1 YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY ^-^^^^ c^ HORACE GREELEY Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, by HORACE GREELEY, in the Clerk's Of&ce of the District Court of the United States for the Southem Bistnct of New York. University Pr^ss: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambriugb. EECOLLECTIOM OF A BUSY LIFE: INCLUDING EEMINISCENCES OF AMEEICAN POLITICS AND POLITICIANS, PKOM THB OPENING OP THE MISSOURI CONTEST TO THE DOWNFALL OP SLAVERY; TO WHICH ARE ADDED MISCELLANIES: "LITEEATURB AS A VOCATION," "POETS AND POETRY," "REFORMS AND REFORMERS,'* A DEFENCE OF PROTECTION, ETC., ETO. ALSO, A DISCUSSION WITH ROBEET DALE OWEN OF THE LAW OP DIVORCE. By HOEACE GEEELEY. NEW YORK J. B. FORD AND COMPANY PRINTING-HOUSE SQUARE 1868 TO OUR AMEEICAN BOYS, WHO, BORN IN POVERTY, CRADLED IN OBSCURITY, AND EARLY CALLED FEOM SCHOOL TO HUGGED LABOR, ABE SEEEINO TO CONVERT OBSTACLE INTO OPPORTUNITY, AND WREST ACHIEVEMENT FROM DIFFICULTY, ESese SElecoUections ARE REGARDFULLY INSCRIBED BY THEIR AUTHOR. PTJBLISHEES' CIRCULAE. THE book herewith presented to the public is a collection of the series of articles originally published by Me. Greeley in the New York Ledger, bearing, as now, the ac curately descriptive title, " Eecollections op a Busy Life." Eevised, and in part rewritten, by the author, and enriched by the addition of much original matter, it is believed that these autobiographical reminiscences will be, not only enter taining and attractive to the casual reader, but of perma nent value to all students of the times we live in. Tliey form a record of the inner Mfe and inspiration of one who has actively shared in the many strange intellectual and political phases through which America has gone during the past thirty years of intense vitality. Mb. Geeeley himself gives the best indication of their nature : " I shall never write anything else into which I shall put so much of myself, my experiences, notions, convictions, and modes of thought, as these Recollections. I give, with small reserve, my mental history." -^ Whatever view may be taken of Horace Greeley's opin ions and teachings, all will concede that he has been, and is, a man of untiring industry, of strong convictions, of con tinual and immense intellectual activity, and of wide-spread influence. Laboring in the metropolis of the country, he has there planted and nurtured with his own life a journal whose political and social ideas have been powerful in viii PUBLISHERS' CIRCULAR. affecting the pubhc mind beyond any other one agency; and he himself, intimately associated as he has been with all the great men and great events of the time, is a singu larly interesting character. The mental history of such a man, and the varied reminiscences of his life and experi ence, cannot fail to attract the attention and excite the interest of all who take any pains to understand the history of the day ; while the practical hints to young men, and the familiar chat about political, literary, agricultural, so cial, and personal topics contained in the book, must make it welcome to the general reader. Of the illustrations, the views of Mb. Greeley's various homes, &c., it is only necessary to say that they have been engraved from the most authentic sources, — generally pho tographs. The fine portrait of Mr. Greeley is engraved on steel by Mr. J. Eogbbs, and that of the accomplished and lamented Margabbt Pulleb is from the artistic hand of Mb. W. j. Linton, whose personal remembrance of that gifted lady has been aided by an excellent portrait. In every way, the publishers have endeavored to make the book one attainable and desirable by all, and feel sure tiiat it will prove its own best commendation. APOLOGY. THESE Eecollections owe their existence wholly to an impulse external to their author, who, of his own choice, writes on many topics, himself not included. When, years ago, he was introduced to Mr. James Parton, and ap prised that he had been chosen, by that gentleman, as the subject of a biographic volume, he said that every person whose career was in some sense pubhc was a fair subject for public comment and criticism, but that he could not furnish materials for, nor in any wise make himself a party to, the undertaking. As it had never occurred to him that he should have time and inclination to write concerning himself, he had never saved even a scrap with reference to such contingency; and he has chosen not to avail himself of Mr. Parton's labors, in order that the following chapters should, so far as possible, justify their title of Eecollections. Mr. Eobert Bonner is justly entitled to the credit (or other wise) of having called these Eecollections into tangible (even though fleeting)' existence. He had previously invited me to write for his Ledger, and had paid me hberally for so doing; but our engagement and intimacy had long ceased, when, on the occasion ofthe hubbub,, incited by my baihng of Jefferson Davis, he reopened a long-suspended corre- "spbndence, and once more urged jne to_write for his columns ; suggesting~ffi"series~of autobiographic reminiscences, which X APOLOGY. I at first flatly declined to furnish. On mature reflection, however, I perceived that he had proffered me opportunity to commend to many thousands, of mainly young persons, convictions which are a part of my being, and conceptions of pubhc events and interests which might never so fairly invoke their attention if I repeUed this opportunity; and that, therefore, I ought not to reject it. Hence, I soon re called my hasty negative, apprised him that I would accept his offer, and immediately commenced writing, as I could snatch time from other pressing duties, the Eecollections herewith printed. That they are less personal and more political than Mr. Bonner would have wished them, I was early aware ; yet he aUowed aU but two of them to appear, and to have the post of honor in successive issues of his excellent and widely circulated periodical. I have added somewhat, however, to nearly half of them, in revising them for pubUcation in this shape ; but the reader who may note the discrepancy vnU be so just as to attribute it to the proper source. In a single instance only, was I requested by Mr. Bonner to change an expression in one of the num bers he pubUshed ; and therein he was clearly right, as I instantly conceded. The papers which I have chosen to add to my EecoUec- tions, in giving them this permanent form, embody my views on certain topics which I was not able to present so fuUy in my contributions to The Ledger, yet which I hoped would reward the attention of most readers. That in which Protection is explained and commended was printed as it was hurriedly written more than twenty-five years ago; I present it now, without the change of a sentence, as a statement of -views contemptuously rejected by most writers on PoUtical Economy in our day, who never reaUy COI^TENTS. S# '?% Page I. A Sample op the Scotch-Irish 17 n. Our Folks at Londonderry 23 m. "The Times that tried Men's Souls" 29 IV. EuRAL New England Fifty Years ago .... 34 v. Mt Eaklt School-Days 41 VI. Adieu to New Hampshire 48 vn. Westhaven .' 64 VIII. Mt Apprenticeship 61 IX. Mt Faith 68 X. A Year et Lake Erie 75 XI. Mt First Experiences in New York 83 xn. Getting into Business 91 Xin. Temperance in all Things 98 XIV. Politics • •, 106 XV. Plat-Dats 114 XVI. Triumph 122 XVII. Log-Cabin Days 129 XVni. The Tribune 136 XIX. Socialism 144 XX. Socialistic Efforts 151 XXI. Harrt Clay 159 XXU. Margaret Fuller 169 XXHI. Beggars and Borrowers 192 xiv CONTENTS. XXrV. Dramatic Memories ^'"' XXV. " Old Zack " 207 XXVI. Congress. — Mileage 216 XXVII. Congress as it was 225 XXVm. Glamour 234 XXIX. Lake Superior. — Mining. — Chicago. — The Prairies . 242 XXX. The Great Senators. — The Compromise op 1850 . . 250 XXXI. Libels and Libel-Suits 260 XXXn. Europe. — The World's Exposition 268 XXXin. The Dissolution of the Whig Paktt 276 XXXIV. The Slavekt Controverst 281 XXXV. The New Era in Politics 289 XXXVI. Mt Farm 295 XXXVII. Mt Farming 302 XXXVIII. " Seward, Weed, and Geeelet " 311 XXXIX. Europe Eevisited. — Paris. — Switzerland .... 323 — - XL. Two Days in Jail 332 XLI. " The Banks Congress." — The Long Contest for Speaker 345 XLH. Fremont. — Buchanan. — Douglas 353 XLin. A EiDE across the Plains 360 XLIV. The Eockt Mountains. — The Great Basin ... 368 XLV. Utah. — Nevada 374 XLVI. The Sierra Nevada. — The YosEMiTE. — The Big Trees 379 XL VIL The Future of California . 384 XLVIII. The Presidential Election op 1860 389 XLIX. Secession, — How Confronted 896 L. Our Civil War, — Actual and Possible .... 400 LI. Abraham Lincoln 404 Ln. Jefferson Davis 410 fill. Authorship. — Writing Histort 417 LIV. My Dead ^5 CONTENTS. XV MISCELLANIES. Literature as a Vocation 433 Poets and Poetry 460 Beporms and Eeformers 497 ' The Grounds op Protection 628 Sundry Lecturing Reminiscences. A Day's Ride in Maine 554 A Ride across the Alleghanies 667 A Night-Ride across the Prairies 660 A Winter Flood in Illinois 566 Marriage and Divorce : A Discussion between Horace Greeley AND Robert Dale Owen 571 Analytical Index 619 C.^j2_f2^ ^ ''Z^C€>-cj^ e^l^Gr^ RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. A SAMPLE OP THE SCOTCH-IRISH. ULSTEE, — the most northern of the four provinces into which Ireland is pretty equally divided, — being sepa rated but by a strait from the western coast of Scotland, was doubtless the recipient of emigration thence from time imme morial ; but, after the suppression, by Queen EUzabeth, of a bloody insurrection of the Celts under Hugh O'Neil against EngUsh domination, a large area of the soU previously held by the insurgents was confiscated ; and " The Plantation of Ulster," vdth some EngUsh, but more Scotch emigrants, was effected under James I. More Celtic insurrections naturaUy followed ; that of 1641 being marked as especiaUy murderous ; 40,000 of the Protestant settlers in Ulster having been speed ily massacred, with smaU regard to age or sex. Eight years later, Cromwell, heading his terrible " Ironsides," swept resist- lessly over Ulster not only, but all Ireland, crushing out her resistance, and leaving in his track but blood, ashes, and ruins ; actuaUy subjugating the entire island, for the first time, to British power, and confiscating four fifths of its soil. Forty years of such peace as subjugation can make was suddenly broken by the expulsion of James II. from the throne of England, mainly because of his Eomanism, whUe Papal Ireland stiU clung to his faihng throne, and resisted the accession of Dutch WilUam and his wife Mary, daughter of James. Ulster, in so far as she was Scotch-English and Protestant, hailed with rapture the new rule ; whUe CathoUc Ireland clung to James ; who, having fled to France, landed 2 18 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. thence at Kinsale, and was received with open arms. The Protestants of Ulster, unaccountably left to themselves, had already been nearly overrun by the French and Irish soldiers of James, who was eager to pass over to Scotland and recruit his forces from the Highlanders of that kingdom, who were already enroUed, under the banners of Grahame of Claverhouse, and eagerly awaiting their monarch's appearance. London derry (originaUy Derry, but re-named on being re-peopled, as above recited, under the patronage of a London company) for months stood up almost alone against the overwhelming forces of James, ably led by Eichard HamUton, and finaUy by Con rad de Eosen. A poorly waUed tovm of perhaps a thousand houses, garrisoned by a few drilled soldiers, and three or four thousand armed citizens, partly fugitives driven in from the surrounding country, who, wretchedly armed, and most scantily provided with ammunition, commanded for weeks by a traitor (Colonel Lundy), who did aU he dared to betray them to their enemies, nevertheless defied the most desperate efforts of their besiegers, with the still more terrible assaults of famine ; and even their cowardly desertion by General Kirke, who was sent from England to relieve them with 5,000 men and a supply of provisions, but who recoiled with all his fleet with out even seriously attempting to succor the famishing, heroic city. Yet the sorely disappointed and distressed Protestants, so far from despairing, resolved, five days afterward, that no man, on penalty of death, should propose a surrender, and fought on, eating horses, dogs, cats, rats, salted hides and taUow, while scores died of absolute starvation, untU not two. days' subsistence remained, or only nine lean horses in all, and one pint of meal per man, when, on the 28th of July, 1690, a frigate and two transports ran up the Foyle past the enemy's batteries, and, sadly peppered and cut up, anchored at the quay, — the transports laden with provisions. Of 7,500 men enroUed for the defence at the outset, but 4,300 survived ; and one fourth of these were disabled. That night James's army raised the siege, in which they had lost more than 8,000 men ; and the signal defeat of their monarch by A SAMPLE OF THE SCOTCH-IRISH. 19 his son-in-law in the battle of the Boyne, a few days before, was speedUy foUowed by the utter overthrow and expulsion of the former. Londonderry had saved the kingdom, and enabled WiUiam to fight the decisive battle under auspices far more favorable than if James had been aUowed to cross into Scotland, and add the Highland clans and their great leader to the army wherewith he struggled for his crovm. A quarter of a century had elapsed. WiUiam and Mary were dead ; so was their sister and successor, Anne ; George I. had been caUed from Hanover to the throne ; when a new migration was meditated and resolved on by a goodly company of the " Scotch-Irish " of Londonderry and its neighborhood. They were rigid Presbyterians, of the school of Knox; the faith and observances of their Celtic neighbors were exceed ingly repugnant to them, and those of the Protestant Epis copal Church by law estabUshed, Uttle less so. Acts of Uni formity and other prelatical devices bore hardly upon them ; they resolved to seek homes where they would enjoy absolute religious freedom. Sending out to New England a young Mr. Holmes to examine and inquire, they were incited by his report to take the decisive step ; and a considerable portion of four Presbyterian societies (one of them that of Holmes's father), resolved to cross the Atlantic. Early in 1718 they de spatched Eev. WUliam Boyd with an address to Governor Shute, of Massachusetts, signed by 217 of their number, of whom 210 attached their names in fair, legible chirography ; nine of them being clergymen. The Governor's response was such that the colony, on receiving it, took passage on five smaU vessels, landuig at Boston, August 4, 1718. Months were now wasted in seeking, in different lands, a location, — the ensuing Winter being passed with great privation and suffering by twenty fami- Ue"s of these explorers, near Falmouth, now Portland, Maine, where they were saved from starving by a donation of one hundred bushels of Indian meal from the Massachusetts Gen eral Com-t. But Spring at length opened. The colonists, retuming from Casco Bay, dissatisfied with their experience in that quarter. 20 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. entered the mouth of the Merrimac, and ascended it to Haver hUl ; where they heard of an invitmg tract of wilderness, known as Nutfield, from the abundance of its mdigenous chestnut, butternut, and hickory trees. Leaving their famUies at HaverhiU, the men visited this tract, some fifteen miles northward; and, having found it worth their taking, they located thereon their grant from Governor Shute of any twelve mUes square of unoccupied land which they should select within the boundaries of his colony, — to find, ultimately, that then- Canaan was not in Massachusetts, but New Hampshire, and their grant, consequently, of no use. As many, if not most of them, including nearly all their leaders, had bome part in the defence of the Protestant stronghold of their native land, they, in memory thereof, discarded the name of Nutfield, and were, in 1722, iacorporated under that of Londonderry. Having hastily erected a few huts of logs, the pioneers returned to HaverhiU for their famiUes ; the day of whose arrival — AprU 11 (old style), 1719 — is regarded as that on which their settlement was founded. Eev. James McGregor, their chosen pastor, preached (from Isa. xxxii. 2) next day, under a great oak, the first sermon ever Ustened to in that locality. When he had left to seek his fanuly in Dracut, but sixteen sturdy pioneers and their famiUes remained; and these, for mutual defence against Indians, were located but thirty rods apart, facing a brook ; each lot being a nule in depth, or sixty acres in area. But two stone houses of refuge, in case of attack, were soon buUt, affording some security against savage incursions ; and the town was finaUy laid off into lots, each sixty rods wide on the road it fronted, and a mUe deep, making each aUotment one hundred and twenty acres. Such were the dimensions of the tract on " the High Eange," aUotted, in 1721, to my mother's grandfather, John Woodburn, and which was by his industry transformed into the farm whereon she was born, and which is to day the property of her youngest and only sm-viving brother, John,* * Since this was first printed he has deceased, aged 72 ; but the farm de scends to his numerous children. A SAMPLE OF THE SCOTCH-IRISH. 21 now about 70 years old. The first framed house, wherein she was born, was superseded, about 1800, by that wherein she was married, and whence I first went to school, which is now the family homestead. No price was ever paid for the Wood- bum farm, nor has a deed of it ever been given. Though the infant settlement of Londonderry was rapidly augmented, not only by the flocking thither of the original colonists (whose sixteen families in AprU had thus been swelled to seventy by September), but by continuous acces sions of relatives and friends from the old country, yet brave men long ploughed and sowed with a loaded gun standing as handy as might be, and with a sharp eye on the adjacent woods ; and they never went to " meeting " on Sunday with out carrying their trusty weapon, first seeing that it was in good order. Nay, their spiritual teacher aiid guide for months regularly entered his pulpit musket in hand, and, having cocked it and carefuUy scrutinized the priming, sat it down in one corner, and devoutly addressed himself to the ever- Uving God. His influence with the Marquis de Vaudreuil, then French Governor of Canada, who had been his classmate at coUege, and with whom he stiU maintained a friendly cor respondence, was supposed to have averted from his charge the savage attacks by which so many frontier towns were desolated. Mr. McGregor died in 1729, and was succeeded by Eev. Matthew Clark, a patriarch who now came out from Ireland on purpose, and whose memory deserves a paragraph. He never ate flesh, but said nothing on the subject ; and his absti nence was regarded as an idle whim, untU one day when my great-grandmother (his niece, as I remember), then a young girl and an inmate of his house, saw the pot wherein the famUy dinner was cooking boU over into the smaller vessel wherein was boUing his frugal mess of greens. Supposing this of no consequence, she said nothing untU — the famUy being seated at the table, and its head having said grace and taken his first mouthful — he was observed to faU back insensible and apparently dying. Eecovering his consciousness after a few moments, he calmed the general excitement by saying, " It is 22 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. nothing — a trifie — I shaU be weU duectly — only a Uttle of the water from your meat has boUed over into my greens." He had been a Ueutenant in the famous Siege, wherein he was wounded in the temple by a baU, which injured a bone so that it never healed; and, though a devoted evangehst, could never forget that he had been a soldier. Once, whUe acting as Moderator of an assembled Presbytery, the music of a marching company was heard, when his attention was wholly absorbed by it. Being repeatedly caUed to give heed to the grave business' in hand, his steady reply was, "Nae business whUe I hear the roU of the drum." When death came to him at seventy-six years of age, and after forty years of blameless ministry, he said to sympathizing friends, "I have a last request which must not be denied." " Wliat is it. Father Clark ? " " Let me be borne to my rest by my brother soldiers in the Siege, and let them fire a parting voUey over my grave ! " The military parade was conceded ; but, accord ing to my mother's tradition, the voUey, though promised, was withheld ; it being deemed indecorous and unsuitable that so holy a man should be indulged in a dying freak so unbe coming his cloth. . II. OUE FOLKS AT LONDONDERRY. THE current notion that the Puritans were a sour, morose, ascetic people — objecting, as Macaulay says, to bear- baiting, not that it gave pain to the bear, but that it gave pleasure to the spectator — is not justified by my recoUections, nor by the traditions handed down through my mother. The pioneers of Londonderry were so thoroughly Puritan that, while their original framed and weU-built meeting-house was finished and occupied in the third year of the settlement, when there were none other but log huts in the township, nearly a century elapsed before any other than a Presbyterian or Orthodox Congregational sermon was preached therein, and nobody that was anybody adhered to any rival church, down to a period within the memory of persons stUl Uving. " The Westminster Shorter Catechism " — a rather tough digest of Calvinistic theology, which aroused my infantUe wonder as to what a dreadful bore its longer counterpart must be — was, within my experience, regularly administered to us young sters once a week, as a portion of our common-school regimen ; and we were required to affirm that " God having, out of his mere good pleasure, from aU eternity, elected some to ever lasting life," &c., &c., as though it were next of kin to the proposition that two and two make four. If there was any where a community strictly, thoroughly Puritan, such was Londonderry down to. at least 1800, as she mainly is to-day. And yet there was more humor, more play, more fun, more merriment, in that Puritan community, than can be found anywhere in this anxious, plodding age. AU were measurably 24 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. poor, yet seldom were any hungry ; aU wore coarse clothes, made in utter contempt of the fashions which, in the course of three or four years, had made their way from Paris to Boston ; yet lads and lasses were as comely in each other's eyes, though clad in coarse homespun, as if they had been ar rayed in purple and fine hnen, and redolent of lavender and patchouU: and they danced with each other through long winter nights with a vigor and zest rarely evinced at Ahnack's or in Fifth Avenue mansions. Their weddings were far more numerously attended and more expensive than are the average in our day ; for not to be invited was an affront, as it impUed discredit or insignificance ; and aU who were invited expected , to eat and drink bountifuUy of the. best that could be had. A general discharge of musketry throughout the neighbor hood ushered in a wedding-day ; and the bridegroom's party, starting from his house, was met by the bride's at a point half way to hers, when one of each party was chosen to " run for the bottle " to the bride's house ; and whichever won the race returned with the prize to the waiting assembly; which, having drunk aU around, proceeded, under a dropping fire of musketry, to their destination ; where — the ceremony having been duly performed — drinking was resumed, and continued, with alternate feasting and dancing, often tiU broad dayUght. Nor was this the worst. Our ancestors had somehow caught from their Celtic neighbors, in the old country, despite their general antipathy, the infection of " wakes " ; .and the house in which lay a corpse awaiting burial was often fiUed through the night with sympathizing friends, who, after due reUgious observances, proceeded to drown their sorrow in the strong drink suppUed in abundance, whereby strange transformations were sometimes wrought from plaintive grief to exuberant, and even boisterous, hUarity. Funerals were attended by nearly every one who seasonably heard of them, and aU would have felt insulted if not asked to drink at least twice ; whUe those who wall^ed to the grave were entitled by usage to a third glass, and at least a lunch, on their return. As none. were yet rich, whUe many were quite poor on their arrival. OUR FOLKS AT LONDONDERRY. 