left. All he says of this is : 
 " It was promptly done, with much order and 
 regularity ; and, after a sharp conflict, the object 
 was completely attained ; " merely adding that 
 "his regiment had the honor of receiving the 
 personal thanks of Washington after the engage- 
 ment." But of the glow of satisfaction and pride 
 which he must have felt in listening to those words 
 of praise from his great commander he carefully 
 says nothing.^ 
 
 The next little touch of reality which breaks out 
 from his memoir is concerning the fatigues of the 
 soldiers at Trenton and Princeton. He was one of 
 
 1 Nor does he mention his first wound, received in this engage- 
 ment. That would be quite contrary to good writing, according 
 to the rhetoric of his day. 
 
412 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 those commanders who made the sufferings of his 
 soldiers his own. On leaving the Highlands of 
 New York to join General Washington in Penn- 
 sylvania, he says he found that his company, then 
 reduced to fifty men, had only one poor blanket to 
 two men ; many had no shoes or stockings ; those 
 which were in the company were nearly worn out ; 
 their clothes were wretched ; they had not been 
 paid ; yet they were patient, patriotic, and willing 
 to serve on without compensation. During their 
 march they slept on the cold ground, though it 
 was December, and that without covering. It was 
 a bitterly cold Christmas night when Washington 
 crossed the Delaware to Trenton. There was a driv- 
 ing storm of snow and sleet, and the ice was run- 
 ning in the river. The storm continued all night, 
 and when the troops were halted they were so fa- 
 tigued that they fell asleep as they stood in their 
 ranks, and could with difficulty be awakened. In 
 the action which followed, Captain Hull acted as 
 Lieutenant-colonel. As soon as the battle had 
 been fought and won, the army marched back 
 with their prisoners and the artillery and military 
 stores they had taken. Nearly all that night was 
 spent in recrossing the Delaware. After gaining 
 the other side, our young captain marched his 
 troops to a farmer's house to get them some re- 
 freshment and rest. " After my men had been 
 accommodated," says he, " I went into a room 
 where a number of officers were sitting round a 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 413 
 
 table, with a large dish of hasty-pudding in its 
 centre. I sat down, procured a spoon, and began 
 to eat. While eating I. fell from my chair to the 
 floor, overcome with sleep ; and in the morning, 
 when I awoke, the spoon was fast clinched in my 
 hand." Happy days of youth, when no hardship 
 nor fatigue can prevent blessed sleep from coming 
 to seal up the eye and give rest to the brain ! 
 
 The waking of the boy-soldier from this sleep 
 on the floor was followed two days after by an 
 agreeable incident. Washington, whose eye was 
 everywhere, had probably noticed Hull's good be- 
 havior in this action. 
 
 The day before the march to Princeton, one of 
 General Washington's aids came to Captain Hull's 
 tent, and said, " Captain, the Commander-in-chief 
 wishes to see you." 
 
 The young soldier went, we may suppose, 
 with some trepidation, to the General's quarters. 
 Washington looked at him, and said, " Captain 
 Hull, you are an officer, I believe, in the Connecti- 
 cut line." 
 
 Hull bowed, and General Washington went on. 
 " I wish to promote you and I have the power to 
 do so. But for that purpose I must transfer you 
 to the Massachusetts line, since there is no vacancy 
 in yours. If you are willing, I will appoint you 
 major in the Eighth Massachusetts." 
 
 Hull thanked his general warmly for this mark 
 of favor, and said, " All I wish, General, is to 
 
414 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 serve my country where I can do it best ; and I 
 accept the promotion gratefully." 
 