25 many famUies were absolutely impoverished by the expense imposed on them by the funeral of a deceased member ; whUe, if a wedding and a funeral occurred within a few months in a household, it could hardly escape ruin. HappUy, Uving in frugal plenty, almost whoUy on their own products, spending much of their time in vigorous exercise in the open air, and having but one doctor within caU, they had great tenacity of life ; so that funerals were few and far between. The pioneers of Londonderry brought with them the Potato, which, despite its American origin, was hardly known in New England tiU they introduced it from Ireland, where it had already taken root and flourished. Some of them, having spent their first winter in America in a neighboring settle ment of Massachusetts, planted there a few of the valued tubers, which were duly tended by those to whom they were left ; but, the plants being matured, they gathered the seed- baUs from the stalks and tried to cook them into edibUity ; but by no boiling, baking, or roasting could they render them palatable ; and they gave it up that those Scotch-Irish had unaccountable tastes. Next Spring, however, when the garden was duly ploughed, the large, fair " murphies " were roUed out in generous abun dance, and, being dubiously tasted, were pronounced quite endurable. Like too many ignorant people, these novices in potato-eating had begun at the wrong end. They could never have made this mistake in Londonderry ; yet it is related that the first pound of tea ever seen there was received as a present from a Boston friend, and, being duly boiled as a vegetable, and served up as " greens," was unanimously pronounced de testable, and pitched out of doors. Flaxseed was brought from Ireland by the pioneers ;' and the growth of flax and production of linen early became im portant elements of the industry and trade of Londonderry, though every operation, from the sowing of the seed to the bleaching of the cloth, was effected by the simplest manual labor ; and I can personaUy testify that " breaking flax," in the bad, old way, is the most execrably hard work to which a 26 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. young boy can be set. A skilful, resolute man could hardly make laborer's wages at it now, if the raw material were given him. When the matrons of the town had a neighborhood gathering, — tea, Uke coffee, being then happUy unknown,— each took her "little wheel" under her arm to the house whereto she had been invited, and the flow of conversation and o-ossip ran on for hours to a constant " whir, whir " of swiftly flying wheels. Whitne/s Cotton Gin and Arkwright's Spinning Jenny have long since dismissed those wheels to the moles and the bats ; but, so late as 1819, my mother spun and wove a goodly roU of linen from the flax grown on our farm, bleaching' it to adequate whiteness by spreading it on the aftermath of a meadow, and watering it thrice per day from a sprinkUng-pot. Poor folks have their vanities as weU as the rich. Most of the pioneers had been smaU farmers or artificers " at home " ; and -the rude log huts, which were at first inevitable, seemed to many good wives to involve a sacrifice, not only of comfort, but of social standing. Hence it is related of the Morrisons, who were among the first settlers, that the good dame remonstrated- against the contemplated homestead untU assured that there was no help for it, when she acquiescingly entreated : "A-weel, a-weel, dear John, if it maun (must) be a log-house, make it a log heegher nor the lave " (a log higher that the rest). The settlers knew that their homespun garments (often of tow) contrasted strongly with the trim, dapper apparel of the poUshed denizens of more refined communities ; but they were not thereby disconcerted. Though Burns had not yet strung his immortal lyre, his spirit so fiooded their log-cabins that he would have been welcomed and understood in any of them, but would have excited surprise in none. Thus it is related of the Eev. Matthew Clark, already mentioned, that, among the audience in attendance on his ministrations was once a young British miUtary officer, whose scarlet uniform far outshone any rival habUiments, and so fixed the gaze of the young damsels present, that the wearer, enjoying the im pression he was making, not only stood through the prayer .1 OUR FOLKS AT LONDONDERRY. 27 with the rest, but remained standing after aU others had sat down, until the pastor had proceeded for some time with his sermon. ' At len'gth, noticing a divided attention and its cause, the minister stopped, laid aside his sermon, and, addressing his , new hearer, said : " Ye 're a braw (brave) lad ; ye ha'e a braw suit of claithes, and we ha'e a' seen them ; ye may sit doun." The Ueutenant dropped as if shot, and the sermon was re sumed and concluded as though it had not been interrupted. liev. E. L. Parker's " History of Londonderry," to which I am in4ebted for many facts, gives the foUowing specimen of Mr. Clark's pulpit efforts. His theme was Peter's assurance that, tiiough ^U others should forsake his Divine Master, Ke never •vt^ould ; and this was a part of his commentary : — " Just Uke Peter — aye mair forrit (forward) thah wise ; ganging' swaggering aboot wi' a sword at his side ; an' a puir han' heimad' o' it when he cam' to the trial; for he only, cut off a chiel's lug (ear) ; an' he ought to ha' split doun his This was a gleam of the spirit evoked in the Siege of Derry. * I fear I have nowise . portrayed the perfect mingUng of humor and piety in the prevalent type of our Scotch-Irish pioneei?, — aU of them baptized in infancy, and growing up devoted members of the church, — aU hearing the Bible read, a hjnnii sung and a prayer offered, each morning at the famUy fireside, and these exercises repeated at night, so uniformly, that one of the early pastors, having leamed that a parishioner had retired without invoking the throne of grace, forthwith repaired to his dweUing, caUed up the deUnquent and his fe,inUy, made them kneel and renew their devotions, and did not leave tiU they were finished ; and yet there was never a people who loved play better, or gave it more attention, than tihese. House-raisings, com-huskings, and aU manner of ex cuses for festive merry-making, were frequent, and generaUy Improved ; games requiring strength, rather than skiU, espe- fciaUy wrestling (with, I grieve to say, some boxing), were favorite pastimes ; and it is recorded of the pioneers of Peter- 28 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIP'S. borough, N. H., — one of the several swarms sent out by/the parent hive in Londonderry, — that, having cut e&ch his hole in the great woods, and reared his log-cabin, a meeiting was caUed to form a church, and generaUy attended. Th^ object having been duly set forth, some one started the cav.U : " I fear we are such a rough set — so given to froUc and drink — that, we are not good enough to constitute a church" ; but he was instantly sUenced by another, who, Uke a tme Calvuiist, observed : " Mr. Moderator, if it be the Lord's wUl that -He should have a church in Peterborough, I am sure He wiU be willing to have it made up of such materials as there areL" So it was. I The present township of Londonderry embraces but a frac-^ tion of the original town, whose 144 square mUes have been sliced away to form the several townships of Derry, Wind ham, and parts of others, untU it now probably contains less than forty square miles. Though a railroad now crosses it, and accords it a station, it has no considerable viUage, no lawyer (I believe); its people nearly aU Uve by farming, and' own the land they cultivate; three foiuths of them were bom where they Uve, and there expect to die. Some famiUes- of English lineage have graduaUy taken root among them; but they are stUl mainly of the original Scotch-Irish stock, and even Celtic or German " help " is scarcely known to them. Simple, moral, diUgent, God-fearing, the vices of modern civ Uization have scarcely penetrated their quiet homes; and, whUe those who with pride trace their origin to the old set tlement are numbered by thousands, and scattered aU over our broad land, I doubt whether the present population of Londonderry exceeds in number that which tiUed her fields, and hunted through her woods, fifty to sixty years ago. III. "THE TIMES THAT TRIED MEN'S SOULS." THE Scotch-Irish founders of our Londonderry indignantly eschewed the characterization of "Irish," which was sometimes maUciously, but oftener ignorantly, appUed to them; stoutly insisting that, as stanch Protestants and zealous upholders of the Hanoverian succession, they should not be confounded with the savage and intractable Celtic Papists who were indigenous to Ireland. Devoted loyalty was their pride and boast, and was usefuUy evinced in the "Old French War," which lasted from 1756 to 1763, and effected a transfer of the Canadas from France to Great Britain ; yet the British assumption, directly thereafter, of a right to impose taxes on the Colonies, without their consent, was here early, promptly, zealously, persistently resisted; and the, ti dings that Colonial blood had been shed by British soldiers at Lexington, Mass., on the 19th of April, 1775, operated Uke M electric shock on this rural, peace-loving community. Ten minutes after receiving it, John Stark — who had served with distinction in the recent French war — stopped the saw- miU in which he was at work, mounted his horse, and rode off to Cambridge, leaving directions for his neighbors to muster and foUow. The two companies of Londonderry mUitia were immediately assembled, and, though many had aheady has tened to the scene of action, a fuU company — the best blood of the township — volunteered, choosing George Eeed their captain. Six days after the Lexington fray, the two thousand New Hampshire men now confronting General Gage were organized by the convention sitting at Exeter into two regi- 30 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. ments, with Stark and Eeed as their respective colonels. Another regiment from this thinly, peopled colony was soon formed, under Colonel Poor; but the left wing of oiir army, stationed near Medford, was composed of the two regiments commanded by Londonderry colonels ; and these, under Stark and Eeed, were soon deputed to join the Connecticut men under Putnam, and a Massachusetts regiment under Prescott, in throwing up and holding the breastwork on Bunker's or Breed's HiU, in Charlestown, which the British assaUed next day with such memorable consequences. Londonderry had 130 men behind those slight defences. In the struggle -for this position, the New Hampshire men lost 19 kUled and 74 wounded. The three New Hampshire regiments were detached from Washington's army to sweU that which, in 1776, was organ ized in this State, under General SuUivan, for the conquest of Canada ; but which, having invaded that Province, by way of the Hudson and Lake Champlain, found itself outnumbered and compeUed to retreat to Ticonderoga, losing a third of its number by sickness, privation, and exposure. Eejoining Gen eral Washington, Stark's regiment was conspicuous in the briUiant affair at Trenton, where it had the advance, and par ticipated in the succeeding actions at Princeton and at Spring field, N. J. In the hst of promotions made by Congress next Spring, Stark's name did not appear ; whereupon, he promptly and indignantly resigned. But, on the alarm of Burgoyne's inva sion from Canada, soon afterward, a fresh appeal to the pa triotism of the people was made by the General Assembly of New Hampshire ; when Londonderry raised another company of seventy men, besides contributing UberaUy to existing organizations. In fact, there was nearly a levy en masse of the able-bodied men of this State and the debatable lands now known as Vermont. Stark was asked to take command of the new militia, and did so; stipulating only that he should not be subordinate to any other commander. Hence, he refused to obey General Schuyler's order to advance to and " THE TIMES TJBAT TRIED MEN'S SOULS." 31 cross the Hudson, giving exceUent reasons therefor ; but, re maining within the territory his men were caUed out to pro tect, he fought and won — Aug. 26, 1777 — the briUiant battle of Bennington, routing and kiUing Colonel Baum, the Hessian commander, and taking five hundred prisoners. His speech to his troops, on the brink of engaging, ran substantiaUy thus : " Boys, you see them Hessians. King George gave £4 7s. 6d. apiece for 'em. I reckon we are worth more, and wUl prove it directly. If not, MoUy Stark sleeps a widow to-night ! " There have been more elegant and far longer speeches; but this went as straight to its mark as a buUet. The danger to his- State having thus been averted. Stark hastened to join General Gates on the Hudson, was in the councU which fixed the terms of Burgoyne's surrender, and was soon thereafter restored to position in the Continental line, — Congress making reparation for its oversight by pub Ucly thanking him for his victory at Bennington, and ap pointing him a Brigadier-General in the regular service. He remained in the army tiU the close of the war, and lived forty years thereafter, — dying May 8, 1822, in his ninety- fourth year. Colonel Eeed, though not awarded his rank in the Conti nental line, also served through the war, — taking part in the battles of Long Island, White Plains, Trenton, Saratoga, StiU water, Brandywine, Germantown, and in SuUivan's Indian expedition. Having at length risen to a Continental colonelcy, he was in command at Albany in 1782, when he was favored with several letters from Washington, of whose miUtary and poUtical character he was evermore a passionate admirer. Having left his family in haste, on the tidings of the first shot, he paid it but two or three hurried visits in midwinter tUl honorably mustered out of service after the close of the war, in the Summer of 1783. Meantime his wife, Mary, sister of my grandfather Woodburn, was the raler of his household, the manager of his farm and business, and the sharer in full measure of his fervid, unwearying patriotism. He lived to fiU several public stations, including those of Brigadier-Gen- 32 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. eral and Sheriff of his county ; dying m 1815, aged eighty-two years. His wife survived him; dying in 1823, at the ripe age of eighty-eight. Never was a war more essentiaUy popular than that waged in support of American Independence, and never were the issues involved more thoroughly debated or more clearly understood by a people. Congress having, early m 1776, requested the authorities of each township to ascertain and to' disarm aU persons "who are notoriously disaffected to the cause of America," the selectmen of Londonderry reported the names of 374 adult males in that town who had severaUy signed the foUowing pledge : — " We, the subscribers, do Kereby solemnly engage and promise that we win, to the utmost of our power, at the risk of our hves and fortunes, with arms, oppose the hostile proceedings of the British fleets and armies against the United American Colonies." Of course, those who had already enlisted, and were then absent in the Continental service, should be added to the above Ust, raising it nearly to five hundred; while barely fifteen men in that entire community refused to sign. Several " Tories," however, had already left, finding the place too hot for them : among them. Major Eobert Eogers, of the " Ban gers," raised in 1756, who had served with distinction through out the French war ; but who now, taking the Avrong side, was proscribed, and fled to England, where he died. Colonel Stephen HoUand, who had been one of the most eminent and popular citizens, and had held several important pubUc trusts, after conceaUng and denying lus Toryism so long as he could, finaUy proclaimed it by fleeing to General Gage at Boston ; whereupon his property was confiscated. Nowhere was Tory ism more execrated; and the suggestion in the Treaty of Paris that the Loyalists should be permitted to return to the communities they had, to serve the king, deserted, was unani mously scouted and defied in fuU town meeting. Dr. Matthew Thornton, whose name heads the list of signers to the pledge aforesaid, soon afterward afiixed his signature to the immortal Declaration of American Independence. He "THE TIMES THAT TRIED MEN'S SOULS." 33 was bom in Ireland in 1714, but brought over when but three years old ; early commenced the practice of medicine in Londonderry, and steadUy rose to esteem and competence. He was a surgeon of the New Hampshire forces in the expe dition against Cape Breton, in 1745, and was a colonel of mUitia at the breaking out of the Eevolution. He was Presi dent of the first Provincial Convention assembled in New Hampshire after the retirement of the royal Governor Went worth, and was chosen by it a delegate to Congress, in which he did not take his seat tUl November, 1776, when — though it was the darkest hour of the struggle — he at once signed the Declaration. After peace was restored, though no lawyer, he was chosen a judge of the Superior Court, and afterward Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas. He died in 1803, aged eighty-nine. From first to last, Londonderry furnished 347 soldiers to the Eevolutionary armies, whUe her whole number of adult males cannot, as we have seen, have much exceeded 500. Some of these served but for short terms ; yet, after making every deduction, this record, from a purely rural township, whose youth had for forty years been constantly drawn away to pioneer new settlements, not only in different parts of New Hampshire, but in Londonderry and Windham, Vermont, Truro, Nova Scotia, Cherry Valley, N. Y., &c., &c., is one wluch her chUdren have a right to regard with affectionate pride. And not only were town bounties — Uberal, considering the value of money in those days — paid to her volunteers, but their famiUes were shielded from want by the provident care of her authorities and people. Food was scarce and dear; clothing was scarcer and dearer ; but those who fought their country's battles were consoled by the thought that, whatever might befaU them, their wives and little ones should not famish or freeze whUe bread or cloth remained. And, when independence and peace were at length achieved, it was a proud reflection that they had been won by the constancy and devotion, not of a class or a portion, but of the entire people. IV. EURAL NEW ENGLAND FIFTY YEARS AGO. THEEE brothers named Greeley (speUed flve different ways) migrated to America in 1640. One settled in Maine, where he has many Uving descendants ; another in Ehode Island, where he soon died ; a third in SaUsbury, Mass., near the south Une of New Hampshire, into which his de scendants soon migrated, if he did not. One large famUy of them haU from Gilmanton ; another, to whom I am less remotely related, from Wilton ; my own great-grandfather (named Zaccheus, as was his son my grandfather, and his son my father) Uved in or on the verge of Londonderry, in what was in my youth Nottingham- West, and is now Hudson, across the Merrimac from Nashua (which was then Dunstable or nothing). I never heard of a Woodburn of our stock who was not a farmer ; but the Greeleys of our clan, while mainly farmers, are in part blacksmiths. Some of them have in this century engaged in trade, and are presumed to have acquired considerable property ; but these are not of the tribe of Zac cheus. My grandfather Greeley was a most exceUent, though never a thrifty citizen. Kind, mUd, easy-going, honest, and unam bitious, he married young, and reared a family of thirteen, — nine sons and four daughters, — of whom he who died youngest was thirty years old ; while a majority Uved to be seventy, and three are yet Uving, — at least two of them having seen more than eighty summers. So many chUdren in the house of a poor and by no means driving farmer, in an age when food and cloth cost twice the RURAL NEW ENGLAND FIFTY YEARS AGO. 35 labor they now do, made economy rather a necessity than a virtue ; but I presume none of those chUdren ever suffered protractedly from hunger, while aU of them obtained such education as was afforded by the common schools of sixty to eighty years ago ; or, if not, the fault was their own. StiU, the school-houses were ruder and rarer, the teachers less com petent, and the terms much shorter, than now ; while attend ance was quite irregular, being suspended on sUght pretexts ; so that I have heard my father say that his winter's schooUng after he came of age — when for three months he hired his- board, attended constantly, and studied dUigently — was worth more to him than all that preceded it. My grandfather owned and worked smaU farms successively in Hudson, Pelham, Nottingham, and Londonderry, and was Uving in the latter town for a second or third time when, on the death of his wife, when he was about seventy-five years old, he sold out, and went to spend his remaining days with his son GUbert, Uving in Manchester; but, that son dying before him, he found a home thenceforth in Londonderry, with his older son John, whose farm aU but joins that of the Woodbums in "the High Eange," — the respective houses being but a hundred rods apart, — and here, in his fulness of days, he died, aged ninety-four. (My grandfather Woodburn had died at eighty-five, nearly thirty years before.) A de voted, consistent, Ufe-long Christian, — originaUy of the Bap tist, but ultimately of the Methodist persuasion, — exemplary in deportment and blameless in life, I do not beUeve that my grandfather Greeley ever made an enemy; and, whUe he never held an office, and his property was probably at no time worth % 2,000, and generaUy ranged from $ 1,000 to zero, I think few men were ever more sincerely and generaUy esr teemed than he by those who knew him. My father — married at twenty-five to Mary Woodburn, aged nineteen — went first to live with his father, whose farm he was to work, and inherit, supporting the old folks and their stUl numerous minor chUdren ; but he soon tired of this, and seceded ; migrating to and purchasing the farm whereon six of his seven children were bom. 36 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. The old road to Amherst from the Merrimac, at what in my childhood was Amoskeag FaUs, crossed by a rickety old bridge, with but two or three houses in sight, and is now the manufacturing city of Manchester, with twenty-five thou sand inhabitants, passes through the Uttle viUage of Piscata- quoag, near the mouth of the creek of like name ; thence through the township and vUlage of Bedford, and, zigzagging over the gentler hUls, descends, when about five miles from "Amherst Plain," or viUage, and just on the verge of the township, into the deep vaUey of a brook, not yet quite large enough for a miU-stream. (The road nOw traveUed is far smoother and better, and passes a mUe or two southward of the old one.) The " Stewart farm," of some forty acres (en larged by my father to fifty), covers the hUlside and meadow north of the road, with a few acres south of it, and Ues partly in Bedford, but mainly in Amherst. The soU is a graveUy loam, generally strong, but hard and rocky ; grass, heavy at first, "binds ouf the third or fourth year, when the land must be broken up, manured, tiUed, and seeded down again ; and a breaking-up team, in my early boyhood, was made up of four yoke of oxen and a horse, whereby an acre per day was seldom ploughed. Across the brook were two or three httle knolls, of an acre or so each, in good part composed of water-worn pebbles, — the debris of I know not what antedi luvian commotion and collision of glaciers and marine cur rents, — which, when duly fertilized and tUled, produced freely of corn or potatoes; but which, being laid down to grass, utterly refused to respond, deeming itself better adapted to the growth of sorrel, milk-weed, or muUein. The potato yielded more bounteously then than it does now, and was freely grown to be fed into pork ; but I reckon that Indian corn cost treble, if not quadraple, the labor .per bushel that our Western friends now give for it; while wheat yielded meagrely and was a very uncertain crop. Eye and oats did much better, and were favorite crops to "seed down" upon; "rye and Indian" were the bases of the farmer's staff of hfe; and, when weU made, no bread is more palatable or whole- RURAL NEW ENGLAND FIFTY YEARS AGO. 37 some. The hop culture was then common in our section ; and, though fearfuUy hazardous, — there being no yield one year and no pricq' the next, — was reckoned inviting and pro ductive. My father estimated hops at ten cents per pound as profitable a crop as. corn at one doUar per bushel. Mv father bought and removed to this farm early in 1808 ; " The cot where X was bom." here his first two chUdren died ; here I was bom (February 3, 1811), and my only surviving brother on the 12th of June, 1812. The house — a modest, framed, unpainted structure of one story — was then quite new ; it was only modified in our time by fUUng up and making narrower the old-fash ioned kitchen fireplace, which, having already devoured aU the wood on the farm, yawned ravenously for more. This dwelUng faces the road from the north on a bench, or narrow plateau, about two thirds down the hiU; the orchard of natural fruit covers two or three acres of the hiUside northeast of the house, with the patch of garden and a smaU frog-pond between. 38 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. It seemed to me that sweeter and more spicy apples grew m that neglected orchard than can now be bought in market ; and it is not a mere notion that most fruits attain their highest and best flavor at or near the coldest latitude in which they can be grown at aU. That orchard was not young fifty years ago ; and, having been kept constantly in pasture, never tUled nor enriched, and rarely pruned, must be nearly run out by this time. Being the older son of a poor and hard-working farmer, struggling to pay off the debt he had incurred in buying his high-priced farm, and to support his increasing fanuly, I was early made acquainted with labor. I weU remember the cold summer (1816) when we rose on the eighth of June .'to find the earth covered with, a good inch of newly faUen snow, — when there was frost every mo^ith, and corn did not iiU tUl October. Plants grew very slowty that season, whUe burrow ing insects fed and fattened on them. My task for a time was to precede my father as he hoed his corn, dig open the hUls, and kiU the wire-worms and grubs that were anticipating our dubious harvest. To " ride horse to plough " soon became my more usual vocation ; the horse preceding and guiding the oxen, save when furrowing for or tiUing the planted crops. OccasionaUy, the plough would strike a fast stone, and bring up the team aU standing, pitching me over the horse's head, and landing me three to five feet in front. In the frosty autumn mornings, the working teams had to be " baited " on the rowen or aftermath of thick, sweet grass beside the luxuriant com (maize) ; and I was called out at sunrise to watch and keep them out of the corn while the men ate their breakfast before yoking up and going afield. My bare feet imbibed a prejudice against that line of duty ; but such premature rising induced sleepiness ; so, if my feet had not ached, the oxen would have had a better chance for corn. Burning charcoal in the woods south and southwest of us Tvas a favorite, though very slow, method of earning money in those days. The growing wood, having then no commercial value, could usuaUy be had for nothing; but the labor of RURAL NEW ENGLAND FIFTY YEARS AGO. 39 cutting it down and reducing it to the proper length, pUing it skUfuUy, covering the heap with sods, or with straw and earth, and then expelUng every element but the carbon by smothered combustion, is rugged and tedious. I have known a pit of green wood to be nine days in burning ; and every pit must be watched night and day till the process is complete. Night- watching by a pit has a fascination for green boys, who have hitherto slept soundly and regularly through the dark hours ; but a Uttle of it usuaUy suffices. To sit or Ue in a rude forest- hut of boards or logs, located three or four rods from the pit, with a good fire burning between, and an open, flaring front, looking across the fire at the pit, is a pleasant novelty of a mild, quiet evening ; and many a jovial story has been told, ' many a pleasant game of cards, fox-and-geese, or checkers played, and (I fear) some watermelons lawlessly purveyed from neighboring fields and gardens by night-watching charcoal- burners. But the taste for turning out, looking for and stopping the holes that are frequently burnt through the covering of the pit, is easUy sated ; while a strong wind that drives the smoke of fire and pit into the open mouth of your shanty, and threatens to set fire to the straw flooring on which you recUne, is soon regarded as a positive nuisance, especiaUy if accompanied by a pelting storm. In a wild night, your pit breaks out far oftener than in calm weather ; requiring con stant attention and effort to keep it from burning up altogether ; thus consuming the fruits of weeks of arduous toU. And, after a week of coal-burning, you find it hard to return to regular sleep, but hastUy wake every hour or so, and instinc tively jump up to see how the pit is going on. Picking stones is a never-ending labor on one of those rocky New England farms. Pick as closely as you may, the next ploughing turns up a fresh eruption of boulders and pebbles, from the size of a hickory-nut to that of a tea-kettle ; and, as this work is mainly to be done in March or April, when the earth is saturated with ice-cold water, if not also whitened with faUing snow, youngsters soon leam to regard it with de testation. I fiUaUy love the " Granite State," but could weU excuse the absence of sundry subdivisions of her granite. 40 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. " Hop-picking " was the mral carnival — the festive harvest- home — of those old times ; answering to the vintage of south ern France or Italy. The hop matures about the first of Sep tember, when the vines are cut near the ground, the poles puUed up and laid successively across forked sticks lengthwise of a large bin, into which busy fingers from either side rapidly strip the hops — each pole, when stripped, being laid aside and replaced by another. The bin having been fiUed, the hops are drawn to the kUn, wherein they are cured by exposure for hours to a constant, drying heat from a charcoal fire below ; after which, they are pressed, Uke cotton, into bales so com pact and dense as to defy ^asy disintegration. The pickers are mainly young women — the daughters of neighboring farmers — and the older children of both sexes ; whUe the handling of the poles demands mascuUne strength and energy; the work is pushed with ardor, often by rival groups employed at different bins, racing to see which wiU first have its bin fuU. The evenings are devoted to social companionship and rustic merry-making; friends drop in to enjoy and increase the festivity ; and, if hop-picking is not now an agreeable labor, despite the sore eyes sometimes caught from it, then rural life in hop-growing districts has lost what was one of its pleas antest features half a century ago. V. MY EARLY SCHOOL-DAYS. MY mother, having lost her mother when but five years old, was, for the next few years, the especial prot^g^e and favorite of her aged grandmother, already mentioned, who had migrated from Ireland when but fourteen years old, and whose store of Scottish and Scotch-Irish traditions, songs, anecdotes, shreds of history, &c., can have rarely been equaUed. These she imparted freely to her eager, receptive granddaughter, who was a glad, easy learner, whose schooUng was better than that of most farmers' daughters in her day, and who naturaUy became a most omnivorous and retentive reader. There were many, doubtless, whose Uterary acqui sitions were more accurate and more profound than hers ; but few can have been better quaUfied to interest or to stim ulate the unfolding mind in its earUest stages of develop ment. I was for years a feeble, sicldy chUd, often under medical treatment, and unable to watch, through a closed window, the falling of rain, without incurring an instant and violent attack of iUness. Having suddenly lost her two former chil dren, just before my birth, my mother was led to regard me even more fondly and tenderly than she otherwise might have done ; hence, I was her companion and confidant about as early as I could taUc ; and her abundant store of baUads, stories, anecdotes, and traditions was daily poured into my wiUing ears. I learned to read at her knee, — of course, longer ago than I can remember ; but I can faintly recoUect her sitting spinning at her " Uttle wheel," with the book in 42 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. her lap whence I was taking my daUy lesson ; and thus I soon acquired the facUity of reading from a book sidewise or upside down as readily as in the usual fashion, — a knack which I did not at first suppose peculiar ; but which, being at length observed, became a subject of neighborhood wonder and fabulous exaggeration. Two months before I had attained the age of three years, I was taken home by my grandfather Woodbum to spend a few weeks with him, and sent to school from his house, — the My First School-House school-house of his district being but fifty rods from his door ; whereas, our proper school-house in Amherst was two nules, and the nearest schoohhouse (in Bedford) over a nUle, from my father's. Hence, I Uved at my grandfather's, and went thence to school, most of each Winter and some months in Summer during the next three years. My first schoolmaster was David Woodburn Dickey, a nephew of my grandfather, a coUege graduate, and an able. MY EARLY SCHOOL-DAYS. 43 worthy man, though rather a severe than a successful gov ernor of youth. The district was large ; there were ninety names on its roll of pupils, — many of them of full-grown men and women, not weU broken to obedience and dociUty, — with an average attendance of perhaps sixty ; aU to be instructed in various studies, as well as ruled, by a single teacher, who did his very best, which included a Uberal ap pUcation of birch and ferule. He was a cripple ; and it was aU he could do, with his high spirit and unquestioned moral superiority, to retain the mastery of the school. Our next teacher in Winter was Cyrus Winn, from Massa chusetts, — a taU, muscular, thoroughly capable young man, who rarely or never struck a blow, but governed by moral force, and by appeals to the nobler impulses of his pupils. They were no better, when he took charge of them, than his predecessor's had been, — in fact, they were mainly the same, — yet his sway was far more complete, and the revolts against it much rarer ; . and when he left us, at the close of his second term, a general attendance of parents on his last afternoon, with a rural feast of boiled cider and doughnuts, attested the emphatic appreciation of his worth. For my own part, I could enjoy nothing, partake of nothing, so intense was my grief at parting with him. It was the first keen sorrow of my Ufe. I never saw hun again, but learned that he was droAvned the next Winter. There was an unruly, frolicsome custom of "barring out" in our New Hampshire common schools, which I trust never obtained a wider acceptance. On the first of January, and perhaps on some other day that the big boys chose to consider or make a hoUday, the forenoon passed off as quietly as that of any other day ; but, the moment the master left the house in quest of his dinner, the Uttle ones were started homeward, the door and windows suddenly and securely barricaded, and the older pupils, thus fortified against intrusion, proceeded to spend the afternoon in play and hilarity. I have known a master to make a desperate struggle for admission ; but I do not recoUect that one ever succeeded, — the odds being too 44 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. \ great. If he appealed to the neighboring fathers, they were i apt to recoUect that they had been boys themselves, and I advise him to desist, and let matters take their course. I jrecoUect one instance, however, where a youth was shut out who thought he ought to have been numbered with the elect, and resolved to resent his exclusion. Procuring a piece of board, he mounted from a fence to the roof of the school- liouse, and covered the top of the chimney nicely with his |board. Ten minutes thereafter, the house was fiUed with smoke, and its inmates, opening the door and windows, were /glad to make terms with the outsider. L_ The capital start given me by my mother enabled me to make rapid progress in school, — ¦ a progress monstrously exaggerated by gossip and tradition. I was speciaUy clever in spelUng, — an art in which there were then few even tolerably pro ficient, — so that I soon rose to the head of the " first class," and usuaUy retained that position. It was a custom of the school to " choose sides " for a " spelUng-match " one afternoon of each week, — the head of the first class in spelUng, and the pupU standing next, being the choosers. In my case, however, it was found necessary to change the rule, and con fide the choice to those who stood second and third respec tively ; as I — a mere infant of four years — could speU, but not choose, — often preferring my playmates, who could not spell at aU. These speUing-matches usuaUy took place in the evening, when I could not keep my eyes open, and should have been in bed. It was often necessary to rap me sharply when " the word " came around to me ; but I never faUed to respond ; and it came to be said that I spelled as weU asleep as awake.- I apprehend that this was more Ukely to be trae of some others of the class ; who, if ever so sound asleep, could scarcely have speUed worse than they did. We very generaUy complain of frequent changes in our school-books, and with reason. Yet we ought to consider that these frequent changes have resulted in signal improve ment; that our school-books of to-day are not only far t) MY EARLY SCHOOL-DAYS. 45 better than those of fifty years ago, but that their improve ment has not been fuUy paralleled elsewhere. AVhen I first went to school, Webster's SpeUing-Book was just supplant ing Dilworth's ; " The American Preceptor " was pushing aside " The Art of Eeading " ; and the only grammar in use was " The Ladies' Accidence," by Caleb Bingham, — as poor an affair as its name would indicate. Geography was scarcely studied at aU ; whUe chemistry, geology, and other depart ments of natural science, had never been heard of in rural school-houses. " Morse's Geography," which soon came into vogue, was a valuable compend of poUtical and statistical information ; but, having barely one map, would scarcely pass for a school geography now. Very soon, Lindley Mur ray's Granimar and English Eeader came into fashion, — soUd works, but not weU adapted to the instruction of children of eight to fourteen years. In fact, I spent considerable time on grammar fo Uttle purpose, and made no decided progress therein, tiU I had learned to scan my authorities criticaUy, and repudiate their errors. When I had pondered myself-- into a decided conviction that Murray did not fuUy under stand his subject, and that his giving "Let me be" as an example of the first, and " Let him be " as its correlative in the third person singular of the imperative mood, were simply blunders, which a deeper knowledge of grammar would have taught him to avoid, I had broken loose from the shackles of routine and iteration, and was prepared to accept aU the light from any quarter that might irradiate the science. Daniel Adams (a New Hampshire man, now lately deceased) had not then pubUshed his lucid and favorite Arithmetic, or, if he had, it had not reached us ; Pike's far more difficult -work was in general use. I cannot say what progress has very recently been made ; but Greenleaf, some thirty or form years since, shortened the time and effort required to gain a l decent knowledge of EngUsh grammar by at least one half,^ I beUeve like progress has been made in elementary treatises in other departments of knowledge. — ^^ The first book I ever owned was " The Columbian Orator," 46 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. given to me by my uncle Perry (husband of my father's old est sister), as I lay very sick of the measles at my maternal grandfather's, when about four years of age. Those who happen to have been famiUar, in its day, with that volume, wUl recoUect it as a medley of dialogues, extracts from ora tions, from sermons, from speeches in ParUament, in Congress, and at the Bar, with two or three versified themes for decla mation, such as " Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise ! " and the Unes (since attributed to Edward Everett,^ but who must have written them very young, if he wrote them at aU) beginning, " You 'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in pubUc on the stage," — Unes which I was dragged forward to recite incessantly, tiU I fairly loathed them. This " Orator " was my prized text-book for years, and I became thoroughly famiUar with its contents ; though I cannot say that I ever learned much of value from it, — certainly not oratory. The first large work that I ever read consecutively was 'the Bible, under the guidance of my mother, when I was about five years old. I attended school, rather irregularly, during the brief term of my fifth and sixth summers, in the western district of Bedford, about a mUe from my father's. For the next two years, we Uved in that township, - — my father having rented his own farm to a brother, and himseU removed to the much larger " Beard Farm," in the eastern part of that town, which he had undertaken to work on shares. Here we were again nearly equidistant from two school-houses ; Uving in the northeastern district, but often attending the school at the centre of the town, which was much larger, and generaUy better taught. Here I first learned that this is a world of hard work. Often caUed out of bed at dawn to " ride horse to plough " among the growing corn, potatoes, and hops, we would get as much ploughed by 9 to 10 A. M. as could be hoed that day ; when I would be aUowed to start for school, where I some- 1 Their author, I have leamed since the above was first printed, was Moses Everett, a Massachusetts teacher of sixty to eighty years ago. MY EARLY SCHOOL-DAYS. 47 times arrived as the forenoon session was half through. In Winter, our work was lighter ; but the snow was often deep and drifted, the cold intense, the north wind piercing, and our clothing thin ; beside which, the term rarely exceeded, and sometimes feU short of, two months. I am grateful for much — schooUng included — to my native State ; yet I trust her boys of to-day generaUy enjoy better faciUties for educa tion at her common schools than they afforded me half a century ago. The French have a proverb importing that in age we re turn to the loves of our youth. I have asked myseU, " How would you Ulce to return to that cot on the hillside, and spend the rest of your days there ? " My answer, is that I would not like it, — that, though adversity drove me inexorably thence, I have been so thoroughly weaned that I have no wish to go back " for good." The cot stUl looks friendly and kindly when I (too seldom) pass it ; the farm and the orchard are stiU famiUar objects, and I would gladly muse a sunny, genial Autumn day there ; but my heart no longer recognizes that spot as its home. "* The last Summer that we Uved in New Hampshire, an offer was made by the leading men of our neighborhood to send me to PhiUips Academy at Exeter, and thence to col lege, — the expense being so defrayed that no part of it should faU on my parents. They Ustened thoughtfully to the pro posal, briefly deUberated, then firmly, though gratefuUy, de clined it; saying that they would give their children the best education they could afford, and there stop. I do not remember that I had then any decided opinion or wish in the premises ; but I now have ; and, from the bottom of .my heart, I thank my parents for their wise and manly decision. Much as I have needed a fuller, better education, I rejoice that I am indebted for schooling to none but those of whom I had a right to ask and expect it. VI. ADIEU TO NEW HAMPSHIRE. OUE tenanr-y of the " Beard Farm," in Bedford, answered very nearly to my seventh and eighth years. That was a large and naturaUy good farm, but in a state of dUapidation : overgrown with bushes and briers, its fences in ruins, and the buildings barely able to stand alone, — the large two-stoiy house more especiaUy far gone. My father had let his own farm, on shares, to a younger brother, whom he wished and hoped thus to serve, while he was led to expect payment for whatever improvements he should make on that which he had taken instead. He was disappointed every way ; his health faUed, and he was for nearly a year unable to work ; his brother did not prosper on our place ; whUe the promises which had lured us to the larger sphere of effort were not made good. To us children — by this time, four in number — the larger house and broader activities of the hired farm were a welcome exchange ; but our fortunes, manifestly, waned there ; and I think we were aU soberly glad to return to our own snugger house and smaUer farm, in the Spring of 1820. As we were trying to work" off a lee-shore, I beUeve neither of us boys went to school at aU that Summer, though I was but nine years old, and my brother not eight tUl June. AU in vain. The times were what is termed " hard," — that is, almost every one owed, and scarcely any one could pay. The rapid strides of British manufactures, impelled by the steam-engine, spinning-jenny, and power-loom, had utterly undermined the homely household fabrications whereof Lon donderry was a prominent American focus ; my mother still ADIEU TO NEW HAMPSHIRE. 49 carded her wool and flax, spun her yam, and wove her wooUen, Unen, and tow cloth ; but they found no market at Uving prices ; our hops sold for Uttle more than the cost of bagging ; and, in short, we were banlcrupt. I presume my father had never been quite out of debt since he bought his place ; but sickness, rash indorsements (a family failing), and bad luck generaUy, had sweUed his indebtedness to something Uke $ 1,000, — which aU we had in the world would not, at current prices, pay. In fact, I do not know how much property would have, paid $ 1,000 in New Hampshire in 1820, when almost every one was hopelessly involved, every third farm was in the sheriff's hands, and every poor man leaving for "the West " who could raise the money requisite for getting away. Everything was cheap, — dog-cheap, — British goods" especiaUy so ; yet the comparatively rich were embarrassed, and the poor were often compulsorily idle, and on the brink of famine. I have not been much of a Free-Trader ever since. We had finished our Summer tiUage and our haying, when a very heavy rain set in, near the end of August. I think its second day was a Saturday ; and stUl the rain poured till far into the night. Father was absent on business ; but our mother gathered her Uttle ones around her, and delighted us with stories and prospects of good things she purposed to do for us in the better days she hoped to see. Father did not return tiU after we children were fast asleep ; and, when he did, it was with tidings that our Ul-fortune was about to culminate. I guess that he was scarcely surprised, though, we young ones ruefully were, when, about sunrise on Monday morning, the sheriff and sundry other officials, with two or three of our principal creditors, appeared, and — first formally demanding payment of their claims — proceeded to levy on farm, stock, implements, household stuff, and nearly aU our worldly pos sessions but the clothes we stood in. There had been no writ issued till then, — of course, no trial, no judgment, — but it was a word and a blow in those days, and the blow first, in the matter of debt-coUecting by legal process. Father left 4 50 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. the premises directly, apprehending arrest and imprisonment, and was invisible aU day ; the rest of us repaired to a friendly neighbor's, and the work of levying went on in our absence. It were needless to add that aU we had was swaUowed up, and our debts not much lessened. Our farm, which had cost us $ 1,350, and which had been considerably improved in our hands, was appraised and set off to creditors at $ 500, out of which the legal costs were first deducted. A bam-fuU of rye, grown by us on another's land, whereof we owned an undivided haU, was attached by a doctor, threshed out by his poorer customers by days' work on account, and sold ; the net result being an enlargement of our debt, — - the grain faUing to meet all the costs. Thus, when night feU, we were as bankrupt a family as well could be. We returned to our devastated house ; and the rest of us stayed there while father took a joumey on foot westward, in quest of a new home. He stopped in the township of Hamp ton, Washington County, N Y, and worked there two or three months with a Colonel Parker French, who tiUed a noble farm, and kept tavern on the main road from Troy into western Vermont. He returned to us in due time, and, on the 1st of January, 1821, we aU started in a hired two-horse sleigh, -with the Uttle worldly gear that was left us, for the township of Westhaven, Vermont, where father had hired, for $16 per annum, a smaU house, in which, after an intensely cold jour ney, we were instaUed three days later. Let me revert for a Uttle to our New Hampshire Ufe, ere I bid it a final adieu. I have already said that Amherst and Bedford are in the main poor towns, whose hard, rocky soU yields grudgingly, save of wood. Except in the villages, if even there, there were very few who could be caUed forehanded in my early boyhood. Poor as we were, no richer famUy Uved within sight of our humble homestead, though our westem prospect was only bounded by the " Chestnut HiUs," two or three mUes ADIEU TO NEW HAMPSHIRE. 51 away On the east, our range of vision was barred by the hUl on the side of which we Uved. The leading man of our neighborhood was Captain Nathan Barnes, a Calvinist deacon, after whom my brother was named, and who was a farmer of decided probity and sound judgment, — worth, perhaps, $ 3,000. Though an ardent Federalist, as were a majority of his towns men, he commanded a company of " exempts," raised to defend the country in case of British invasion, during the war of 1812. The Eevolutionary War was not yet thirty years bygone when I was bom, and its passions, its prejudices, and its baUads were stUl current throughout that intensely Whig region. ' When neighbors and neighbors' wives drew together at the house of one of their number for an evening visit, there were often interspersed with " Cruel Barbara AUen," and other love-lorn ditties then in vogue, such reminiscences of the prcr ceding age as " American Taxation," a screed of some fifty prosaic verses, opening thus : — - " VFTiile I relate my story, Americans, give ear ; Of Britain's fading glory You presently shall hear. I '11 give a true relation, (Attend to what I say,) Concerning the taxation Of North America." The last throes of expiring loyalty are visible in this long- drawn baUad, — Bute and North, and even Fox, being soundly berated for acts of tyranny whereof their royal master, George IIL, was sole author, and they but reluctant, hesitat ing, apprehensive instruments. The b.aUads of the late war with Great Britain were not so popular in our immediate neighborhood, though my mother had good store of these also, and sang them with spirit and effect, along with " Boyne Water," " The Taking of Quebec," by WoUe, and even "Wearing of the Green,'' which, though dating from Ireland's '98, has been revived and adopted in our day, with so vast and deserved an Irish popularity. 52 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. We were, in the truest sense, democrats, we Scotch-Irish FederaUsts from Londonderry, where Jefferson received but two votes in the memorable straggle of 1800. When, for a single year at the " Beard Farm," our house echoed to the tiead of a female " help," whose natural abUities were humble, and whose Uterary acquirements were inferior even to ours, that servant always ate with the family, even when we had the neighbors as " company " ; and, though her wages were but fifty cents a week, she had her party, and invited the girls of the neighborhood to be her guests at tea, precisely as if she had been a daughter of the house. Nowhere were manners ever simpler, or society freer from pretension or exclusiveness, than in those farmers' homes. HospitaUty was less bounteous, and kinship less prized, than in the days of the Scotch-Irish pioneers ; but there was stiU much visiting of relatives and social enjoyment, especiaUy in Winter, when hundreds returned to the old Londonderry hive from the younger swarms scattered aU over the East : some of them beginning to stretch away even to the far " Hol land Purchase," in Western New York ; then practicaUy as distant as Oregon or Alaska now is. I remember when the Doles left the " Chestnut HUls " to pitch their tent in lUinois, — then a far bolder venture than migration to Sitka would now be. I have often seen my grandfather Woodbum's house crammed for days with cousins and nephews from Vermont and other 'Derry settlements, who could not be so many as to miss a hearty welcome. Our house was far smaUer, and less frequented ; but its latch-string was always out ;. and a free Uver, with twelve brothers and sisters, to say nothing of -thftir partners by marriage and their children, is not apt to be persistently shunned. In fact, we lived better than we could afford to (as poor folks are too apt to do), and this was one cause of our downfaU. My father, as proud as he was poor, spared nothing when friends and relatives, especiaUy those of higher social standing, favored him with their com pany, and was rarely found unable to fulfil thefr most sanguine expectations. When too many dropped in upon us at once. ADIEU TO NEW HAMPSHIRE. 