 He was then appointed to command a detach- 
 ment to watch the approach of Cornwallis, and to 
 detain him as long as possible while Washington 
 was fortifying himself beyond the little creek, be- 
 hind which he concealed his rapid night march 
 upon Princeton. After serving in these two bat- 
 tles he was sent to Massachusetts to recruit his 
 regiment. Having recruited three hundred men, 
 he was then ordered to join General St. Clair's 
 army at Ticonderoga. When General St. Clair 
 evacuated that post an outcry of reproach went 
 up against him from all quarters, though this 
 event probably caused the final surrender of Bur- 
 goyne. Major Hull, satisfied of the injustice of 
 these censures on his commander, wrote a letter to 
 a friend in Connecticut during the retreat — the 
 stump of a tree serving him for a table — defend- 
 ing the course of St. Clair. Major Hull was then 
 sent with his regiment under General Arnold to 
 relieve Fort Stanwix on the Mohawk River. After 
 this work had been accomplished, Arnold and his 
 troops rejoined the army of Gates at Saratoga, 
 and Major Hull commanded detachments in the 
 battles which compelled the surrender of Bur- 
 goyne. In one of these battles, when he drovfc 
 the enemy from their post with the bayonet, his 
 detachment lost one hundred and fifty men out of 
 three hundred^ He commanded the rear guard in 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 415 
 
 Schuyler's retreat from Fort Edward, and was 
 constantly engaged with the advanced troops of 
 Burgoyne. He commanded a volunteer corps on 
 the 19th September. His detachment, by charg- 
 ing the enemy with the bayonet at a critical mo- 
 ment, aided in the repulse of Burgoyne on that 
 day. In the battle of the 7th of October Major 
 Hull commanded the advanced guard. At the 
 final surrender of Burgoyne, he says, " I was 
 present when they marched into our camp, and no 
 words can express the deep interest felt by every 
 American heart. Nor could we help feeling sym- 
 pathy for those who had so bravely opposed us." 
 
 The Massachusetts regiment of which young 
 Hull was major had now earned the right to 
 some short period of rest. It had marched from 
 Boston to Ticonderoga ; had retreated through 
 the wilderness to Saratoga ; had thence marched 
 to Fort Stanwix on the Mohawk and back ; and 
 had been engaged in all the battles with Bur- 
 goyne. But it was now ordered to Pennsylvania 
 to join the army of Washington, and was in the 
 winter-quarters during the cruel winter passed at 
 Valley Forge. Major Hull and Lieutenant-colonel 
 Brooks had a hut together. It contained but one 
 room, with shelves on one side for books, and 
 on the other for a row of Derby cheeses sent to 
 Hull by his mother. Here they passed the dreary 
 days of the winter. The men wanted provisions, 
 blankets, and shoes. The officers were scarcely 
 
416 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 better off than the men. Discontent, approaching 
 to mutiny, was the natural result. Terrible dis- 
 eases broke out in the camp. Long years after 
 these trials had passed by, my grandfather Hull 
 could scarcely allude to them without emotion. 
 
 The army was fading away by disease and de- 
 sertion, and by the expiration of the term of en- 
 listment. A little vigor on the part of indolent 
 Sir William Howe would have driven this shadow 
 of an army back into the mountains of Pennsyl- 
 vania. Fortunately for Washington, General 
 Howe was incapable of any such enterprise. He 
 preferred feasts and games in Philadelphia. 
 
 One attempt, however, he made. He tried to 
 surround a detachment of twenty-five hundred 
 men under Lafayette, but failed in this from the 
 superior alertness and vigor of the young French 
 general. Hull was with the body sent to meet 
 and assist Lafayette on this occasion. Years after, 
 on Lafayette's visit to Boston in 1824, he came to 
 visit General Hull, who had collected his grand- 
 children around him that they might see his old 
 friend. I recollect the affectionate manner in 
 which these two aged men took each other by the 
 hand, and the kind interest which Lafayette man- 
 ifested in the grandchildren of his comrade in the 
 Revolution. 
 