53 or we were found deficient in the luxuries they might fafrly expect, he had a habit of telUng them this anecdote : — ¦ . " When I was a boy of fifteen," said he, " I worked two summers in the great brick-yards of Medford, Mass. My employer, Mr. MarshaU, was at first a new man in the com munity, whose wife deemed it incumbent on her to give her neighbors a tea-party, as a prelude to better acquaintance. In those ante-canal days, wheaten flour was a luxury, though nearly aU had it for ' company ' occasions ; ordinarily, our bread was made of ' rye and Indian ' exclusively. Mrs. Mar shaU, on the great occasion, had the inevitable ' short-cake ' for tea, — of rye flour, as aU could perceive : stUl, it was not imperative on common folks to proffer cake of wheaten flour ; and aU would have passed off without remark, and been soon forgotten, but for a maladroit explanation by the hostess. ' Ladies,' said she to her guests, ' I beg you not to infer that we have no wheat flour, from the fact that I give you rye short-cake.' We have wheat flour in the house ; but I thought I would save that for Mr. MarshaU, when he comes to work hard in haying-time.' "¦ The astonished guests tittered ; the glee broadened into a loud laugh as the explanation gaUoped throvigh the neighborhood; and it readily passed into a proverb, that anything deficient on a kindred occasion was saved for Mr. Marshall in haying-time. "Friends," added my father, in conclusion, "if you note anything deficient in our fare, consider that it is saved for Mr. MarshaU in haying-time." VII. WESTHAVEN. THE township of Westhaven, Vermont, comprises that irregular corner of the State which is bounded by Lake Champlain on the west, and by Hampton and WhitehaU, N. Y., on the south and southeast, and may be roughly com pared to a very blunt wedge driven into the State of New York ; its point being formed by the rather sharp angle which the Uttle PoiUtney river, which here divides the two States, makes with the Lake, in which it is finaUy lost. The general plain or level, widening from south to north, which separates the Green Mountains from that lake, is here repeatedly broken by gentle upheavals of limestone, and, less frequently, by higher and more precipitous ridges of gneiss or of trap, which increase in number and height as you approach the chain of verdant hUls which have given the State her name. This whole region was thickly covered by heavy timber, — in good part, white pine, — when its devastation by our race commenced ; and its proximity to navigable water, with the abundance of mill-streams everywhere pervading it, incited its rapid monopoly for " lumbering " purposes. A Dr. Smith, from Connecticut, — brother of one and uncle of another Governor ofthat State, — pitched his tent in Westhaven (then a part of Fairhaven) some seventy to eighty years ago, and did great execution upon the pines ; rapidly amassing wealth, and becoming an extensive landholder. Death stopped him in mid-career, paralyzing his activity, and dividing his prop erty, whereof part was inherited by his brother, and the residue by his widow; who soon married- Christopher Minot, WESTHAVEN. 55 a Boston banker, who thenceforth made his home in West haven ; inhabiting the spacious mansion which his predecessor had barely lived to complete. Our fust home in -Vermont was on his estate, and within a few rods of his mansion ; and we mainly worked for him, or on his land, while we lived in that town. Westhaven might have been, and should be to-day, a rich grazing township ; but for its original wealth of pines, it pro bably would have been. But its pioneers, high and low, were lumbermen ; and it has never yet liberated itseU from their baleful sway. As Moore says, — " The trail of the serpent is over it all." As the pines had begun to faU, I presume its population was decUning when we settled there, or a house that might be lived in with frugal comfort could not have been hfred for S 16 per annum ; but it had then a considerably larger popu lation than it has to-day, — our school-district at least twice as much. " Going West " has ever since been the general procUvity; though I beUeve any one who understands and Ukes dafry farming can buy land and buUdings there cheaper than anywhere beyond the Ohio. By and by some one wiU settle there who knows how to apply the superabundant lime to the strong but stubborn clay ; making farms richly worth $ 100 per acre which now go begging at $ 30. UntU then, let Westhaven sleep ; for I lack power or time to wake her. I can heartUy commend her remaining people — aU farmers, . after a sort — as too honest to need a lawyer, and too wise to support a grog-shop, even though the law had not forbidden any one to open it. « When we first set our stakes there, father was thirty-eight and mother was thirty-three years old. I was not quite ten ; my brother and two sisters, eight, six, and four, respectively. A thfrd sister — the youngling of the flock — was born two years later; and aU five of us children have been spared through the intervening forty-seven years. We now made the acquaintance of genuine poverty, — not 56 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. beggary, JOI dependence, but the.manly American sort. Our sum total of worldly~go6ds, including furniture, bedding, and the clothes we stood in, may have been worth $ 200 ; but, as we had afterward to pay that amount on old New Hampshire debts, our material possessions may be fairly represented by 0, with a credit for $ 200 worth of clothing and household stuff. Yet, we never needed nor ran into debt for anything ; never were without meal, meat, and wood, and very rarely without money. Father went to chopping at fifty cents per day, with out repining or apprehension; and we chUdren aU went to school tiU Spring, though there were no school-funds in those days, and rate-biUs for four chUdren made quite a hole in a gross income of $ 3 per week. Hitherto, we had never Uved within a mile of a school-house ; now, we were within fifty rods of one, — in fact, of two ; for a quarrel had spUt the dis trict, and two schools were in fuU blast on our arrival, — one on either side of us. The Vermont schools were rather better than the New Hampshire, — better, at least, in this: their terms were longer. I never tried them in Summer, — except during one very rainy day ; but I had a fuU opportunity in Winter; and I deeply regret that such homely sciences as Chemistry, Geology, and Botany were never taught, — were not even named therein. Had our range of studies included these, I had ample time to leam something of them ; and this would have proved of inestimable value to me evermore. Yet, I am thankful that Algebra had not yet been thrust into our . mral common schools, to knot the brains and squander the time of those who should be learning something of positive and practical utility. Before the Sprmg of 1821 opened, father had taken a job of clearing fifty acres of wild land, a mile north of our cot ; and here he and his sons were employed, save in Winter, for the next two years. The work was rugged and grimy, but healthful. The land had been timbered with YeUow Pme, a thousand years before, — as a hundred giant trunks, long since prostrated, but not yet whoUy mouldered back to dust, attested. This was fol- WESTHAVEN. 57 lowed by a forest of White Pines, of which hundreds were stiU standing, mostly lifeless ; while a large number lay prone and dead, though the trunks were mainly sound. Black Ash in abundance formed a later and generally living growth ; though a fierce conflagration, which swept over this whole region, during a great drouth, four years before we saw it, had devoured much, and killed more of the forest, but increased the undergrowth of Beech, Alder, Poplar, etc., which we were required to dispose of When we first attacked it, the snow was just going, and the water and slush were knee-deep. We were aU indifferent choppers, when compared with those who usuaUy grapple with great forests ; and the job looked so for midable that traveUers along the turnpike which skuted our task were accustomed to halt and comfort us with predictions that we boys would be grown men before we saw the end of : it. But, cutting trees and bushes ; chopping up great trunks- into manageable lengths, drawing them together, roUing up and burning great heaps of logs ; saving out here and there a log that would do to saw ; digging out rotten pines from the soU wherein they had embedded themselves, so that they might dry sufficiently to burn ; piling and burning brush and rotten or worthless sticks, and carting home such wood as served for fuel, we persevered untU the job was done ; when I could have begun another just like it and managed so as not to require more than two thirds of the labor we expended on this. And now, U any one has a great tratt of land to clear of trees, decaying logs, and bushes, I fancy that I might give him hints worth considering. N. B. — I work for pay. We had been farmers of the poorer class in New Hamp- shfre ; we took rank with day-laborers in Vermont. We had Uved freely, though not lavishly, much less sumptuously, in our earlier home ; here, we were compeUed to observe a sterner frugaUty. The bread of our class in this section was almost exclusively made of rye, — Indian corn being little grown on the clay soil of Western Vermont, — and, though there are always about six women aUve who know how to make of rye the best bread ever tasted, our mother was not one of these. 58 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and never learned thefr admirable art. Then the clay itself, alternating with the weather from mire to rock, is not weU adapted to bare feet; while the detestable Canada thistles, which infest every road and almost every field in Westhaven, are not conducive to placidity of temper or propriety of speech. Having the sharp lances of these thistles dug out of my fes tered feet with needles was long my daily terror and my nightly torture; the tough, horny integument with which their rough experiences had covered our naked feet rendering the dislodgement of the thistle-beards more laborious and painful than any soft-footed person can reaUze. I have never since been able to appraise stiff clay soils at thefr fuU value. / A precipitous ledge, eighty rods east of the turnpike from ' which we worked westward, afforded us good spring water, and suppUed us also with rattlesnakes, whereof we kUled some, which might have proved annoying to us barefoot boys, as we worked among the brush and weeds, had they caught the idea. StUl, clearing land is pleasant work, especiaUy when you have a hundred heaps of logs and brush burning at once of a dark, windy night ; whUe ten or twenty acres of fallen, leafy timber, on fire at once, affords a magnificent spec- . tacle. We were to have had $ 7 per acre, with the use of a team, and half the wood suitable for tunber and fuel ; and, though $ 350, even in those days, was not large pay for two years' work of a man and two boys, we were weU satisfied. In the event, however, Mr. Minot died before we had effected a settlement; when his estate was declared insolvent, and we were juggled out of a part of our pay. Our third year in Vermont was spent two miles farther west, where we inhabited and worked a Uttle place known as Flea Knoll, while father ran a neighboring saw-miU on shares. As he sawed twelve hours on and twelve off, with a partner, I insisted on being his helper ; but I think once working from noon till midnight satiated my ambition, and I never fuUy learned the art and mystery of sawing boards by water-power. My brother, though younger, was more persistent, and made gxeater progress. I gave that Summer pretty dUigentiy to WESTHAVEN. 59 farming, with very meagre results. First, the season was wet tiU the 1st of June ; and our corn, planted in mortar, encoun tered a brick-Uke crust when it undertook to come up ; and, unable to pierce or break it, pushed lateraUy under it for two inches or so, until we dug off the crust, and mtroduced the pale, imprisoned shoots to sunshine. Next came a long Sum mer of intense drouth, baking and cracking our fields, so that the hoe made no serious impression on thefr rock-Uke masses, causing the corn to stand stUl and tum yeUow, whUe the thistles came up tlUck, rank, and vigorous, covering the fields with a verdure most deceitful to the eye at a distance. We had failed in an attempt to make maple sugar that Spring : the season being bad, the trees distant, and our knowledge of the art very meagre; our crops amounted to little; while the water we drank here was so bad that the fever and ague struck down our parents in the FaU, and aU of us children next Spring, when we beat a precipitate retreat from " Flea KnoU " — where it was said that no family ever remained more than a year, — and returned to the Minot estate ; living in a larger house just west of our former tenement, cultivating the adja cent land on shares, and clearing off some twenty acres more of young White Pine, for which we were to be paid by two years' crops ; which proved, in the main, a failure : our wheat being destroyed by the midge. ^^^s Thus ended my boyish experiences of farming, which may be said to have commenced in my sixth, and closed with my fifteenth year. During the whole period, though an eager and omnivorous reader, I never saw a book that treated of Agriculture and the natural sciences auxiliary thereto. I think I never saw even one copy of a periodical devoted mainly to farming ; and I doubt that we ever harvested one bounteous crop. A good field of rye, or corn, or grass, or potatoes, we sometimes had ; but we had more haU crops than whole ones ; and a good yield of any one product was generaUy balanced by two or three poor ones. I know I had the stuff in me for an efficient and successful farmer; but such training as. I received at home would never have brought it out. And the ,60 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. moral I would deduce from my experience is simply this : Our farmers' sons escape from their fathers' calling whenever they can, hecause it is made a mindless, monotonous drudgery, instead of an ennobling, liberalizing, intellectual pursuit. Could I have known in my youth what a business farming some- tunes is, always may be, and yet generaUy shaU be, I would never have sought nor chosen any other. In the farmer's caUincr, as I saw it foUowed, there was neither scope for ex panding faculties, incitement to constant growth in knowl edge, nor a spur to generous ambition. To preserve existence was its ordinary impulse; to get rich, its exceptional and most exalted aim. So I turned from it in dissatisfaction, ff not in disgust, and sought a different sphere and vocation. Fairhaven, lying southeast of Westhaven, was the poorer of the two towns thirty years ago, producing no surplus but of rye, which was readily transmuted into whiskey, and drank at home to no profit; but the more recent development of her natural wealth in slate, with the erection of miUs for saw ing the marble abundantly found a few mUes farther east, has given her a pretty rapid and quite substantial growth. Though limited in area, and nowise inviting .in soil, Fafrhaven now takes rank with the more prosperous townships of Vermont ; a considerable accession of inhabitants, — mainly Welsh min ers and' Irish laborers, — with the erection of new dwelUngs and other structures, evincing the thrift which everywhere attends or foUows the opening of a new field for productive industry. Fairhaven might to-day be mistaken, at a hasty glance, for a growing township of Pennsylvania or Ohio; while Westhaven — having no pui-suit but Agriculture — Ues petrified and Ufeless as though located in Nova Scotia or Lower Canada. Clearly, Man was not intended to Uve by bread alone, — whether the eating or the growing of it. VIII, MY APPRENTICESHIP. HAVING loved and devoured newspapers — indeed, every form of periodical — from chUdhood, I early resolved to be a printer if I could. When but eleven years old, hear ing that an apprentice was wanted in the newspaper office at Whitehall, T accompanied my father to that ofiice, and tried hard to find favor in the printer's eyes ; but he promptly and properly rejected me as too young, and would not relent ; so I went home downcast and sorrowful. No new opportunity 'was presented tiU the Spring of 1826, when an apprentice was advertised for by the publishers of The Northern Spectator, at East Poultney, Vt. That paper had just been purchased by an association of the leading citizens of the place from its founders, Messrs. Smith and Shute, who had started it as The Poultney Gazette three or four years before. The viUage, though larger and more active then than now, was not ade quate to the support of a newspaper ; but the citizens thought otherwise, and resolved to maintain one, under the manage ment of a committee. So they hired from New York an editor, — Mr. E. G. Stone, brother of the more distinguished editor of The Commercial Advertiser, — paid handsomely for the printing-office and good-wUl, and went ahead. Much of the old force having left with the retiring pubhshers, there was room for a new apprentice, and I wanted the place. My father was about starting for the wide West in quest of a future home ; so, not needing at the moment my services, he readUy acceded to my wishes. I walked over to Poultney, saw the publishers, came to an understanding with them, and 62 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. returned; and a few days afterward — April 18, 1826 — my father took me down, and verbaUy agreed with them for my services. I was to remam tiU twenty years of age, be allowed my board only for six months, and thereafter $ 40 per annum m addition for my clothing. So I stopped, and went to work ; while he returned to Westhaven, and soon left m quest of a more inviting region. He made his way to the town of Wayne, Erie County, Pennsylvania, on the State Une opposite Clymer, Chautauqua County, N. Y., — a spot where his brothers Benjamin and Leonard had, three or four years earUer, made holes in the tall, dense forest, which then covered nearly aU that region for twenty to fifty mUes in every direction. He bought out first one, then another pioneer, until he had at length two or three hundred acres of good laiid, but covered with a heavy growth of Beech, Maple, Elm, Hemlock, &c. Having made his fust purchase, — which included a log hut, and four acres of clearing, — he returned for his famUy ; and I walked over from Poultney to spend a Sabbath with and bid them fareweU. It was a sad parting. We had seen hard times together, and were very fondly attached to each other. I was urged by some of my kindred to give up Poultney, — where there were some things in the office not exactly to my mind, — and accompany them to their new home ; whence, they urged, I could easily find, in its vicinity, another and better chance to leam my chosen trade. I was strongly tempted to comply ; but it would have been bad faith to do so ; and I turned my face once more toward Poultney with dry eyes but a heavy heart. A word from my mother, at the critical moment, might have overcome my resolution ; but she did not speak it, and I went my way; leaving the fanuly soon to travel much farther, and in an opposite direction. After the parting was over, and I weU on my way, I was strongly tempted to return ; and my walk back to Poultney (twelve mUes) was one of the slowest and saddest of my life. I have ever since been thankful that I did not yield to the temptation of the hour. Poultney was a capital place to MY APPRENTICESHIP. 63 serve an apprenticeship. EssentiaUy a rural community, her people are at once intelUgent and moral ; and there are few viUages wherein the incitements to dissipation and vice are fewer or less obtrusive. The organization and management of our estabUshment were vicious ; for an apprentice should have one master ; whUe I had a series of them, and often two or three at once. First, our editor left us ; next, the company broke up or broke down, as any one might have known it would ; and a mercantUe firm in the viUage became owners and managers of the concern ; and so we had a succession of editors and of printers. These changes enabled me to demand and receive a more Uberal aUowance for the later years of my apprenticeship ; but the office was too laxly ruled for the most part, and, as to instruction, every one had perfect Uberty to learn whatever he could. In fact, as but two, or at most three, persons were employed in the printing department, it would have puzzled an apprentice to avoid a practical knowl edge of whatever was done there. I had not been there a year before my hands were bUstered and my back lamed by working off the very considerable edition of the paper on an old-fashioned, two-puU Eamage (wooden) press, — a task be yond my boyish strength, — and I can scarcely recaU a day wherein we were not hurried by our work. I would not imply t'hat I worked too hard ; yet I think few apprentices work more steadily and faithfully than I did throughout the four years and over of my stay in Poultney. While I lived at home, I had always been aUowed a day's fishing, at least once a month in Spring and Summer, and I once went hunt ing ; but I never fished, nor hunted, nor attended a dance, nor any sort of party or fandango, in Poultney. I doubt that I even played a game of baU. ,-^ Yet I was ever considerately and even kindly treated by those in authority over me ; and I beUeve I generaUy merited and enjoyed their confidence and good-wiU. Very seldom was a word of reproach or dissatisfaction addressed to me by one of them. Though I worked dUigently, I found much time for reading, and might have had more, had every leisure 64 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. hour been carefuUy improved. I had been generously loaned books from the Minot house whUe in Westhaven ; I found good ones abundant and accessible in Poultney, where I first made the acquaintance of. a pubUc library. I have never since found at once books, and opportunity to enjoy them, so ample as while there ; I do not think I ever before or since read to so much profit. They say that apprenticeship is dis tasteful to, and out of fashion with, the boys of our day : if so, I regret it for their sakes. To the youth who asks, " How shaU I obtain an education ? " I would answer, " Leam a trade of a good master." I hold firmly that most boys may thus better acquire the knowledge they need than by spending four years in coUege. I was kindly aUowed to visit my father's famUy in thefr new Western home twice during my apprenticeship ; having a furlough of a month in either instance. I made either jour ney by way of the Erie Canal, on those Une-boats whose " cent and a haff a mile, mUe and a haU an hour," so many yet remember. EaUroads, as yet, were not; the days passed slowly yet smoothly on those gUding arks, being enUvened by various sedentary games ; but the nights were tedious beyond any sleeping-car experience. At daybreak, you were routed out of yoiu shabby, shelf-Uke berth, and driven on deck to swallow fog while the cabin was cleared of its beds and made ready for breakfast. I say nothing as to " the good old times " ; but, ff any one would recaU the good old hue- boats, I object. And the wretched Uttle tubs that then did duty for steamboats on Lake Erie were scarcely less conducive to the increase and diffusion of human misery. I have suf- j fered in them to the extent of mortal endurance ; I have left i one at Dunldrk, and walked twenty mUes to Westfield, instead j of keeping on by boat at a trifling charge, simply because 1 flesh and blood could bear the torture no longer. I trust I have due respect for "the good old ways" we often hear of; yet I feel that this earthly Iffe has been practically lengthened and sweetened by the invention and construction of raUroads. Among the incidents of my sojourn in Poultney that made MY APPRENTICESHIP. 