 After the battle of Monmouth, in which Major 
 Hull served under Lord Stirling, taking part in 
 the successful resistance to the attack of the right 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 417 
 
 wing of the British, he was ordered to march his 
 regiment to Poughkeepsie, and then to Kings- 
 bridge, in front of the enemy's lines near New 
 York. Hull had the command of the corps of ob- 
 servation at this place, which faced the whole 
 British army, and was eighteen miles in advance 
 of any other body of American troops. Great 
 circumspection and constant watchfulness was 
 necessary. He moved his troops from spot to 
 spot, about White Plains, above and below Dobbs 
 Ferry, patrolling to the right and left, and watch- 
 ing every movement of the British army. This 
 was the region ravaged by the Cow-boys and Skin- 
 ners, and is the scene of Cooper's novel, " The 
 Spy." Major Hull commanded here during three 
 winters, trying to repress the cruelty of these law- 
 less marauders, so far as his small force would al- 
 low. He was then about twenty-five years old, 
 and in excellent health. " In a command so re- 
 sponsible," says he, " I adopted a system to which 
 I steadfastly adhered ; nor did storms, cold, or the 
 darkness of the night ever interfere with its per- 
 formance. Early in the evening, without taking 
 off my clothes, with my arms by my side, I lay 
 down before the fire, wrapped in my blanket, and 
 gave directions to the sentinel to awaken me at 
 one in the morning. My adjutant, or some other 
 officer, was with me, and one or two of the faith- 
 ful guides from among the loyal inhabitants of 
 the region. The troops were ordered to be paraded 
 27 
 
418 WILLJAM BULL. 
 
 at the same hour, and to remain on parade until 
 my return. After the whole were assembled, one 
 half were allowed to go to rest, and the other half 
 were formed into strong guards, which patrolled 
 in front and on the flanks of the detachment until 
 sunrise. This force was in addition to the small 
 parties which were constantly patrolling with the 
 guides. After making this arrangement, I rode 
 with my adjutant and one or two guides across to 
 the North River, and then back, on the line of 
 my patrols, toward the East River, and rode thus 
 in different directions until sunrise. I commonly 
 rode about twenty miles at night, and as many 
 during the day. I was directed to preserve peace 
 and good order among the inhabitants, and cau- 
 tioned not to allow supplies to be carried to the 
 enemy. The enemy made many attempts to sur- 
 prise and destroy my detachment ; but, by the 
 precautions taken, his plans were invariably de- 
 feated. I selected a number of families on whose 
 fidelity I could rely, and formed a line of them, 
 extending from Kingsbridge to my most advanced 
 guards. I requested them to come to me at night, 
 and gave them my instructions. The man who 
 lived nearest to Kingsbridge, whenever he noticed 
 any extraordinary movement among the enemj', 
 was to take a mug or pitcher in his hand, and in 
 a careless manner go to his next neighbor on this 
 line for some cider, beer, or milk, give him notice, 
 and return home. His neighbor was to do the 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 419 
 
 same, and so on, until the information reached my 
 station. Thus the enemy could make no move- 
 ment without my being informed of it. I re- 
 warded these good people for their services, which 
 they could not perform without much personal 
 risk. Not one was faithless to his trust, though 
 surrounded by hardship and diyjger. The State 
 of New York required them to take the oath of 
 fidelity, and if they refused their property might 
 be confiscated. Those who did not take the oath 
 were plundered by the Skinners, and those who 
 did, by the Cow-boys." 
 
 About the end of May, 1779, Sir Henry Clin- 
 ton moved up the Hudson from New York, the 
 American army retreating before him. The Brit- 
 ish troops took possession of the two strong posi- 
 tions of Stony Point and Verplanck's Point, and 
 put garrisons in them. Major Hull was ordered 
 to West Point, where his detachment erected a 
 fort overlooking and commanding the other works 
 at that place. 
 
 Stony Point and Verplanck's Point were the 
 keys of the Highlands, and formed the eastern 
 and western termini of King's Ferry, an important 
 line of communication. They were just at the 
 head of the Tappan Sea. General Washington, 
 whose head-quarters were just above West Point, 
 determined to attack Stony Point and retake it. 
 He intrusted the enterprise to General Wayne. 
 On this occasion Major Hull commanded a column, 
 
420 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 and received the commendation of his commander 
 for his conduct. His name having been acciden- 
 tally left out in General Wayne's first letter to the 
 President of Congress, General Wayne, in a sub- 
 sequent letter to Congress expressed his great re- 
 gret at this omission. Major Hull thereupon 
 wrote a letter to, General Wayne, expressing his 
 entire satisfaction with this act of justice. This 
 letter is preserved in Dawson's account of the as- 
 sault on Stony Point, and Wayne's reply is in 
 my possession in the original autograph, and is as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Light Infahtby Camp, 25 August, 1779. 
 
 " Dea.k Sir, — The Candor with which you have de- 
 livered your sentiments, gives a sensation much better 
 felt than expressed. My highest ambition is to merit 
 the Esteem and Confidence of the Light Corps — con- 
 scious of the Kectitude of my own Conduct, I feel 
 doubly happy in your approbation of it, and have the 
 most happy presages, that by mutual Confidence, and 
 a strict Observance of Orders and Disciphne, we shall 
 produce a Conviction to the World that the sons of 
 America deserve to be free. 
 
 " I am, with true esteem, yours most sincerely, 
 
 "Ant't. Wayne. 
 " Majok Hull." 
 
 Major Hull, in his account of the attack, gives 
 a vivid picture of the troops marching all day over 
 the rugged mountains which lay between West 
 Point arid Stony Point, and of their silent advance 
 through the midnight darkness to the attack. He 
 
WILLIAM BULL. 421 
 
 describes the columns, who had strict orders not to 
 load a single gun, but to do everything with the 
 bayonet, feeling their way across the marsh and 
 over the beach in silence. The column led by 
 Wayne himself, together with that of Hull, crossed 
 the beach on which was two feet of water. Some 
 outlying guards perceived or heard the advancing 
 body and fired, and the fort was alarmed, and im- 
 mediately opened fire on the Americans who were 
 silently struggling up the very steep hill, which 
 was also protected by a strong abattis of trees, 
 and strong pickets. While tearing these away, 
 under a heavy fire of artillery and musketry, 
 Wayne having just passed the abattis received a 
 musket-ball, and was stunned for a moment. His 
 soldiers rushed on, and the two columns entered 
 the fort nearly at once. Then the mountains 
 " found a tongue " and echoed back the loud cheers 
 of the victors. Hull had two narrow escapes, one 
 ball passing through the crown of his hat, and 
 another striking his boot. 
 
 For his conduct on this occasion Major Hull 
 received promotion, and was made a lieutenant- 
 colonel. He was also much gratified by an invita- 
 tion from General Washington to enter his family 
 as one of his aids. But he was obliged to decline 
 this, as General Steuben, who was introducing a 
 new system of discipline into the army, was very 
 desirous to have Hull as one of his assistants, as 
 inspector, in which position he remained for some 
 
422 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 time. He was afterward ordered to West Ches- 
 ter to his old position before New York, where he 
 commanded a detachment of four hundred troops. 
 In this position he offered to make an attack on 
 the British post of Morrisania, which was gar- 
 risoned by a partisan corps who were constantly 
 plundering in the neutral ground and in the State 
 of Connecticut. General Washington gave his 
 permission rather reluctantly, in a letter, printed 
 by Sparks, and dated January 7, 1781. Washing- 
 ton doubted of the success of the enterprise, on 
 account of the long distance the Americans would 
 have to march to attack fresh troops, and because 
 they would leave fortified British posts in their 
 rear. He added that " success depends absolutely 
 upon the secrecy and rapidity of the movement." 
 Hull was accustomed to this watchfulness and 
 caution from his long command in this exposed 
 vicinity. He marched past the enemy's posts 
 unperceived, with six hundred troops, and suc- 
 ceeded in dispersing the enemy, taking prisoners 
 and cattle and the horses of the British cavalry. 
 They then burned the barracks and stores, ajid he 
 returned without rest, and amid frequent attacks 
 on the rear from an ever-increasing foe, and at 
 last brought off his prisoners and his troops in 
 safety. He received the thanks of Washington 
 and Congress for this service. Having served six 
 years without having asked for leave of absence, 
 he now obtained permission to spend the rest of 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 423 
 
 the winter in. Boston, where he was married to the 
 only child of Judge Fuller, at her father's house 
 in Newton. 
 