65 most impression on my mind is a fugitive slave-chase. New York had professed to aboUsh slavery years before, but had ordained that certain born slaves shoidd remain such tUl twenty-eight years old ; and the year of jubUee for certain of these had not yet come. A young negro, who must have been unjnstructed in the sacredness of constitutional guaranties, the rights of property, &c., &c., &c., feloniously abstracted him seK from his master in a neighboring New York town, and conveyed the chattel-personal to our viUage ; where he was at work when said master, with due process and foUowing, came over to reclaim and recover the goods. I never saw so large a muster of men and boys so suddenly on our viUage- green as his advent incited ; and the result was a speedy dis appearance of the chattel, and the return of his master, dis consolate and niggerless, to the place whence he came. Every thing on our side was impromptu and instinctive ; and nobody suggested that envy or hate of " the South," or of New York, or of the master, had impeUed the rescue. Our people hated injustice and oppression, and acted as ff they could n't help it. Another fresh recoUection of those far-off days concerns our Poultney celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of Ameri can Independence. I know we stUl celebrate the Fourth of July ; but it does seem to me that the glory has departed. In those times, we had always from twenty to fifty Eevolu tionary soldiers on the platform, — veterans of seventy to ninety years, in whose eyes the recurrence of the nation's an niversary seemed to rekindle " the Ught of other days." The semi-centennial celebration brought out these in fuU force, — the gatherings were unusuaUy large, and the services impres sive; since few of those present, and none of the veterans, could rationaUy hope to see its repetition. The Declaration of In dependence sounded far less antedUuvian than it now does ; the quarrel of the colonists with King George, if not recent, was yet real ; and the old soldiers forgot for a day their rheu matism, their decrepitude, and thefr poverty, and were proud of thefr bygone perUs and hardships, and thefr abiding scars. I doubt that Poultney has since been so thrilled with patriotic 5 66 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. emotion as on that 4th of July, 1826 ; and when we leamed, a few days later, that Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, the author and the great champion, respectively, of the Declara tion, had both died on that day, and that the messengers bearing South and North, respectively, the tidings of thefr decease, had met in PhUadelphia, under the shadow of that Hall in which our Independence was declared, it seemed that a Divine attestation had solemnly hallowed and sanctified the great anniversary by the impressive ministration of Death. Time works changes, even where a hasty glance discerns but immobUity and virtual stagnation. A raifroad from Troy to Eutland {via Eagle Bridge and Salem, N. Y.) now runs through West Poultney; increasing the decided advantage which that viUage had afready achieved over its rival hy the estabUshment within its limits of a great Methodist seminary and of certain manufactures. East Poultney has fewer stores, fewer mechanics' shops, less business, and fewer inhabi tants, than when I first saw it, forty-odd years ago ; whUe scarcely a house has meantime been buUt within its limits. It is stiU a pleasant place to visit, however ; and I live in hopes of spending a quiet week there ere I die. Our paper was intensely Adams and Clay before, and in the Presidential struggle of 1828, and our whole community sym pathized with its preference. The defection of our State's fore most politician, Governor ComeUus P. Van Ness, after he had vainly tried, whUe professmg to be an Adams man, to vault from the Governor's chair into the United States Senate, created a passing ripple on the face of the current, but did not begm to stem it. A few active yet unpopular politicians went over with him ; but the masses stood firm, especially in our section, where the influence of Hon. EoUin C. MaUary, our represent ative in Congress, was unrivalled. The Jackson party nomi nated him for Congress ; but that did not affect his position, nor much affect .his vote, which in any case would have been nearly unanimous. We Vermonters were aU Protectionists ; MY APPRENTICESHIP. 67 and Mr. MaUary was the foremost champion of our cause in the House. He made a speech in Poultney the evening before the election, when, though the omens were sinister, we still hoped that Adams might be reelected. The Jackson paper nearest us headed its Electoral Ticket, " For General Jackson and a Protective Tariff" ; and Jackson men aU over the North and West protested that their party was as decidedly for Protection as ours ; pointing to the attit&de of Pennsyl vania, at once the leading Protectionist and the strongest Jackson State; but we could not help seeing that aU the Free Traders were for Jackson; that Calhoun was running with him for Vice-President ; and that South CaroUna was threatening nullification and forcible resistance if the Protec tive pohcy were not abandoned; and we concluded that either Pennsylvania or CaroUna must be cheated, and that the latter would take good care not to be. So Mr. MaUary urged us to stand fast by those whom we Aimew to be devoted to our cher ished poUcy, rather than try those whose, professions were discredited by notorious facts ; and the response in our section was enthusiastic. Poultney gave next day 334 votes for Adams to 4 for Jackson. I doubt that her vote has ever since been so unanimous or so strong. And, though the gen eral result was heavUy adverse to our desperate hopes, — only New England, not quite half of New York, New Jersey, Dela ware, and part of Maryland, giving Mr. Adams thefr votes ; whUe Pennsylvania, the rest of New York, and aU the South and West, went against him, — we had the poor consolation, that, for whatever disaster the political revolution might involve, no shadow of responsibiUty could rest on our -own Vermont. IX. MY FAITH. I MUST have been about ten years old, when, m some school-book, whereof I have forgotten the name, I first read an account of the treatment of the Athenians by Deme trius, called Poliorcetes (Destroyer of Cities), one of the suc cessors of " Macedonia's madman." I cannot rediscover that account ; so I must be content with the far tamer and less vivid narration of the French historian EoUin : — " Demetrius had withdrawn himself to Ephesus after the Battle of Ipsus, [wherein he was routed,] and thence embarked for Greece ; his whole resources being trusted to the affection of the Athenians, with whom he had left his fleet, money, and wife, Deidamia. But he was strangely surprised and offended when he was met on his way by ambassadors from the Athenians, who came to apprise him that he could not be admitted into their city, because the people had, by a decree, prohibited the reception of any of the kings ; they also informed him that his consort, Deidamia, had been con ducted to Megara with aU the honors arid attendance due to her dignity. Demetrius was then sensible of the value of honors and homages extorted by fear, and which did not proceed from the wUL The posture of his affairs not permitting him to revenge the perfidy of that people, he contented himself with intimating his complaints to them in a moderate manner, and demanded his galleys ; with which, as soon as he had received them, he sailed toward the Chersonesus." Not many months elapsed before, through one of those strange and sudden mutations which were frequent through out his career, the fortunes of Demetrius were completely MY FAITH. 69 restored, and he was enabled to settle his running account with those who had proved so treacherous in his adversity. I return here to the narration of EoUin : — " Athens, as we have already observed, had revolted from Deme trius, and shut her gates against him. But, when that prince thought he had sufficiently provided for the security of his terri tories in Asia, he moved against that rebeUious and ungrateful city, with a resolution to punish her as she deserved. The first year was devoted to the conquest of the Messenians, and of some other cities which had quitted his party ; but he returned the next season to Athens, which he closed, blocked up, and reduced to the last extremity, by cutting off all influx of provisions. A fleet of a hundred and fifty sad, sent by King Ptolemy to succor the Athen ians, and which appeared off the coast of ^^gina, afforded them but a transient joy ; for, when this naval force saw a strong fleet arrive from Peloponnesus to the assistance of Demetrius, besides a great number of other vessels from Cyprus, and that the whole amounted to three hundred, they weighed anchor and fled. " Although the Athenians had issued a decree by which they made it a capital offence for any person even to mention a peace with Demetrius, the extremity to which they were reduced obliged them to open thefr gates to him. When he entered the city, he commanded the inhabitants to assemble in the theatre, which he surroimded with armed troops, and posted his guards on either side of the stage where the dramatic pieces were wont to be per formed ; and then, descending from the upper part of the theatre, in the manner usual with actors, he showed himself to the multi tude, who seemed more dead than alive, and awaited the event in inexpressible terror, expecting it would prove their sentence to destruction; but he dissipated their apprehensions by the first words he uttered : for he did not raise his voice like a man enraged, nor deliver himself in any passionate or insulting terms ; but softened the tones of. his voice, and only addressed to them gentle complaints and amicable expostulations. He pardoned thefr offence and restored them to his favor, — presenting them, at the same time, with 100,000 measures of corn [wheat], and reinstating such magistrates as were most agreeable to them. The joy of this people may be easily conceived from the terrors with which they were previously affected ; and how glorious must that prince be who could always support so admirable a character ! " 70 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Eeflecting with admiration on this exhibition of a magna nimity too rare in human annals, I was moved to inquire ff a spirit so nobly, so wisely, transcending the mean and savage impulse which man too often disguises as justice, when it is Ul essence revenge, might not be reverently termed Divine ; and the firm conclusion to which I was finaUy led, unported that the old Greek's treatment of vanquished rebels or pros trate enemies must forcibly image and body forth that of the " King immortal, invisible, and only wise G;od." When I reached this conclusion, I had never seen one who was caUed, or who caUed himself, a UniversaUst ; and I neither saw one, nor read a page of any one's writings, for years there after. I had only heard that there were a few graceless repro bates and scurvy outcasts, who pretended to beUeve that aU men would be saved, and to wrench the Scriptures into some sort of conformity to thefr mockery of a creed. I had read the Bible through, much of it repeatedly, but when quite too infantUe to form any coherent, definite synopsis of the doctrines I presumed to be taught therein. But, soon after entering a printing-office, I procured exchanges with several Universalist periodicals, and was thenceforth familiar with thefr methods of interpretation and of argument; though I first heard a sermon preached by one of this school whUe passing through Buffalo, about 1830 ; and I was acquainted with no society, and no preacher, of this faith, prior to my arrival in New York in August, 1831 ; when I made my way, on the first Sunday morning of my sojourn, to the little chapel in Grand Street, near Pitt, — about the size of an average country school-house, — where Eev. Thomas J. Sawyer, then quite young, ministered to a congregation of, perhaps, a hundred souls; to which congregation I soon afterward attached myseff: remaining a member of it. untU he left the city. I am not, therefore, to be classed with those who. claim to have been converted from one creed to another by studying the Bible alone. Certainly, upon re-reading that book in the light of my new convictions, I found therein abundant proof MY FAITH. 71 of their correctness in the averments of patriarchs,* prophets,! apostles, J and of the Messiah § himself But not so much in particular passages, however pertinent and decisive, as in the spirit and general scope of the Gospel, — so happUy blending inexorable punishment for every offence with unfaUing pity and ultimate forgiveness for the chastened transgressor, — thus saving simiers from sin by leading them, through suffering, to loathe and forsake it ; and in laying down its Golden Eule, which, ff of universal appUcation, (and why not ?) must be utterly inconsistent with the infliction of inflnite and unending torture as the penalty of transient, and often ignorant, offend ing, did I find ample warrant for my hope and trust that aU suffering is disciplinary and transitional, and shaU ultimately lesult in universal holiness and consequent happiness. In the light of this faith, the dark problem of EvU is irra diated, and virtuaUy solved. "Perfect through suffering" was the way traced out for the great Captain of our salvation : then why not for aU the chUdren of Adam ? To say that temporary affliction is as difficult to reconcile with Divine goodness as eternal agony is to defy reason and insult common sense. The history of Joseph's perfidious sale into slavery by lus brethren, and the Divine overruling || of that crime into a means of vast and permanent blessing to the entire family of Jacob, is directly in point. Once conceive that an Omniscient Beneficence presides over and directs the entfre course of human affafrs, leading ever onward and upward to universal purity and bUss; and aU evU becomes phenomenal and pre parative, — a mere curtain or passing cloud, which hides for a moment the Ught of the celestial and eternal day. I am not wise enough, even in my own conceit, to assume to say where and when the deUverance of our race from evU and suffering shaU be consummated. Perceiving that many * Gen. iii. 15; xii. 3. t Isa. xxv. 8; xiv. 23-25. J Eom. V. 12-21; viii. 19-21; 1 Cor. xv. 42-54; Eph. i. 8-10; Col. i. 19-21; 1 Tim. ii. 3-6. § Matt. XV. 13 ; John xii. 32. II Gen. xiv. 5-8. 72 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. leave this stage of being depraved and unpenitent, I cannot beUeve that they wUl be transformed into angels of purity by the intervention of a cfrcumstance so purely physical and involuntary as death. Holding that the government of God is everywhere and always perfect (however inadequate may be our comprehension of it), I infer that, alike in aU worlds, men wUl be chastised whenever they shaU need to be, and that neither by suicide, nor any other device, can a single individual escape the penalty of his evU-doing. If man is punished because he needs to be, — because that is best for him, — why should such discipline be restricted to this span of Ufe ? WhUe I know that the words translated heU, etemal, &c., in our version of the Bible, bear various meanings which the translators have befogged, — giving heU, the grave, the pit, &c., as equivalents of the one Hebrew term that signifies the unseen home of departed souls, — and whUe I am sure that the luxuriant metaphors whereby a state of anguish and suffer ing are depicted were not meant to be taken literaUy, — I yet realize that human iniquity is often so fiagrant and enormous that its punishment, to be just and efficient, must be severe and protracted. How or where it will be inflicted are matters of incident and circumstance, not of principle nor of primary consequence. Enough that it wiU be administered by One who " doth not wUUngly * [that is, wantonly] affiict nor grieve the chUdren of men," but because their own highest good demands it, and would be prejudiced by his withholding it. But I do not dogmatize nor speculate. I rdst in a more as sured conviction of what Tennyson timidly, yet impressively, warbles, in mourning the death of his beloved friend : — " O, yet we trust that, somehow, good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sius of will. Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; " That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void. When God hath made the pile complete ; * Lam. iii. 33. MY FAITH. 73 " That not a worm is cloven in vain ; That not a moth, with vain desire, Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire. Or but subserves another's gain. " Behold ! we know not anything : I can but trust that good shall fall At last, — far off, — at last, to all. And every Winter change to Spring." Twenty years earlier, Mrs. Hemans, when on the brink of the angeUc Iffe, was blest with a gleam from within the celes tial -gates, and, in almost her last sonnet, faintly refracted it as foUows : — " ON EECORDS OE IMMATURE GENIUS. " O, judge in thoughtful tenderness of those Who, richly dowered for life, are called to die ¦ Ere the soul's flame, through storms, hath won repose In truth's divinest ether, still and high ! Let their minds' riches claim a trustfiil sigh ; Deem them but sad, sweet fragments of a sti-ain. First notes of some yet struggling harmony By the strong rush, the crowding joy and pain. Of many inspirations, met and held From its true sphere. O, soon it might have swelled Majestically forth ! Nor doubt that He Whose tonch mysterious may on earth dissolve Those links of music, elsewhere will evol-i^e Then- grand, consummate hymn, from passion-gusts made free ! " If I pronounce timid and tentative these and many kindred utterances of modern poets, I mean only that the great truth, so obscurely hinted by one, and so doubtingly asserted by the other, had long before been more firmly grasped, and more boldly proclaimed, by seers Uke MUton and Pope, and has in our age been affirmed and systematicaUy elucidated by the calm, cogent reasoning of Ballou, the critical research of Bal four, the fervid eloquence of Chapin, and hundreds beside them, until it is no longer a feeble hope, a trembUng aspira tion, a pleasing hjrpothesis, but an assured and joyful convic tion. In its clear dayUght, the hideous Inquisition, and all kindred devices for torturing heretics, under a UbeUous pre- 74 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. tence of zeal for God, shrink and cower in shame and terror; the revolting gaUows hides itself from pubUc view, prelimi nary to its utter and final disappearance ; and man, growing ashamed of aU craelty and revenge, deals humanely with the outcast, the pauper, the crimuial, and the vanquished foe. The overthrow of a rebeUion is no longer the signal for sweeping spoliation and massacre ; the downfaU of an ancient tyranny Uke' that of Naples is foUowed by no butchery of its pertinacious upholders ; and our earth begins to body forth and Tnirror — but SO slowly, SO faintly! — the merciful doctrmes of the meek and loving Prince of Peace. Perhaps I ought to add, that, with the great body of the Universahsts of our day (who herein differ from the earUer pioneers in America of our faith), I beUeve that " our God is one Lord," — that "though there be that are caUed gods, as there be gods many and lords many, to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are aU things, one Lord Jesus Christ, hy whom are aU things";* and I find the relation between the Father and the Saviour of mankind most fully and clearly set forth in that majestic first chapter of Hebrews, which I cannot see how any Trinitarian can ever have intently read, without perceiving that its whole tenor and burden are directly at war with his conception of " three persons in one God." Nor can I see how Paul's express assertion, that " when aU things shaU be subdued unto him, then shaU the Son him- seff also be subject to Him that put aU thuigs under him, that God may be aU in aU," f is to be reconcUed with the more popular creed. However, I war not upon others' convictions, but rest satisfied with a simple statement of my own. * ] Cor. viii. 5, 6. t 1 Cor. xv. 28. X. A YEAR BY LAKE ERIE. WHEN I entered Poultney, an aspfrant to apprenticeship in her printing-office, I knew no one of her citizens or residents ; when I left that place, after a quiet sojourn of a Uttle more than four years, I parted with many valued friends, of whom aU who survive stUl, I trust, remain such. I have never since known a community so generally moral, inteUi gent, industrious, and friendly, — never one where so much good was known, and so Uttle evU said, of neighbor by neigh bor. There is no single individual among the many whose acquaintance I formed there, of whom I have other than a kindly remembrance ; whUe of nearly aU those with whom I was brought into immediate contact I cherish fervid and grateful recoUections. The two-story wooden house, whence otfr Spectator was issued, stiU stands on the east side of the street leading from north to south, a few rods southeast of the Baptist meeting house, near the centre of the viUage green ; but the printing materials were packed up directly after I left, and have been sold away, — I know not whither. No single number of a journal has been issued from that town since I left it in June, 1830. A friend of Uke years accompanied me thence by wagon to Comstock's Landing, on the Champlain Canal, where we waited, scarcely twelve miles from Poultney, through a dreary day of pelting rain, for a line-boat from AVhitehaU, whereon we crept snaU-Uke to Troy, and thence, by another such con veyance, to Buffalo ; though my friend stopped to look about 76 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. hun not far westward of Eochester. I kept on by steamboat on Lake Erie to Dunkirk, and thence diagonaUy across Chau tauqua County to my father's hi Pennsylvania. I think it was on this visit that I. made my best day's walk, — from Fredonia, through MayviUe and Mina, to my father's,. which can hardly be less than forty mUes now, and by the zigzags we then made must have been considerably farther. I' have known my father to walk fifty-two mUes in a day, — that is, betwixt moming and midnight, — and I had made thfrty-six mUes per day (from Salem, Washington County, N. Y, to Westhaven) before I was fifteen years old ; but I caught a horseback ride for several mUes of the distance. I estimated the route I traveUed from Fredonia to Wayne at forty-five miles of bad road, equal to fifty of good. .. He who wiU measure his walk by mUe-stones, as I have (lone, wUl discover that Uvely and persistent stepping, -with no stopping to chase butterfiies, is requfred to make four mUes per hour. I have done this on the tow-path of the Delaware and Earitan Canal ; but the sweat started freely pretty early in the second mUe. Beginning at twenty-five miles per day, walking slowly, but keeping pretty constantly in motion, you may add two to three miles per day, tiU you have reached forty ; aU above that, I judge, must, for most persons, involve exhaustive fatigue. I once walked across a comer of Chautauqua Lake when it was freshly frozen, and learned that walking on smooth ice, no matter how firm and assured your tread, wfll start the sweat on the coldest day, though you have been quite cool enough whUe walking on hard, frozen ground. ' The raUroads have nearly kUled pedestrianism, and I regret i|;. Days of steady, soUtary walking I have found most favor able to patient meditation. To study Nature profitably, you must be left alone with her, — she does not unveU herseff to babbling, shouting crowds. A walk of two or three hundred i mUes in a calm, clear October, is one of the cheap and whole- ' some luxuries of life, as free to the poor as the rich. I do not regard the modem student plan of tramping and camping, ten to twenty in a mess, as its fafr equivalent. A soUtary A YEAR BY LAKE ERIE. 77 walk of day after day is inevitably sober, quiet, thoughtful ; and the weary pedestrian washes his feverish feet and drops asleep very soon after he has halted at night. An encamp ment of several pedestrians, whether in tent or tavern, is prone to stories, songs, games, feasting, drinking, and often to bois terous hUarity, whereby rest is postponed or sacrificed, and health imperiUed. Of course, these evils are often shunned or repeUed; yet I would advise the young pedestrian, who seeks mainly enjoyment, to travel with a single, well-chosen friend; ff his aim be meditation and self-improvement, let him swing his pack and step off entfrely alone. I was once traveUing in the company of a chance companion, whom I had never seen before, and have not seen since, — a man of perhaps forty years, — when our route led us through the village of MayvUle, Chautauqua County, N. Y. We were in doubt as to our road beyond that vUlage, and civiUy in quired our way of a thrffty citizen whom we met. He looked us well over, and, seeing that we were evidently of no account, vouchsafed us never a word of reply, but passed us in utter sUence. We, too, walked on without remark, untU, at length, my companion broke the stillness with the abrupt observation : " I am glad I have got to die some time." I did not see the point, and looked inquiry. " Because," he resumed, " that man has got to die just the same as I have." I saw. On my first visit to my father's forest home, I had entered the little hamlet termed Clymer, — then of four or five very new houses, — just at dusk of a Saturday night, when I leamed that the log-cabin I sought was three mUes away in a south* westerly course. " But you can't make your way to it to night," I was very properly advised. I tried to hire some one to guide me, but without success ; there was no tavern to stay at; so I took the track pointed out, and plunged into the darkening woods. Half a mile on, the cart-tracks diverged ; and I took the more easterly and wrong one. I went on tUl I found a log-cabin tenanted by a mother and her children. 