 At the close of the war, William Hull, then 
 thirty years old, having all this experience behind 
 him — full of energy, health, and talent, began to 
 practice law in Newton. He must have been 
 successful, for, during the next twenty years he 
 built a large house at Newton Corner, traveled 
 extensively in America and Europe, and engaged 
 in various kinds of business speculations. He 
 bought and sold lands in Georgia, Ohio, Vermont, 
 and elsewhere. He went to France during the 
 French Revolution, and, I believe, took a cargo of 
 some sort to England. 
 
 Meantime he was very happy when at home 
 in Newton, where he had a large family growing 
 up around him. Of his eight children, seven were 
 daughters, all lively and agreeable, and drawing 
 many visitors to the hospitable house. It must 
 have been a very pleasant place to visit ; at least, 
 so I was told by Governor Levi Lincoln, who^ 
 when ninety years old, still remembered the gay- 
 eties of the place, where he and others had visited 
 seventy years before. All the seven daughters 
 were married ; one going to live in New York, two 
 to Georgia, one to Michigan, one to Maine, and 
 two making their homes in Boston. 
 
 During these years he was a leading man in the 
 State, and was frequently elected to the Massa- 
 
424 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 chusetts Legislature. In Shays' insurrection he 
 commanded a column of Lincoln's force, which 
 surprised and dispersed the insurgents. He was 
 made major-general of militia in 1796. In 1793 
 he was commissioner to Canada to treat with 
 the Indians. 
 
 In 1805 William Hull received from Thomas 
 Jefferson the appointment of Governor of Michi- 
 gan Territory, and also that of Indian agent. All 
 the white inhabitants of the territory amounted to 
 less than five thousand, but the Indian tribes were 
 numerous, warlike, and needed to be treated with 
 much wisdom. The object of Governor Hull was 
 to civilize them and gradually extinguish their 
 title, and to turn them, if possible, into citizens. 
 
 Detroit, where the Governor lived during" his 
 seven years' administration of the territory, was 
 then more difficult to reach from New York than 
 it is now to go to China. It was necessary to 
 traverse Lake Ontario and Lake Erie on small 
 sailing vessels, which only sailed occasionally from 
 Buffalo and from the other ports. Here, how- 
 ever, he remained until 1812. He was asked, 
 as war with England and with the Indians around 
 Detroit seemed imminent, to a,ccept a commis- 
 sion of brigadier-general in the United States 
 army, and lead a body of troops to Detroit to 
 protect the inhabitants. He refused the commis- 
 sion, and Colonel Kingsbury was appointed in his 
 place ; but this officer falling sick, Hull at last 
 
WILLIAM UULL. 425 
 
 consented to take the command. He collected his 
 troops in Ohio, and cut a military road through 
 the wilderness, and on reaching Detroit found that 
 war had been declared against Great Britain. 
 Everything had been mismanaged at Washington. 
 So tardy were they in sending him notice, that 
 the British at Maiden heard of it first, and cap- 
 tured a vessel in which he had sent his stores. 
 General Dearborn, who was to have cooperated 
 with hira by invading Canada from the east, in- 
 stead of doing this had made an armistice with 
 the British commander, which allowed him to 
 send all his troops against Detroit. Although 
 General Hull had, during several years, urged 
 again and again on the government the impor- 
 tance of building a fleet on Lake Erie, nothing 
 had been done, and it was in the possession of 
 the British fleet. Provisions soon became scarce ; 
 the woods were filled with hostile Indians, his 
 supplies were stopped, bis communications cut off. 
 Under these conditions his post became not ten- 
 able, and he surrendered, — for the same reasons 
 which had compelled Burgdyne to surrender at 
 Saratoga and Comwallis at Yorktown. But these 
 two British generals had put themselves volunta- 
 rily into a position, where they were surrounded 
 and cut off from their supplies. General Hull 
 went, in obedience to orders, to Detroit, depend- 
 ing on the support which had been promised him 
 by his government, and which was never given. 
 
426 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 Burgoyne and Cornwallis returned to England, and 
 instead of being condemned for their surrender 
 were rewarded with other and • higher positions. 
 General Hull was punished by the government 
 which had deserted and betrayed him by being 
 made the scapegoat for their own mistakes and 
 their own incapacity. A victim was necessary to 
 appease the disappointed hopes of the nation, 
 which had been taught to believe that Canada was 
 to fall an easy prey to our arms.^ The anger of 
 the people must be diverted from the government 
 which had plunged into the war without prepa- 
 ration. At this juncture they found a serviceable 
 tool in Colonel Cass. He went directly to Wash- 
 ington after the surrender of Detroit, and wrote 
 a letter September 10, 1812, in which he threw 
 all the blame of the disaster on his general. In 
 this letter he informed the government, " that if 
 Maiden had been immediately attacked it would 
 have fallen an easy victory." But Colonel Cass 
 himself had voted in a council of war, with a ma- 
 jority of officers, against such an attack. In this 
 letter he states that there was no difficulty in pro- 
 curing provisions for the army. Bit a month 
 before this was written, and four days before the 
 
 1 Henry Clay said in 1812: "We can take Canada without 
 soldiers I would take the whole continent from the Brit- 
 ish. I wish never to see peace till we do so." Better advised in 
 1814, he himself signed the treaty of peace at Ghent, which left 
 Canada where it was before. 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 427 
 
 surrender, this same Colonel Cass wrote to the 
 Governor of Ohio that the communication with 
 Ohio must be kept open, as the very existence of 
 the army depended upon it, and that supplies must 
 come from that State. And on August 3d he 
 wrote to his brother-in-law that " both men and 
 provisions were wanted for the very existence of 
 the troops." Yet Cass' letter and testimony was 
 what diverted the anger of the people from the 
 government upon General Hull. It was pub- 
 lished as an official account of the surrender in 
 all the newspapers of the Union. Its author. 
 Colonel Cass, was immediately rewarded for this 
 service (for he had performed no other which 
 could excuse such advancement), by being pro- 
 moted from his position of colonel in the Ohio 
 militia to that of brigadier-general in the army of 
 the United States. He also was appointed Gov- 
 ernor of Michigan in place of his old commander ; 
 on the principle, apparently, that to the victor 
 belong the spoils. 
 
 At the time when General Hull surrendered 
 Detroit, the condition of affairs was as follows : 
 His provisions were nearly exhausted. Commu- 
 nication by the lake was impossible, that being in 
 the hands of the British, and remaining so until 
 Perry's victory. His communications througli 
 the woods by land were entirely cut off, and two 
 efforts to reopen them, made by strong detach- 
 ments, had failed. The territory itself could fur- 
 
428 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 nisli no supplies, as it depended on Ohio and 
 Indiana for its own. By the fall of the Ameri- 
 can forts on the upper lakes all the hostile Indi- 
 ans were set free to attack Detroit. Brock had 
 more troops, numerous Indian allies, ample sup- 
 plies behind him, and the lake in his possession. 
 Hull might have fought a battle, but if he had 
 won it his position would have remained nearly 
 the same. A victory would not have opened the 
 woods or given him the lake ; but a defeat would 
 have caused the massacre by the Indians of the 
 white inhabitants of the territory. General Har- 
 rison, well acquainted with the country, foresaw 
 and foretold the coming disaster. That it was 
 inevitable that Detroit must belong to whichever 
 nation held the command of the lake, appears 
 from the fact that General Harrison, after the 
 surrender, advanced to within a short distance of 
 Detroit and was obliged to remain there a whole 
 year, unable to move upon that place till Perry's 
 victory gave the lake to the Americans, when the 
 British commander evacuated at once both De- 
 troit and Maiden, without waiting for the Amer- 
 ican forces to appear. 
 