78 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. who responded to my mquiries that they knew the way to Zack Greeley's quite weU, but that it was two miles off, through dense woods, away from any road, and could not be reached that night, especially as the two intervenuag cabuis stood tenantless, — thefr usual occupants having gone off to work on the Pennsylvania State Canal, then being dug in the vicmity of MeadviUe. I was pressed to stay here tiU mom ing, and — there being no practicable alternative — consented. The house was quite new, consistmg of a single room, some twenty by sixteen feet, and the logs of which it was buUt were stUl so green that the fire was made close to one side, on the bare earth, with no fireplace and no chimney save a hole through the bark-covered roof The man of the house soon came home, and we aU slept sweetly tUl moming, when I made my way to my destination. The cabin which my father had bought with his land was a Uttle better than that I have just described, but notlung to brag of My mother — bom haff a century after the log-cabin stage of Londonderry — could never be reconciled to ..this, nor to either of the two rather better ones that the family tenanted before it emerged into a poor sort of framed house. In fact, she had plunged into the primitive forest too late in Ufe, and never became reconcUed to the pioneer's inevitable discom forts. The chimney of the best log-house, she insisted, wovld smoke ; and its roof, in a driving, drenching rain, would leak, do what you might. I think the shadow of the great woods oppressed her from the hour she first entered them; and, though removed but two generations from pioneer ancestors, she was never reconcUed to what the less roughly bred must always deem privations and hardships. I never caught the old smUe on her face, the famUiar gladness in her mood, the hearty joyfulness in her manner, from the day she entered those woods untU that of her death, nearly thirty years later, in August, 1855. Though not yet sixty-eight, she had for years been worn out by hard work, and broken down in mind and body. Those who knew her only in her later years, when toil and trouble had gained the victory over her, never truly knew her at aU. A YEAR BY LAKE ERIE. 79 My father had for many years — perhaps from boyhood — fixed his affections on Western Pennsylvania as his ultimate home ; and the region to which his footsteps were at length dfrected is essentiaUy a good one. Situated on high, moder ately roUing land, just across the line from Clymer, Chau tauqua County, N. Y., in Erie County, Pa., two mUes from the line of Warren County, the region is healthy and the soU strong, though better adapted to grass than to grain. He never wished to move again. StUl, it was a mistake, at his time of Ufe, to plunge so deep into the primitive forest. The giant timber — Beech, Maple, Hemlock, Elm, Ash, Basswood, &c. — yielded very slowly to his axe ; he and my brother were often a fuU Winter month in chopping off an acre ; and logging up and burning made another serious job ; still leaving the soU cold with green roots, and deformed by an eruption of stumps, which must be aUowed years wherein to rot out. A wealthy pioneer, who can pay for slashing or winrowing forty to eighty acres at once of timber when in full leaf, and can afford to let it lie untouched for a full year (better stiU, two years), and then put fire into it when favored by a dry speU and a good breeze, then log off and put it into grain forthwith, may clear at a thfrd of the cost tojand have his land in far better condition than the poor settler, who must bum up his timber green, because he needs the land to tUl, and cannot afford to lay out of the fruits of his labor for years. Thus, a poor man^hews a farm out of the great woods at more than twice the pr?)per cost, and injures the soil by the pro cess. I presume my folks gave two thousand days' work to gathering ashes from their burned log-heaps, and leaching them into " Black Salts '' (the base of Pot and Pearl Ashes), because they must have wherewith to pay store-bUls, though the product did not give fifty cents' return for each fair day's work, and the removal of the ashes impoverished the soU by more than they brought. But the crops grown among green roots, in a smaU excavation from a vast, taU forest, are pre carious and scanty at best, being preyed upon by pigeons in myriads, and by aU manner of four-footed beasts; and the 80 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. pioneer's family must somehow Uve whUe he slowly trans forms the stubborn wUdemess frito fruitful fields and orchards. After spending some weeks at home, I sought work at my trade in various directions : finding a Uttle first at Jamestown, N. Y, and, after an interval, more at Lodi (now Gowanda), Cattaraugus County, where I received $ 11 per month for six weeks ; but my employer could afford to hfre a joumeyman no longer; and I thence walked home across Chautauqua County, about January 1, 1831, and remamed a fuU month — a bitter cold one — chopping with my father and brother, but not very efficiently nor satisfactorUy. FuUy convinced that the life of a pioneer was one to which I was poorly adapted, I made one more effort to resume my chosen caUing. Having afready exhausted the possibiUties in the printing Une of Chautauqua County, I now visited Erie, Pa., where I found work in the office of The Erie Gazette, and was retained at $ 15 per month weU into the ensuing summer. This was the first newspaper whereon I was employed that made any money for its owner, and thus had a pecuniary value. It had been started twenty years or so before, when borough and county were both thinly peopled, almost whoUy by poor young men, and it had grown with the vicinage until it had a substantial, profitable patronage. Its proprietor, Mr. Joseph M. Sterrett, now in the prime of Ufe, had begun on The ¦Gazette as a boy, and grown up with it intc^eneral considera tion and esteem ; his journeymen and apprentices boarded at his house, as was fit ; and I spent here five months industri ously and agreeably. Though stUl a raw youth of twenty years, and knowing no one in the borough when I thus entered it, I made acquaintances there who are still valued friends ; and, before I left, I was offered a partnership in the concem ; which, though I had reasons for declining, was none the less flattering as a mark of appreciation and confidence. Mr. Sterrett has since represented his district acceptably in the Senate of Pennsylvania, has received other proofs of the trust- A YEAR BY LAKE ERIE. 81 ful regard of his feUow-citizens ; and, though he has retired from The Gazette, stUl Uves in the enjoyment of competence and general esteem. Erie dwells in my memory as a place which started with too sanguine expectations, and was thus exposed to a sudden check, from which it has never fuUy recovered. From time to time, its early dreams of greatness have been revived by a State canal, by railroads, by coal-mines, and at length by the oU developments of the TitusvUle region not far south of it ; but they have never been fuUy reaUzed. It was rather a busy borough for its size in 1831 ; it is much larger and more important now ; yet it has seen Buffalo, Cleveland, Toledo, on either side, rise above it Uke meteors, and not merely achieve a preeminence, but retain it. I fancy it must have ceased even to dream of coming grandeur by this time. The quaUty for which its people were most remarkable in 1831 was an intense addiction to partisan strffe. An ardent poUtician from chUdhood, I was fairly appaUed by the assidu ity and vehemence wherevrith poUtical controversy was prose cuted by nearly every man and boy I met in Erie. I have seen individual politicians elsewhere who could never set eyes on a stranger without mentally measuring up the feet and inches of party capital that might be made out of him ; but poUtics in Erie seemed the universal and engrossing topic, to an extent and in a degree I have never known paralleled. Possibly, however, there was a temporary frenzy on the sub ject while I stayed there, from which her people have long since recovered. At aU events, I wiU hope so. At length, work failed at The Gazette office, and I was con strained to take a fresh departure. No printing-office in aU that region wanted a journeyman. The West seemed to be laboring under a surfeit of printers. One was advertised for to take charge of a journal at WUkesbarre, Pa., and I applied for the place, but faUed to secure it. I would gladly have given faithful labor at case and press through some years yet 6 82 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. for $ 15 per month and board, or even less ; but it was not to be had. So, upon fuU consideration, I decided to tum my steps toward the Commercial Emporium, while stiU consider ably younger than I would have preferred to be on makmg such a venture. Paying a parting visit to my father's, under the reasonable expectation that my next absence would be a long one, I divided with him my Erie eamings, and, with % 25 in my pocket, and very Uttle extra clothing in my bundle, I set my face toward New York. It was now midsummer, — dry and hot. I had but one friend on my rather long route, and I resolved to pay him a visit. He Uved at Gaines, nearly forty mUes westward of Eochester ; and I traversed on foot the dusty " ridge road " eastward from Lockport the day before I reached him. That day was quite hot, and the water I was incessantly compeUed to drink seemed very hard; by nightfaU, I fancied that it had covered my mouth and throat with a scale like that often found incrusting a long-used tea-kettle. The region was gently roUing and very fertUe; but I should have more enjoyed a saunter over New England hills and rocks, sweet ened by draughts from New England weUs and springs. It was Saturday night when I reached my friend, and I remained with him tiU Sunday afternoon, when we walked down to the canal, and waited long for a boat. None came till after nightfaU, when I dismissed my friend, confident that a boat must soon appear. After waiting in vain tiU near midnight, I started down the tow-path, and walked through the pitchy darkness to Brockport, some fifteen mUes. Ee-. peatedly, the head-Ught of a boat moving westward came in sight, when I was obUged to plunge down the often rugged, briery, off-bank of the tow-path, to avoid being caught by the tow-hne and hauled into the not quite transparent and nowise inviting " drink." Though the almanac made that night short, it seemed to me quite long ; and I very gladly haUed and boarded at Brockport a line-boat heading eastward. My sleepy tendencies amused my feUow-passengers thence to Eochester, to whom "sparking Sunday night" afforded a ready and natural explanation. XI. MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN NEW YORK. REACHING Schenectady from Buffalo by Une-boat, — my sixth and last journey on " the raging canal," — I debarked about 6 p. m., and took the turnpike for Albany. I think a raifroad between the two cities first and last named was completed soon afterward ; but I believe not a mUe of iron track was then operated in the State, ff (in fact) anywhere in America, save the Uttle affair constructed to freight granite from the quarry at Quincy, Mass., to Boston. Night feU when I was about haff-way over ; so I sought rest in one of the many indifferent taverns that then lined the turnpike in ques tion, and was directed to sleep in an ante-room through which people were momently passing ; I decUned, and, gathering up my handful of portables, walked on. Half a nule farther, I found another tavem, not quite so inhospitable, and managed to stay in it tUl morning ; when I rose and walked on to Albany. Having never been in that city before, I missed the nearest way to the day-boat, and when I reached the landing it was two or three lengths on its way to New York, having left at 7 A. M. I had no choice but to wait for another, which started at 10 A. M., towing a barge on either side, and reached, in twenty hours, the emporium, where I, after a good view of the city as we passed it down the river, was landed near Whitehall at 6 A. M. New York was then about one third of her present size ; but her business was not one fourth so great as now ; and her real size — counting her suburbs, and considering the tens of thousands who find employment in and earn subsistence here, ' 84 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. though sleeping outside of her chartered limits — was not one fifth that of 1867. No suigle raifroad pointed toward her wharves. No line of ocean steamers brought passengers to her hotels, nor goods to her warehouses, from any foreign port. In the mercantile world, her relative rank was higher, but her absolute importance was scarcely greater, than that of Eio Janeiro or San Francisco is to-day. StiU, to my eyes, which had never tiU yesterday gazed on a city of even 20,000 in habitants, nor seen a sea-going vessel, her miles square of mainly brick or stone houses, and her furlongs of masts and yards, afforded ample incitement to a wonder and admiration akin to awe. It was, ff I recoUect aright, the 17th of August, 1831. I was twenty years old the preceding February ; taU, slender, pale, and plain, with ten doUars in my pocket. Summer cloth ing worth perhaps as much more, nearly all on my back, and a decent knowledge of so much of the art of printing as a boy wUl usuaUy learn in the office of a country newspaper. But I knew no human being within two hundred nules, and my unmistakably rustic manner and address did not favor that immediate command of remunerating employment which was my most urgent need. However, the world was aU before me ; my personal estate, tied up in a pocket-handkerchief, did not at aU encumber me ; and I stepped Ughtiy off the boat, and away from the detested hiss of escaping steam, walking into and up Broad Street in quest of a boarding-house. I found and entered one at or near the corner of Wall ; but the price of board given me was $ 6 per week ; so I did not need the giver's candidly kind suggestion that I would probably prefer one where the charge was more moderate. Wandering thence, I cannot say how, to the North Eiver side, I halted next at 168 West Street, where the sign of "Boarding" on a humbler edifice fixed my attention. I entered, and was offered shelter and subsistence at $2.50 per week, which seemed more rational, and I closed the bargain. My host was Mr. Edward McGofrick ; his place quite as much grog-shop as boarding-house ; but it was quietly, decently MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN NEW YORK. 85 kept while I stayed in it, and he and his famUy were kind and friendly. I regret to add that Uquor proved his ruin not many years afterward. My first day in New York was a Friday, and, the family being Eoman Catholic, no meat was eaten or provided, which I understood; but when Simday evening was celebrated by unlimited card-playing in that same house, my traditions were decidedly jarred. I do not imply that my observances were better or worse than my host's, but that they were different. Having breakfasted, I began to ransack the city for work, and, in my total ignorance, traversed many streets where none could possibly be found. In the course of that day and the next, however, I must have visited fuUy two thfrds of the printing-offices on Manhattan Island, without a gleam of suc cess. It was midsummer, when business in New York is habituaUy duU; and my youth, and unquestionable air of country greenness, must have told against me. When I cailed at The Journal of Commerce, its editor, Mr. David Hale, bluntly told me I was a runaway apprentice from some country office ; which was a very natural, though mistaken, presumption. I returned to my lodging on Saturday evening, thoroughly weary, disheartened, disgusted with New York, and resolved to shake its dust from my feet next Monday morning, whUe I could stUl leave with money in rny pocket, and before its almshouse could foreclose upon me. But that was not to be. On Sunday afternoon and even ing several young Irishmen caUed at McGolrick's, in their hoUday saunterings about town ; and, being told that I was a young printer in quest of work, interested themselves in my effort, with the spontaneous kindness of thefr race. One among them happened to know a place where printers were wanted, and gave me the requisite direction; so that, on visiting the designated spot next morning, I readily found employment ; and thus, when barely three days a resident, I had found anchorage in New York. The printing establishment was John T. West's, over McEfrath and Bangs's pubUshing-house, 85 Chatham Street, 86 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and the work was at my caU simply because no printer who knew the city would accept it. It was the composition of a very smaU (32mo) New Testament, in double columns, of Agate type, each column barely 12 ems wide, with a centre column of notes in Pearl, only 4 ems wide ; the text thickly studded with references by Greek and superior letters to the notes, which of course were preceded and discriminated by corresponding indices, with prefatory and supplementary re marks on each Book, set in Pearl, and only paid for as Agate. The type was considerably smaUer than any to which I had been accustomed ; the narrow measure and thickly sown ItaUcs of the text, with the strange characters employed as indices, rendered it the slowest, and by far the most difficult, work I had ever undertaken; whUe the making up, proving, and correcting twice, and even thrice over, preparatory to stereo typing, nearly doubled the time required for ordinary com- possition. I was never a swift type-setter ; I aimed to be an assiduoiis and correct one ; but my proofs on this work at first looked as though they had caught the chicken-pox, and were in the worst stage of a profuse eruption. For the first two or three weeks, being sometimes kept waiting for letter, I scarcely made my board; whUe, by diligent type-sticking through twelve to fourteen hours per day, I was able, at my best, to earn but five to six dollars per week. As scarcely another compositor could be induced to work on it more than two days, I had this job in good part to myseff; and I persevered to the end of it. I had removed, very soon after obtaining it, to Mrs. Mason's shoemaker boarding-house at the corner of Chatham and Duane Streets, nearly opposite my work; so that I was enabled to keep doing nearly all the tiine I did not need for meals and sleep. When it was done, I was out of work for a fortnight, in spite of my best efforts to find more ; so I attended, as an unloiown spectator, the sittings of the Tariff Convention, which was held at the American Institute, north end of the City HaU Park, and presided over by Hon. j William Wilkins, of Pittsburg, Pa. I next found work m I Ann Street, on a short-Uved monthly, where my pay was not MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN NE W YORK. 87 forthcoming ; and the next month saw me back at West's, where a new work — a commentary on the Book of Genesis, by Eev. George Bush — had come in ; and I worked on it throughout. The chfrography was blind; the author made many vexatious alterations in proof ; the page was smaU and the type close ; but, though the reverse of fat, in printers' jargon, it was not nearly so abominably lean as the Testament ; and I regretted to reach the end of it. When I did, I was again out of work, and seriously meditated seeking employ ment at something else than printing ; but the Winter was ST ] hard one, and business in New York stagnant to an extent ! not now conceivable. I think it was early in December, when I a " cold snap " of remarkable severity closed the Hudson, anT sent up the price of coal at a bound to $ 16 per ton, while the cost of other necessaries of Ufe took a kindred but less con siderable elevation. Our city stood as ff besieged tUl Spring reUeved her; and it was much the same every Winter. Mechanics and laborers lived awhile on the scanty savings of the preceding Summer and Autumn ; then on such credit as they could wring from grocers and landlords, tiU milder weather brought them work again. The eamings of good mechanics did not average $ 8 per week in 1831-32, while they are now double that sum ; and living is not twice as dear as it then was. Meat may possibly be ; but Bread is not ; Fuel is not ; Clothing is not; whUe travel is cheaper; and our little cars have enabled working-men to Uve two or three miles from their work without serious cost or inconvenience ; thus bring ing YorkviUe or Green Point practically as near to Maiden Lane or Broad Street as Greenwich or the Eleventh Ward was. Winter is relatively dull now, but not nearly so stagnant as it formerly was. In spite of an inflated currency and high taxes, it is easier now for a working-man to earn his Uvuig in New York than it was thirty to forty years ago. About the 1st of January, 1832, I found employment on The Spirit of the Times, a weekly paper devoted to sporting in teUigence, then started by Messrs. WilUam T. Porter and James Howe, two young printers, of whom the former, ff not both. 88 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. had worked with me at West's the previous FaU. I think it was a Uttle after midnight, on the 1st of January, 1832, that we compositors delivered the forms of the first number into the hands of the pressmen in an upper story in Fulton Street. The concem migrated to Wall Street the next March, finding a location very near the present site of the Merchants' Ex change ; and I clung to it through the ensuing Spring and Summer; its -foreman, Francis Y. Storv.. being. nearly of my own age, and thenceforth my devoted friend. But the founders and editors were also quite young ; they were inexperienced in their calUng, without capital or influential friends, having recently drifted from the country to the city much as I did ; and thefr paper did not pay, — I know it was difficult to make it pay me, — especiaUy through the dreary cholera Summer of 1832. The disease was then new to the civUized world, whUe the accounts of its recent ravages in the far East were calcu lated to appall the stoutest heart ; the season was sultry, the city fUthy, and the water we drank such as should breed a pestUence at any time. New York had long enjoyed and deserved the reputation of having worse water than any other city of its size on earth ; and the loose, porous sands whereon it was buUt rendered this fluid more and more detestable as the city grew larger and older. I am glad that it was my privilege to vote soon afterward for the introduction of the Croton, which I did right heartily, though a good many op posed it (some of them voting " Brandy ") ; two of the Wards, tenanted mainly by poor men, giving majorities against it. Twelve years intervened betwixt that vote and our celebra tion to welcome the actual introduction of the water, — the fluid we drew from the weUs growing steadUy more and more repulsive and unwholesome ; but the glad day came at last ; and New York has ever since been a more eligible, healthful residence for rich or poor than it previously was. We have had cholera and other epidemics since ; but our city has never since been paralyzed as it was in the Summer ef 1832. Those who could mainly left us ; scarcely any one entered the city; trade was dead, and industry languished MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN NEW YORK. 89 during that fatal Summer. I think I sometimes met two, if not three, palanquins, bearing cholera patients to some hos pital, in my short walk from dinner in Chatham Street to my work in WaU Street. One died at my boarding-house. I beUeve nearly aU experienced symptoms of the plague, though it wa,s most common and most fatal with those debUitated by intemperance or some form of sensual excess. But it passed off as cool evenings came on ; our fugitives and our business came back to us ; and aU, save the dead and the bereaved, was as before. In October I paid a visit, via Providence ahd Boston, to my relatives in New Hampshfre ; walking over the lower part of that State from Londonderry into eastern Vermont, and as far north as Newport, which I entered after dark of a stormy even ing, having walked from Claremont (nine miles) in a fein, at first gentle, but steadily increasing to the last. I never enter, as a stranger, a private house if I can avoid it ; and I kept hoping to see a tavern-sign untU I was so wet that it was of no consequence. When at last I reached the village, where I expected (but faUed) to find an uncle Uving, it proved to be court-week, with the two taverns crowded to overflowing. Making my way through a thick cloud of tobacco-smoke to the office of one, I procured a remnant of supper, and part of a bed in a private house at some distance, where I threw off my wet clothes and slept. In the moming, my clothes aU responded to the caU to duty tiU it came to my short boots ; these utterly refused, until I had taken off my wet socks and thrust them into my pockets, when the boots were barely persuaded to resume their only serviceable position. I took breakfast, paid my bUl, and walked off, in the frosty moming afr, considerably less supple-jointed than one should be at one- and-twenty. I never saw this New Hampshfre Newport be fore, and have not seen it since. - My relatives being pretty widely scattered, I had occasion to traverse southwestern New Hampshire in various direc tions ; and I saw more of that State than ever before or since. I started, one clear, frosty moming, from Francestown, 90 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. taking a mountainous by-way to Stoddard ; and, as I recoUect, I did not see a hundred acres of reaUy arable soU in traveUing twelve to fifteen miles. There was some rugged pasturage ; but Hemlock and White Birch, altematmg with naked rocks and mountaui tarns or petty lakes, generaUy monopoUzed the prospect. I met one poor soul who had a horse and wagon, and heartUy pitied him. He could rarely ride, whUe my walk was far easier and less anxious than his. Beaching Stoddard (a smaU viUage haff-way up a high hill), I stepped into a convenient tavern, and caUed for dinner. My breakfast had been quite early ; the keen air and rough walk had freshened my appetite ; I was shown into a dining- room with a well-spread table in the centre, and left to help myseff. There were steaks, chickens, tea, coffee, pies, &c., and I did S,mple justice to aU. " What is to pay ? " I asked the landlord, on reentering the bar-room. " Dinner 18f cents," he repUed. I laid down the required sum, and stepped off, men taUy resolving that I would, in mercy to that tavern, never patronize it again. I returned by the way I went ; walking from Providence across to Norwich, Conn., where I took steamboat, and arrived in New York on the second of our three days of State elec tion. I gave my vote right heartUy for the anti -Jackson ticket, but without avail, — Jackson being overwhelmingly reelected, with Marcy over Granger for Governor. I soon found work which paid fafrly at the stereotyping establish ment of J. S. Eedfield, and was there employed tiU the close of that year, when an opportunity presented for commencing business on my own account, which I improved, as wiU be set fortii in my next chapter. XII. GETTING INTO BUSINESS. HAVING been fairly driven to New York two or three years earUer than I deemed desirable, I was in like manner impeUed to undertake the responsibUities of business whUe stUl in my twenty-second year. My friend Story, barely older than myseff, but far better acquainted with city ways, having been for many years the only son of a poor widow, and accustomed to struggling with difficulties, had afready conceived the idea of starting a printery, and offering me a partnership in the enterprise. His position in Wall Street, on The Spirit of the Times, made hun acquainted with Mr. S. J. Sylvester, then a leading broker and seUer of lottery-tickets, who issued a weeldy " Bank-Note Eeporter," largely devoted to the advertising of his own business, and who offered my friend the job of printing that paper. Story was also intimate with Dr. W. Beach, who, in addition to his medical practice, dabbled considerably in ink, and at whose office my friend made the acquaintance of a young graduate. Dr. H. D. Shepard, who was understood to have money, and who was in tent on bringing out a cheap daily paper, to be sold, about thej streets, — then a novel idea, — daily papers being presumed | desfrable only for mercantUe men,, and addressed exclusively i to thefr wants and tastes. Dr. Shepard had won over my^ friend to a beUef in the practicability of his project ; and the latter visited me at my work and my lodging, urging me to unite with him in starting a printery on the strength of Mr. Sylvester's and Dr. Shepard's proffered work. I hesitated, having very Uttle means, — for I had sent a good part of my 92 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. past year's scanty savings to aid my father m his straggle with the stubborn wUderness ; but Story's enthusiastic con fidence at length triumphed over my distrast; we formed a partnership, hired part of two rooms afready devoted to prmt ing, ori the southwest corner of Nassau and Liberty Streets (opposite our city's present post-office), spending our Uttle aU (less than $ 200), and stretching our credit to the utmost, for the requisite materials. I tried Mr. James Conner, the exten sive type-founder in Ann Street, — having a very sUght ac- quauitance with him, formed in the course of frequent visits to his foundry in quest of " sorts " (type found deficient in the several offices for which I had worked at one time or another), — but he, after hearing me patiently, decided not to credit me six months for the $40 worth of type I wanted of hun; and he did right, — my exhibit did not justffy my request. I went directly thence to Mr. George Brace, the I older and wealthier founder, in Chambers Street, — made the same exhibit, and was aUowed by him the credit I asked ; and that purchase has since secured to his concern the sale of not less than $ 50,000 worth of type. I think he- must have noted something in my awkward, bashful ways, that impeUed hfra to take the risk. The Morning Post — Dr. Shepard's two-cent daily, which he wished to seU for one cent — was issued on the 1st of January, 1833. Nobody in New York reads much (except visitor's cards) on New Year's Day ; and that one happened to be very cold, with the streets much obstructed by a faU of snow throughout the preceding night. Projectors of news papers in those days, though expecting other people to adver tise in thefr columns, did not comprehend that they also must advertise, or the pubUc wiU never know that thefr bantUng has been ushered into existence ; and Dr. Shepard was too poor to give his sheet the requisite pubUcity, had he understood the matter. He was neither a writer nor a man of affairs ; had no editors, no reporters worth naming, no correspondents, and no exchanges even; he fancied that a paper would seU, if remarkable for cheapness, though remarkable also for the GETTING INTO BUSINESS. 93 absence of every other desirable quaUty. He was said to have migrated, while a youth, from New Jersey to New York, with $ 1,500 in casli ; if he did, his capital must have nearly aU melted away before he had issued his first number. Though his enterprise involved no outlay of capital by him, and his weekly outgoes were less than $ 200, he was able to meet them for a single week only, whUe his journal obtained a cfr- culation of but two or three hundred copies. FinaUy, he reduced its price to one cent ; but the public would not buy it even at -that, and we printers, afready considerably in debt for materials, were utterly unable to go on beyond the second , or third week after the publisher had stopped paying. Thus ¦ the first cheap-for-cash daUy in New York — perhaps in the ! world — died when scarcely yet a month old ; and we printers j were hard aground on a lee shore, with Uttle prospect of i getting off. ' We were saved from sudderi bankruptcy by the address of my partner, who had formed the acquaintance of a wealthy, eccentric Briton, named Schols, who had a taste for editorial Ufe, and who was somehow induced to buy the wreck of The Morning Post, remove it to an office of his own, and employ Story as foreman. He soon tfred of his thriftless, profitless speculation, and threw it up; but we had meantime sur mounted our embarrassments by the help of the Uttle money he paid for a portion of our materials and for my partner's services. Meantime, the managers of the New York lotteries, then regularly drawn under State auspices, had aUowed a portion of their letter-press printing to follow Mr. Sylvester's into our concem, and were paying us very fairly for it; I doing most of the composition. For two or three montlis after Dr. Shepard's coUapse, I was frequently sent for to work as a substitute in the composing-room of The Commercial Advertiser, not far from our shop ; and I was at length offered a regular situation there ; but our business had by this time so improved that I was constrained to decUne. Working early '¦, and late, and looking sharply on every side for jobs, we were | beginning to make decided headway, when my partner was | 94 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. rdrowned (July 9, 1833) while bathing ui the East Eiver : near his mother's residence in Brooklyn, and I bitterly mourned 'the loss of my nearest and dearest friend. His place in the concem was promptly taken by another young printer, a friend of the bereaved famUy, Mr. Jonas Winchester, who soon married Story's oldest sister ; and we thus went on, with moderate but steady prosperity, imtU the ensuing Spring, when we issued (March 22, 1834), without premonitory soxmd of trampet. The New-Yoekee, a large, fair, and cheap weekly foUo (afterward changed to a double quarto), devoted mainly to current literature, but giving regularly a digest -of aU important news, including a careful exhibit and summary .of election returns and other poUtical inteUigence. I edited and made up this paper, whUe my partner took charge of our more profitable jobbing business. The New-Yorker was issued under my supervision, its edito rials written, its selections made, for the most part, by me, for seven years and a half from the date just given. Though not calculated to enlist partisanship or excite -enthusiasm, it was at length extensively Uked and read. It began with scarcely a dozen subscribers ; these steadUy increased to nine thousand ; and it might, under better business management, (perhaps I should add, at a more favorable time,) have proved profitable and permanent. That it did not was mainly owing to these circumstances : 1. It was not extensively advertised at the start, and at least annually thereafter, as it should have been. 2. It was never reaUy pubUshed, though it had haff a dozen nominal pubhshers in succession. 3. It was sent to subscribers on credit, and a large share of them never paid for it, and never wiU, whUe the cost of collecting from others ate up the proceeds. 4. The machinery of raifroads, expresses, news companies, news offices, &c., whereby Uterary periodicals are now mainly disseminated, did not then exist. I beUeve that just such a paper, issued to-day, properly published and advertised, would obtain a circulation of one hundred thousand in less time than was requfred to give The New-Yorker scarcely a tithe of that aggregate, and would make money for its GETTING INTO BUSINESS. 95 owners, instead of nearly starving them, as mine did. I was worth at least $ 1,500 when it was started ; I worked hard and Uved frugaUy throughout its existence ; it subsisted for the first two years on the profits of our job-work ; when I, deeming it established, dissolved with my partner, he taking the jobbing business and I The New-Yorker, which held its own pretty fairly thenceforth tiU the Commercial Eevulsion of 1837 swept over the land, whelming it and me in the gen eral ruin. I had married in 1836 (July 5th), deeming myself -worth $6',000, "and the master of a business^hich ¦ WoulcT ffienceforth yield ^e- for my labor at least $ 1,000 per annum ; but, instead of that, or of any income at aU, I found myseff obUged, throughout 1837, to confront a net loss of about $ 100 per week, — my income averaging $ 100, and my inevitable expenses % 200. It was in vain that I appealed to deUnquents to pay up ; many of them migrated ; some died ; others were so considerate as to order the paper stopped, but very few of these paid ; and I struggled on against a steadily rising tide of adversity that might have appaUed a stouter heart. Often did I caU on this or that friend with intent to soUcit a smaU loan to meet some demand that could no longer be postponed nor evaded, and, after wasting a precious hour, leave him, utterly unable to broach the loathsome topic. I have bor rowed $ 500 of a broker late on Saturday, and paid him $ 5 for the use of it tiU Monday morning, when I somehow con trived to return it. Most gladly would I have terminated the struggle by a surrender ; but, ff I had faUed to pay my notes continually faUing due, I must have paid money for my weekly supply of paper, — so that would have availed nothing. To have stopped my journal (for I could not give it away) would have left me in debt, beside my notes for paper, from fifty cents to two doUars each, to at least three thousand subscribers who had paid in advance ; and that is the worst kind of bank ruptcy. If any one would have taken my business and debts off my hands, upon my giving him my note for $ 2,000, I would have jumped at the chance, and tried to work out the debt by setting type, ff nothing better offered. If it be sug- 96 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. gested that my whole indebtedness was at no time more than $ 5,000 to % 7,000, I have only to say that even $ 1,000 of debt is ruin to him who keenly feels his obhgation to fulfil every engagement, yet is utterly without the means of so doing, and who finds himseff dragged each week a Uttle deeper \ into hopeless insolvency. To be hungry, ragged, and penni- I less is not pleasant ; but this is nothing to the horrors of ' bankraptcy. All the wealth of the EothschUds would be a poor recompense for a five years' straggle with-the conscious ness that you had taken the money or property of trusting friends, — promising to return or pay for it when requfred, — and had betrayed their confidence through insolvency. I dweU on this point, for I would deter others from enter ing that place of torment. Haff the young men in.the coun try, with many old enough to know better, would " go into business" — that is, into debt — to-morrow, ff they could. Most poor men are so ignorant as to envy the merchant or manufacturer whose life is an incessant struggle with pecun iary difficulties, who is driven to constant "shinning," and who, from month to month, barely evades that insolvency which sooner or later overtakes most men in business; so that it has been computed that but one in twenty of them achieve a pecuniary success. For my own part, — and I speak from sad experience, — ; I would rather be a convict in aetate jgrisoiij^ a slaye^in a rice-swamp, than to pass tEough life under Jhe harrow_of debt. Let no young man misjudge himself unfortunate, or truly poor, so long as he has the fuU use of his limbs and faculties, and is substantiaUy free from debt. _ Hungerj^ ^^^j ia^gs, hard work, contempt, suspicion, unjust reproach, are disagreeable ; but debt is infinitiely^^rse than them aU. And, if it had pleased God to spare either or aU of my sons to be the support and solace of my declining years, the lesson which I should have most earnestly sought to impress upon them is, — "Never run into debt! Avoid pecuniary obligation as you would pestilence or famine. If you have but fifty cents, and can get no more for a week, buy a peck of com, parch it, and Uve on it, rather than owe any GETTING INTO BUSINESS. 97 man a doUar ! " Of course, I Imow that some men must do business that involves risks, and must often give notes and other obUgations, and I do not consider him reaUy in debt who can lay his hands directly on the means of paying, at some Uttle sacrifice, aU he owes ; I speak of real debt, — that which involves risk or sacrifice on the one side, obhgation and dependence on the other, — and I say. From all such, let every youth humbly pray God to preserve him evermore ! ^ When I at length stopped The New-Yorker (September 20, 1841), though poor enough, I provided for making good all I owed to its subscribers who had paid in advance, and shut up its books whereon were inscribed some $ 10,000 owed me in sums of $ 1 to $ 10 each, by men to whose service I had faithfully devoted the best years of my Ufe, — years that, though fuU of labor and frugal care, might have been happy had they not been made wretched by those men's dishonesty. They took my journal, and probably read it ; they promised to pay for it, and defaulted; leaving me to pay my paper- maker, type-founder, journeymen, &c., as I could. My only requital was a sorely achieved but wholesome lesson. I had been thoroughly burned out, only saving my books, in the great Ann Street fire (August 12, 1835) ; I was burned out again in February, 1845 ; and, while the destruction was complete, and the insurance but partial, I had thejgoor con- _ solation, that the._account-books of The New-Yorker j — whjch I had never opened since I ffrst laid them away, but which had been an eye-sore and a reminder of evil days whenever I stumbled upon them — were at length dissolved in smoke and flame, and lost to sight for ever. XIII. TEMPERANCE- IN ALL THINGS. ON the first day of January, 1824, whUe living in West haven, Vermont, I dehberately resolved to drink no more distUled Uquors. At this time I had heard of persons who had made a kindred resolve, but I had not known one. I had probably heard, that Temperance societies had some where been formed, though I do not now distinctly recoUect the circumstance. I beUeve the first American society that adopted the principle of Total Abstinence — at least frpm distiUed Uquors — had been organized in a rural township of Saratoga County, N. Y, in 1817 ; but the American Tem perance Society was yet unknown, and did not adopt the principle of Total Abstinence from AlcohoUc Beverages untU 1833. Whiskey and Tobacco were the universal luxuries — I might say the poor man's only luxuries — in Vermont, as Eum had been in New Hampshire. The apple-tree flourished luxuriantly, and bore abundantly on the virgin soils wherein it was generaUy planted, and while each settler's " clearing " was shut in by the grand old woods which softened the harsher winds and obstructed the dissemination of fruit- destroying insects. Good peaches were grown in southern New Hampshfre fifty years ago ; whereas they can no longer be produced, save rarely and scantily, in southern New York. Cider was, next to water, the most abundant and the cheapest fluid to be had in New Hampshire, while I Uved there, — often seUing for a doUar per barrel In many a family of six or eight persons, a barrel tapped on Saturday barely lasted a TEMPERANCE IN ALL THINGS. 99 full week. Whoever dropped in of an evening expected to be treated to cider ; a mug, once emptied, was quickly refUled ; and so on, tiU every one was about as fuU as he could hold. The transition from cider to warmer and more potent stimu lants was easy and natural ; so that whole famiUes died drunkards and vagabond paupers from the impetus first given by cider-swilUng in thefr rural homes. I beheve I was five years old when my grandfather Wood- bum's house in Londonderry was, one Winter day, fiUed with relatives, gathered, in good part, from Deering, Windham, and from Vermont towns originaUy settled from the old hive ;. who, after dinner, departed in their sleighs to visit some other relative, taking our old folks with them, and leaving but three or four Uttle boys of us to keep house tiU their return. A number of haff-smoked cigars had been left on the mantel, and some evil genius suggested to us tow-headed urchins that it would be smart and clever to indulge in a general smoke. Like older fools, we went in ; and I was soon the sickest mortal on the face of this planet. I cannot say as to my comrades in this foUy ; but that haff-inch of cigar-stump vdU last me aU my Iffe, though its years should outnumber Methuselah's. For a decade thereafter, it was often my fiUal duty to fill and Ught my mother's pipe, when she had lain down for her after-dinner nap ; and she, having taken it, would hold it and talk tUl the fire had gone out, so that it must again be Ughted and drawn tUl the tobacco was weU ignited ; hence I know that, if I had not been proof against narcotic seduction, I should have leamed to Uke the' soothing weed ; but I never used, nor wished to use, it as a sedative or a luxury after my one juvenUe and thoroughly conclusive experiment. From that hour to this, the chewing, smoking, or snuffing of tobacco has seemed to me, if not the most pernicious, certainly the vUest, most detestable abuse of his corrupted sensual appetites whereof depraved Man is capable. In my chUdhood, there was no merry-making, there was no entertainment of relatives or friends, there was scarcely 100 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. a casual gathering of two or three neighbors for an evening's social chat, without strong drink. Cider, always, whUe it remained drinkable without severe contortions of visage; Eum at aU seasons and on aU occasions, were required and provided. No house or bam was raised without a bountfful supply of the latter, and generaUy of both. A wedding without " toddy," " flip," " sUng," or " punch," with mm un disguised in abundance, would have been deemed a poor, mean affair, even among the penniless ; while the more for tunate and thrifty of course dispensed wine, brandy, and gin In profusion. Dancing — almost the only pastime wherein the sexes jointly participated — was always enUvened and stimulated by liquor. MiUtia trainings — then rigidly en forced at least twice a year — usuaUy wound up with a drinking froUc at the viUage tavern. Election days were drinking days, as they stUl too commonly are ; and even funerals were regarded as inadequately celebrated withput the dispensing of spirituous consolation : so that I distinctly recoUect the neighborhood talk, in 1820, after the funeral of a poor man's child, that, if he had not been mean as weU as poor, he would have cheered the hearts of his sympathizing friends by treating them to at least one gaUon of rum. I have heard my father say that he had mowed through the haying season of thirty successive years, and never a day without Uquor ; and the account of an Irishman who mowed and pitched throughout one haying, drinking only butter- mUk, while his associates drank ram, yet accomphshed more, and with less fatigue, than any of them, was received with as much wondering increduUty as though it had been certified that he lived whoUy on air. Nay : we had an ordination in Amherst nearly fifty years ago, settUng an able and popular young clergyman named Lord (I believe he is now the vener able ex-President of Dartmouth College) to the signal satis faction of the great body of our people ; and, accorduig to my recollection, strong drink was more generaUy and bountifuUy dispensed than on any previous occasion : bottles and glasses being set on tables in front of many farmers' houses as an in- TEMPERANCE IN ALL THINGS. 101 vitation to those who passed on their way to or from the instal lation to stop and drink freely. We have worse hquor now than we had then ; and delirium tremens, apoplexy, palsy, &c., come sooner and oftener to those who use it ; but our con sumers of strong drink are a class ; whereas they were then the whole people. The pious probably drank more discreetly than the ungodly ; but they aU drank to their own satisfac tion, and, I judge, more than was consistent with their per sonal good. My resolve not to drink was only mentioned by me at our own fireside ; but it somehow became known in the neigh borhood, where it excited some curiosity, and even a stronger feeUng. At the annual sheep-washing, in June foUowing, it was brought forward and condemned ; when I was reqiured to take a glass of Uquor, and, on my decUning, was held by two or three youngsters older and stronger than I, whUe the hquor was turned into my mouth, and some of it forced down my throat. That was understood to be the end of my fooUsh attempt at singiUarity. It was not, however. I kept quiet, but my resolutiqn was unchanged ; and, soon after my removal to Poultney, I"" as sisted " in organizing the first Temperance Society ever formed in that town, — perhaps the first in the county. It inhibited the use of distUled Uquors only ; so that I beUeve our first president died of intemperance some years afterward ; but a number stiU live to rejoice that they took part in that move ment, and have since remained faithful to its pledge and its purpose. I recoUect a story told at that time by our adver saries of a man who had joined the Temperance Society just organized in a neighboring township, and, dying soon after ward, had been subjected to an autopsy, which developed a cake of ice weighing several pounds, which had graduaUy formed and increased in his stomach, as a result of his fanat ical devotion to cold water. Alas that most of our facetious critics have since died, and no autopsy was needed to develop the cause of their departure ! A glance at each fiery pro boscis, that irradiated even the cerements of the grave, was sufficient. 102 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Total Abstinence has never yet been popular fri this nor in any other great city ; and, as Uquor grows unfashionable in the country, it tends to become less and less so. A great city derives its subsistence and its profits from ministrations therein, not only to the real needs of the surrounding country, but to its baser appetites, its vices, as weU; and, as the country becomes less and less tolerant of immoral indulgences and vicious aberrations, the gains of cities therefrom, and their consequent interest therein, must steadily increase. Time was when the young man of means and social position, who shunned the haunts of the gamester, the voles of the libertine, and never indulged in a drunken "spree," was widely sneered at as a " milksop," or detested as a calculating hypocrite. Sheridan's Joseph Surface admfrably refiects the once popular appreciation of such absurd, fanatical Puritan ism; but, as the world grows wiser and (in an important sense) better, a great though silent change is wrought in pub lic sentiment, which compels the vicious to conceal indul gences that they formerly paraded, and maintain an exterior decency which would once have exposed them to ridicule. Thousands, who formerly gratified their baser appetites with out disguise or shame, now feel constrained, not to "leave undone," but to " keep unknown," by hieing to some great city, — where no one's deeds or ways are observed or much regarded so long as he keeps out of the hands of the poUce, — and there balance a year's compeUed decoram by a week's unrestrained debauchery. Fifty years back, a jug would readily be filled with any designated Uquor at almost any country store ; now, the devotee of alcohohc potations must usually send or take his demijohn to the most convenient city, where it wUl at once be fiUed and despatched to its im patient, thirsty owner ; and so, as the Liquor Interest grows weaker and weaker in the country, it becomes stronger and yet stronger in the cities, whose poUtics it fashions, whose government it governs, by virtue of its inherent strength and apprehensive activity. And thus the Liquor Traffic has greater strength and vitaUty in our city to-day than it had twenty to forty years ago. TEMPERANCE IN ALL THINGS. 