 When the court martial was summoned to try 
 General Hull, the officer whose neglect of orders 
 had caused the whole disaster was appointed its 
 president. This was General Dearborn, who was 
 to have cooperated with General Hull by invading 
 Canada on the east ; and who, instead of this, had 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 429 
 
 signed an armistice which allowed the British 
 troops to be sent against General Hull. The ac- 
 quittal of Hull would have been the condemnation 
 of Dearborn. And thus a man was made a judge 
 of the case who had a personal interest in the con- 
 viction of the prisoner. 
 
 The charge of treason was abandoned by the 
 court as being wholly untenable. They found 
 that General Hull was guilty of cowardice in sur- 
 rendering Detroit, sentenced him to be shot, and 
 told him to go home from Albany to Boston, and 
 wait there for the execution of the sentence. Of 
 course it was not intended that the sentence sliould 
 be inflicted. All they wanted was a victim, and 
 to put him to death might make him a martyr. 
 
 Public opinion has long since reversed this sen- 
 tence. The charge of cowardice has been aban- 
 doned by all well informed writers. It was 
 indeed absurd in itself. Physical courage, in a 
 soldier, is very much a matter of habit. Most 
 soldiers are alarmed in their first battle ; few but 
 show courage in their tenth. Now General Hull 
 was the only man in the army who was accus- 
 tomed to war. He had been in the thick of nu- 
 merous battles, had led charges at the point of the 
 bayonet, had received again and again the thanks 
 of Congress and of Washington for his bravery. 
 Against this man's courage evidence was received 
 on his trial from militia officers who had never 
 heard a gun fired in anger, and who testified, as 
 
430 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 their opinion, that his looks seemed to show anx- 
 iety and fear. 
 
 Since this charge has been given up, some 
 writers have fallen back on another position. 
 " He was an old man," say they, " and wanted 
 moral courage. He was afraid to take responsi- 
 bility." At the time of the surrender he was 
 fifty-nine, an age at which many commanders have 
 won great victories. There is therefore no reason 
 to ascribe this cause for his conduct, if it is suffi- 
 ciently justified by military considerations. And 
 it certainly is so, unless we are to condemn all 
 the other commanders who have surrendered when 
 their provisions were exhausted and their supplies 
 cut ofE. 
 
 History has at last reached the position in 
 which its final verdict for William Hull is entire 
 acquittal. His condemnation still stands on the 
 records of our army ; but it was the nation which 
 was condemned by that sentence, and not Hull. 
 His reward for having given the strength of 
 his youth and the vigor of his manhood to his 
 country's servicfe was the termination in obscurity 
 and disgrace of a career before prosperous, brill- 
 iant, and full of hope. 
 
 But he had the one never-failing support — the 
 consciousness of having done his duty ; on this 
 point he never expressed a doubt. He maintained 
 to the last, and repeated on his death-bed, his con- 
 viction that he had done right in this act, which 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 431 
 
 had brought upon him so much unmerited misfort- 
 une. As a boy I used often to visit his home, 
 and nothing could be more cheerful, kindly, and 
 attractive than his vrhole manner. I never saw a 
 cloud on his brow, I never heard a harsh word 
 from his hps. All his grandchildren loved him, 
 and it was a holiday when they could go to the 
 old place in Newton, row in his boat on the pond, 
 or try with his old carbine to shoot a rabbit in his 
 woods. Nothing in his whole manner indicated 
 that there was any cloud on his mind or heart. 
 
 Before his death there came a little sunshine 
 from without also, in addition to the peace which 
 reigned within. In 1824, by the kindness of Mr. 
 Calhoun, then the secretary of war, he was able 
 to procure documents from Washington, by the 
 help of which he wrote an appeal to the people of 
 the United States from the sentence of the court 
 martial. This series of letters, in the " Boston 
 Statesman," were read with interest all over the 
 country. Public testimonials of esteem were of- 
 fered to him by men of all parties ; and a marked 
 change took place from that time in the opinion 
 of the community concerning his character and 
 conduct. 
 
 This favorable opinion has been more and more 
 confirmed by the conclusions of the best histo- 
 rians. The latest of these, who has written the 
 most exhaustive account of the War of 1812, com- 
 pletely justifies General Hull's conduct. Benson 
 
432 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 J. Lossing, in a monograph published on the sur- 
 render of Detroit in " Potter's American Month- 
 ly " for August, 1875, calls the trial a disgraceful 
 one, its sentence unjust, and says that the court 
 was evidently constituted in order to offer Hull as 
 a sacrifice to appease public indignation and to 
 preserve the administration from disgrace and 
 contempt. " The conception of the campaign 
 against Canada," says Lossing, " was a huge blun- 
 der. Hull saw it, and protested against it. The 
 failure to put in vigorous motion for his support 
 auxiliary and cooperative forces was criminal neg- 
 lect." Lossing adds, that in choosing to surrender 
 Detroit Hull " bravely determined to choose the 
 most courageous and humane course ; and so he 
 faced the taunts of his soldiers and the expected 
 scorn of his countrymen rather than fill the beau- 
 tiful land of the Ohio and the young settlements 
 of Michigan with mourning. To one of his aids 
 he said : ' You return to your family without a 
 stain ; as for myself, I have sacrificed a reputa- 
 tion dearer to me than life, but I have saved the 
 inhabitants of Detroit, and my heart approves the 
 deed.' " 
 
 General Hull, as we have said, spent his last 
 days at Newton, on his wife's farm, in the peace- 
 ful pursuits of agriculture. His means were very 
 limited, and he was often in quite straightened 
 circumstances, when he was supposed by the ig- 
 norant to be reveling with " British gold," for 
 
WILLIAM HULL. 433 
 
 which he had sold his country, A large part of 
 his support he derived from the produce of his 
 farm. And none of his grandchildren will ever 
 forget the happy hours spent at his house in the 
 Thanksgiving holidays, or the dances in his hall 
 in the evening to old Tillo's fiddle. Tillo, a negro 
 retainer, whoSe father had been rescued from the 
 ill-treatment of the Cow-boys in West Chester by 
 Major Hull, during his command in that region, 
 considered the old place as much belonging to 
 himself as to his master, and regarded it as his 
 chief duty " to fiddle for the childers." Nor can 
 we ever cease to remember the bounteous Thanks- 
 giving dinner, nor the long table around which 
 the company assembled, nor the satisfaction of 
 our grandfather, when, at the commencement of 
 the feast, he spread his hands above the board 
 and said, " All that you see on this table, my 
 children, is the produce of my own farm." 
 
 There is something instructive in the story of 
 such a life. It is one of the lessons which will 
 always bear repeating, which show us that the 
 peace and joy of the heart come from a con- 
 sciousness of right-doing rather than from outward 
 circumstances. It is probable that General Hull, 
 fallen on evil days and tongues, was quite as 
 happy, fully as contented, as when his life led 
 from one success to another. The " stupid starers 
 and the loud huzzas " were gone, but the self-ap- 
 proval remained. Cast down but not destroyed, 
 
 2S 
 
434 WILLIAM HULL. 
 
 persecuted but not forsaken, he realized the de- 
 scription of the poet, — 
 
 " Thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, 
 A man that fortune's hoSets and rewards 
 Hast taken with equal thanks."