103 ^ Sylvester.fliaJia]ii_fiist appeared in New York as a lecturer, \ I thinEThi the Winter of 1831 - 32. He had been a Presby terian clergyman, settled in New Jersey, and was styled " Dr.," though- 1 do not know that he ever studied or practised medi cine. He had an active, inquiring mind, and a considerable knowledge of physics, metaphysics, and theology ; he was a fluent and forcible, though diffuse and egotistical, speaker; and he was possessed and impeUed by definite convictions. He was at home in single combat aUke with Alcohol and Athe ism ; but there was nothing narrow in his Temperance nor in his Orthodoxy. He beheved, therefore taught, that Health is the necessary result of obedience. Disease of disobedience, to physical laws ; that aU stimulants, whether alcoholic or narcotic, are pernicious, and should be rejected, save, possibly, in those rare cases where one poison may be wisely employed to neutralize or expel another : he condemned Tea and Coffee, as weU as Tobacco, Opium, and AlcohoUc potables, — Cider and Beer equaUy with Brandy and Gin, save that the poison is more concentrated in the latter. He disapproved of aU spices and condiments save (grudgingly) a very Uttle salt ; and he held that more suitable and wholesome food for hu man beings than the flesh of animals can almost always be procured, and should be preferred. The bolting of meal, to separate its coarser from its flner particles, he also reprobated ; teaching that the ripe, sound berry of Wheat or Eye, being ground to the requisite fineness, should in no manner be sifted, but should be made into loaves and eaten precisely as the mill-stones deUver it. Such is, in brief, "the Graham system," as I heard it expounded in successive lectures by its author, and fortified by evidence and reasoning which . com manded my general assent. A boarding-house was soon established, based on its principles, and I became an .inmate thereof, as weU as of others afterward founded on the same general ideas, though I never whoUy rejected the use of meat. Tea I never cared for, and I used none at aU for a quarter of a century ; now, I sometimes take it in moderation, when black and very good. Coffee had .for years been my 104 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. ' chief luxury, — coffee without breakfast bemg far preferable, to my taste, to breakfast without coffee ; but, having drank a strong cup of it one evening at a festive board, I woke next moming to find my hand trembling ; and I at once said, "No more coffee !" and have not drank it since. My taste grad ually changed thereafter, so that I soon ceased to crave, and now thoroughly disUke, the beverage. And, while I eat meat, and deem it, when unspoUed by decay or bad cookery, far less objectionable than hot bread, rancid butter, decayed fruits, wilted vegetables, and too many. other contributions tP our ordinary diet, I profoundly beUeve that there is better food obtainable by the great body of mankind than the butcher and the fisherman do or can supply ; and that a diet made up of sound grain (ground, but unbolted), ripe, undecayed fruits, and a variety of fresh, wholesome vegetables, with milk, but ter, and cheese, and very Uttle of spices or condiments, wiU enable our grandchUdren to Uve in the average far longer, and faU far less frequently into the hands of the doctors, than we do. / My wife, whose acquaintance I made at the Graham House, and who was long a more faithful, consistent disciple of Graham than I was, in our years of extreme poverty kept her house in strict accordance with her convictions ; never even deigning an explanation to her friends and relatives who from time to time visited and temporarily sojourned with us ; and, as politeness usuaUy repressed complaint or inquiry on their part, their ffrst experiences of a regimen which dispensed with aU they deemed most appetizing could hardly be observed without a smUe. UsuaUy, a day, or at most two, of beans and potatoes, boUed rice, puddings, bread and butter, with no condiment but salt, and never a pickle, was all they could abide ; so, bidding her a kind adieu, each in turn departed to seek elsewhere a more congenial hospi tality. " But what pecuUar effects of a vegetable diet did you ex perience?" some wiU naturaUy ask. I answer generaUy, " Much the same as a rum-drinker notes after a brief retum TEMPERANCE IN ALL THINGS. 105 to water-drinking exclusively. I first felt a quite perceptible sinking of animal spfrits, a partial relaxation or depression of natural energies. It seemed as though I coiUd not Ifft so i much, jump so high, nor run so fast, as when I ate meat. \ After a time, this lowering of the tone of the physical system ' passed away or became imperceptible. On the other hand, j I had no feeUng of repletion or over-fulness ; I had no head- ; ache, and scarcely an ache of any sort ; my health was stub bornly good ; and any cut or other fiesh-wound healed more easUy and rapidly than formerly. Other things being equal, I judge that a strict vegetarian will Uve ten years longer than a habitual flesh-eater, whUe suffering, in the average, less than haff so much from sickness as the carnivorous must. / The simple fact, that animals are often diseased when kiUed/ for food, and that the flesh of those borne in crowded cars/ from far inland, to be slaughtered for the sustenance of sea-^ board cities, is almost always and inevitably feverish and unwholesome, ought to be conclusive. On the whole, I am convinced, by the observation and experience of a third of a century, that aU public danger Ues in the direction opposite to that of vegetarianism, — that a thousand fresh Grahams let loose each year upon the pubUc wUl not prevent the consumption, in the average, of far too much and too highly seasoned animal food ; while aU the Goughs and Neal Dows that ever were or can be scared up will not deter the body politic from pouring down its throat a great deal more "fire-water" than is good for it. And, whUe I look with interest on aU attempts to substitute American wines and malt Uquors for the more concentrated and maddening decoctions of the still, I have noted no such permanent triumphs in the thousand past attempts to cast out big devils by the incantations of httle ones as would give me reason to put faith in the principle, or augur success for this latest experiment. XIV. POLITICS. AN eager, omnivorous reader, especiaUy of newspapers, from early chUdhood, I was an ardent poUtician when not yet haff old enough to vote. I heartily sympathized with the Northern uprising against the admission of Missouri as a Slave State, and shared in the disappointment and chagrin so widely felt when that uprising was circumvented and defeated by what was caUed a Compromise. I think few of us blamed the Southem poUticians for their agency in our defeat; but the score of Northern Senators and Eepresentatives who (as we thought) betrayed us were thenceforth marked men, and few indeed of them were ever again successful aspfrants to popular favor. When, in 1824, the country was freshly agitated and di vided, after several years of general calm, by the nomination of WiUiam H. Crawford, of Georgia, for President, in a caucus attended by less than a third of the Members of Congress,-T- considerably less than haff of those who were chosen by the dominant party, — aU New England became zealously anti- Caucus, and her electoral vote was cast solid for John Quincy Adams; there being no serious opposition among the masses, though several of her' leading poUticians, and hitherto most influential journals, were vehemently for Crawford. The choice in the House of Adams for President, by the help of Mr. Clay and his friends, suited us exactly, and all the more that Mr. Clay was eminently National in lus views and feel ings, a leading champion of Internal Improvements, Protection to Home Industry, and every good work. But the hostile POLITICS. 107 combination soon thereafter formed of the lately warring sup porters of Jackson, Crawford, and Calhoun respectively, did not please us at aU; Calhoun especiaUy — having been a National man, a supporter of Protection, Eiver and Harbor Im provement, &c., whUe in Congress, and having been generaUy sustained by our section for Vice-President — was regarded, up our way, as a renegade from principle for office and power. The flerce personal warfare waged upon Adams and Clay for thefr aUeged coaUtion, by and in fuU view of this hostUe com bination, excited our wrath and scorn ; but this did not over bear the fact that thefr three factions united were an over match for our two ; and, as Crawford died soon after Adams's accession, they were enabled to- achieve what would now-a- days be caUed a close connection, by running Jackson for President, with Calhoun for Vice-President. We ought to have countered this by nominating Clay with Adams, or (better stUl) by having Adams decline a reelection, and run ning Clay for President, with Walter Forward, of Pennsylvania, or Smith Thompson, of New York, for Vice-President; but everything went wrong with us : the sudden death of De Witt CUnton consoUdated many of his personal foUowers with thefr Ufe-long adversaries in the support of Jackson for President, with Van Buren for Governor of New York ; our nomination of Eichard Eush, of Pennsylvania, for Vice-Presi dent was injudicious, and gave us no strength; and our reasonable hopes that the Tariff question would secure us Ohio with Kentucky, and give us a fafr chance for Pennsyl vania, were blighted by the tactics of our antagonists : Van Buren, Silas Wright, Buchanan, the Jackson delegations from Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Kentucky, in soUd column, Avith aU but two or three members from New York, uniting (in 1828) to frame and pass the highest and most Protective Tariff that had ever been proposed, over the votes of a majority of the Adams men from New England. Outmanoeuvred on every i side, we were clearly foredoomed to defeat ; the loss of Mr. j Clay's own Kentucky was a blow for which her preceding j election of Members to Congress had partly prepared us. 108 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. though we carried, by a close vote, her Governor (Metcalf) in the spfrited August election of this year ; but Indiana, and even Ohio, went with her, though we had carried the latter in her State election scarcely a month before the popular vote for President. Louisiana, too, voted for Jackson, though with us in her preceding State contest ; New York (then choosing electors by districts) gave Adams but 16 votes to 20 for his opponent; and so we were badly beaten, carrying but 84 electors, whUe Jackson — having every vote below the Poto mac, and aU west of the AUeghanies — had more than double that number. 'Tn the succeeding Presidential contest (1832) we had scarcely a chance. Anti-Masonry had divided us, and driven thousands of Adams men over to Jackson, whose personal popularity was very great, especiaUy with the non-redding class, and who had strengthened himseff at the North by liis Tariff Messages and his open rupture with Calhoim. New Hampshire and Maine had already gone over to him ; Ver mont voted for Wfrt, the Anti-Masonic candidate ; Ohio, dis tracted by Anti-Masonry, went again for Jackson ; New York (now choosing electors by general ticket) went solid for him, with Pennsylvania, and even New Jersey : so that Mr. Clay, though carrying his own Kentucky, made but a sorry figure in the electoral aggregate. Massachusetts, Ehode Island, Connecticut, Delaware, and part of Maryland (by districts), were all the States that voted for him, save his own. South Carolina now threw away her vote for President on John Floyd, of Vfrginia, and proceeded to nulUfy the Tariff, which had just been somewhat reduced, — in part, to placate her. But Van Buren had been substituted for CaUioun as Vice-President, and she would not he placated. Her nuUifi- cation was abandoned, rather than suppressed, and this only after the main point had been virtuaUy yielded to her by a graduated reduction of the Tariff throughout the next ten years to a purely Eevenue standard. Though overborne, she was practicaUy triumphant. Mr. Clay proposed the Compro mise Tariff, that gave her ample excuse for receding from her POLITICS. 109 untenable position; but only after it had been rendered certain that a more immediate and sweeping reduction of the Tariff, afready reported by Mr. Verplanck, from the Committee of Ways and Means, would be carried if this were forborne. So the land had peace again for a brief season. The United States Bank war, which soon followed, had already been inaugurated by General Jackson's imperious wUl. Early in his ffrst term, he had been prompted to re quire the removal of Jeremiah Mason, President of the branch at Portsmouth, N. H., who was obnoxious to his leading friends in that State. He was not gratified. Though the first charter of the bank would not expire tiU 1836, he de monstrated against its renewal so early as 1830 ; teUing Con gress that the question should be promptly acted on, so that arrangements might seasonably be made, in case it should not be rechartered, for supplying its place as a financial agent of the Government, and a commercial convenience to the people. A Jaclcson Congress, in due time, took the matter in hand, and, in 1832, voted a renewal of the charter, by large majorities in either House. The biU was vetoed, and the Veto Message complained that the act of rechartering was premature ! That Congress, prior to its final adjournment, heard vaguely that the President intended to remove the deposits of public money from the detested Bank ; whereupon the House voted, by three to one, that they ought nst to be removed. WilUam J. Duane, of Pennsylvania, was then Secretary of the Treasury. The President required him to remove the deposits. He declined. Jackson thereupon removed him; appointing in his stead Eoger B. Taney, of Maryland, who proceeded at once to do his master's bidding. When a new Congress assembled (December, 1833), the Federal deposits, as they accrued, were being dispersed among a multipUcity of State banlis, — the least able being of course the most needy and clamorous for a share of the pap, on the strength of their dfrectors' professed devotion to the Administration and its "revered chief" I have always — at least, since I read Dr. FrankUn's auto- J 110 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. biography, more than forty years ago — been an advocate of. paper money. But I want it to be mowe^/, — convertible at pleasure into coin, — not prfrited Ues, even though they faU to deceive. From 1818 up to 1830, this country suffered from a dearth of money. Tens of thousands were unwiUuigly idle from month to month, who would have been usefuUy and profitably employed had the country been blest with an ade quate circulating medium. Comparatively few houses were buUt in those years, because of the scarcity of money, which palsied enterprise and petrified labor. As a journeyman, I could rarely find work in the country, because there was so Uttle money ; and, on coming to the city, I found that pay^ ments by master mechanics to their men were mainly made in " uncurrent " notes of State banks, which must often, if not generaUy, be taken to a broker and "shaved" before they would pay board or buy groceries. The consequent loss was something; the inevitable bother and vexation were a far greater nuisance. A paper currency everywhere current, everywhere convertible into coin, was my ideal ; hence I was not partial to local emissions of paper, but a zealous, deter- . mined advocate of a National Bank. The United States Bank, being requfred to pay over the miUions it held on deposit for the Govemment, receiving no more, began, of course, to contract its loans. It could do no otherwise ; especially as an attempt, evidently inspired, had been made by Jackson brokers to break its branch at Savan nah by quietly collecting a large quantity of its notes and presenting them at once for payment, hoping that they coiUd not aU be met, and that it might thereupon be claimed that the Bank had faUed. It was charged by its adversaries that the contraction consequent upon the removal of the Deposits was too rapid and too great ; in fact, that its purpose was the creation of commercial distress and panic. This may have been ; but a very decided contraction by that Bank was in evitable ; and it could have pursued no course that did not expose it to accusation and reproach. I presume it struggled for its life, as most of us would do, ff assaUed with deadly POLITICS. Ill I intent. With the removal of the Deposits, its power to regu late the currency lapsed, and its duty as weU. Those Banks to which the Government had transferred its funds and its favors should unitedly have assumed and exercised the func tions of a regulator, or confessed their inabUity. As the pressure for money increased, the poUtical elements were lashed to fury, and our city, the focus of American com merce, became the arena of a fierce electioneering straggle. Hitherto, the Jackson ascendency had, since the death of De Witt Clinton, been so decided, that our charter elections had usuaUy been scarcely contested ; but the stirring debates daUy received from Washington, the strivings of merchants and banks to avert bankruptcy, the daUy tightening of the money market, and the novel hopes of success inspired in the breasts of those who now took the name of "Whigs" (to indicate their repugnance to unauthorized assumptions of Executive power), rendered New York for some weeks a boUing caldron of political passions. Our three days' election (April, 1834) was the most vehement aiid keenly contested struggle which I ever witnessed. Our city was then divided into fifteen Wards, with but one poll to each Ward ; and I should esti mate the average attendance on each poll at Uttle less than one thousand. I am certain that I saw the masses surround ing the Fourth and Sixth Ward poUs respectively (then but two or three blocks apart), so mingled that you could not say where the one ended and the other began. There were some fights, of course, and one general coUision in the Sixth Ward that might have resulted in deplorable bloodshed ; but peace was soon restored. In the event, the Jacksonites elected thefr Mayor (CorneUus W. Lawrence) over the Whig candidate' (GuUan C. Verpltock) by 384 majority, which was less than their overplus of voters naturaUzed on the last day of the poU. The total vote was nearly 35,000 ; which was probably a closer approach to the whole number of legal voters than was ever drawn out before or since. The Whigs carried both branches of the Common CouncU, giving them the confrol of most of the city patronage ; so that the result was generally and justly regarded as a drawn battle. 112 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. My concem pruited a daUy campaign penny paper, entitled , The Constitution, through most of that year, and I was a free contributor to its columns, though its editor and pubUsher was Mr. AchUles E. Grain, who died some thfrty years ago. It did not pay, and the firm of Greeley and Wmchester were losers by it, counting my editorial assistance worth nothmg. WiUiam H. Seward, then thirty-four years old, and just closing with distinction a four years' term hi the State Senate, was our candidate for Governor, with Silas M. StUlweU for Lieutenant ; and we fondly hoped to carry the State in the November election. But meantime the State Banks, whereui the Federal revenue was deposited (" Pet Banks," we Whigs termed them), had been enabled to effect an enormous expansion of thefr loans and issues ; and the coimtry — not yet feeUng the Tariff reductions which the Compromise of 1833 had barely m- augurated — was launched on the flood of a factitious but seductive semblance of prosperity. Money was abundant; every one had employment who wanted, and pay ff he earned it ; property was rapidly appreciating in value ; factories and furnaces had fuU work, and were doing weU ; so, when the FaU election came, we made a gaUant flght, but were badly defeated, — Marcy being reelected Governor over Seward by some 13,000 majority, — ^more than he had over Granger in 1832, — and the Whigs, beaten pretty generaUy and decisively, relapsed into a torpor whence they were scarcely aroused by the ensuing Presidential Election, wherein General Harrison was made thefr candidate for President, with Francis Granger for Vice-President, while Hugh L. White, of Tennessee, ran for President, with John Tyler, of Virginia, for Vice-President, on an independent ticket which contested the South with the Jackson regulars, who alone held a National Convention, in which they nominated Martin Van Buren for President, with Colonel Eichard M. Johnson, of Kentucky, for Vice. I was among the very few in the Eastern States who had taken any interest in bringing forward General Harrison as a candidate, believing that there was the raw material for a good run in his history and character ; but this was not generally credited. POLITICS. 113 at least in our State, which, in a languid contest on a light vote, went for Van Buren, Johnson, and Marcy, by some 28,000 majority. When, however, the returns from other States came pouring in, and it was found that General Harri son had carried, with Vermont only of the New England States, New Jersey, Delaware, Maiyland, Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky, and had barely faUed to carry Pennsylvania, while White had carried Tennessee and Georgia, barely faUing in North Carolina, and in two or three Southwestern States, and that Vfrginia had refused her vote to Johnson, so that he had faUed of an election by the people, and had to be chosen over Granger by the Senate, there was a general waking up "to the conviction, that either Harrison was more popular, or Van Buren more obnoxious, than had been supposed in our State, and that the latter might have been beaten by seasonable concert and effort. In that slouching Whig defeat of 1836 lay the germ of the overwhelming Whig triumph of 1840. Mr. Van Buren's election to the Presidency always seemed to me anomalous, and I am not yet fuUy reconcUed to it. He had none of that personal magnetism which made General Jackson and Mr. Clay respectively the idols of their contend ing parties; He was not even an orator, was far inferior to Silas Wright as a debater, and to WiUiam L. Marcy in execu tive abiUty. I believe his strength lay in his suavity. He was the reconciler of the estranged, the harmonizer of those who were at feud, among his feUow-partisans. An adroit and subtle, rather than a great man, I judge that he owed his elec tion, first to the Vice-Presidency, then to the Presidency, to the personal favor and imperious wiU of Andrew Jackson, with whom " Love me, love my dog," was an fron rule. Had there been no Jackson, Van Buren would never have attained the highest office in the gfft of his countrymen. XV. PLAY-DAYS. WHOEVEE has spent a few weeks in Paris has doubt less paused to witness, on the greensward enclosed by the Palais Eoyal, or elsewhere, groups of young children at play, and been charmed by their unconscious spirit, freedom, and grace of manner. The French chronicler's observation, centuries ago, — " The EngUsh take their pleasures sadly," ^ wiU be brought to his mind on almost every occasion when he witnesses an attempt at festivity on the part of the neigh boring islanders or of their descendants on this side of the Atlantic. Our Scotch-Irish settlers in southem New Hamp shire brought with them from the other side a broad humor, a love of fun, a spfrit of hospitaUty, a regard for kinship and clanship, which had not whoUy faded out in my boyhood, or been drowned in the sea of British nationaUty which in time ToUed over the continent, submerging the islets of Scotch, HoUandic, Swedish, Frencli, or other diverse origin, which had for a season gleamed above the waves. The low-bom, rudely bred Englishman has but one natural fashion of enjoy ing himself, — by getting drunk. We have modified this somewhat ; .but, as a rule, our thrifty, seff-respecting people have hitherto aUowed themselves too few hoUdays, and faUed to make the best use of those they actuaUy took. Fifty years have passed since I first stole down, one foggy moming, to the brook that ran through the west side of my father's farm in New Hampshire, and, dropping my Une off the bridge, felt a bite almost instantly, and, hauling up, drew in a nice speckled trout. I had tried to fish before, but PLAY-DAYS. 115 without success ; henceforth, through boyhood, I was an enthusiastic, persevering fisherman, though never a master of the art. The modern sophistications of fly and reel were unknown in rural New England in those days ; hook, Une, and sinker gave adequate warning to every considerate, wary fish of what he had to expect if he bit ; but fishermen were fewer and brooks more shady, less capricious in volume, than the clearing away of woods has since made them, whUe in teUectual deUghts were rarer and less inviting : so fishing was largely the pleasure of the gay and the business of the grave. Our rivers, unvexed by miU-dams, swarmed in their season with shad, lamprey-eels, &c., and afforded some sal mon, as weU as fish of less consideration. Eve'n the sea was not too far to be visited by adventurous parties, intent on a week's profitable sport. Winter brought its sleigh-loads of fresh cod, frozen as soon as fairly out of water, and so retain ing the sweetness which soon vanishes forever ; and I reckon that, down to 1800, the people of New England had eaten many more pounds of fish than of beef and mutton together, — perhaps of all meats save those obtained by the chase. In Vermont, the clay soil of the Champlain VaUey dis colors the brooks when fuU and repels the trout ; but the abundant lakes and lakelets used to abound in perch, bass, and sunfish, while the larger streams afforded, in addition, eels and pike. East Bay — the common estuary of the Poultney and Castleton creeks, and dividing Westhaven from Hampton, N. Y. — is, in Spring, the resort of a smaU, pecuUar shad, which, with a few pike, bass, muUet, &c., come up from the Lake to spawn, and are caught with seines drawn by two fishermen, who wade through the swoUen stream, — one of them sometimes obUged to swim, — whUe great blocks of ice, left aground by the receding fioods, often Ue slowly wasting along the bank. The melted snow from the moun tains eastward stings Uke a hornet as you enter it ; so that, ff this were not sport, it would be disagreeable ; but I have often, when ten to twelve years old, carried the in-shore staff while my father took the deeper track, which immersed him 116 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. up to his neck ; we dipping together at his word of command, and then gathering up our net and carrying out therein, from no fish at aU up to six or eight. I have known a dozen taken at one haul ; but this was most extraordinary. In Summer, we sometimes caught a fine pike or eel with hook and Une in the basin beneath the fifty-foot cataract by which the blended creeks tumble into the Bay ; but fishing here was too slow for any sportsman less persistent than I then was. I have sat here alone in the dense darkness of a wooded abyss, where the faU drowned aU sounds but its own, from 8 to 11 P. M., without being blest with a bite, and then felt my way up through the Egyptian darkness of the forest hillside to the road, and so home, pondering on the fickleness of fortune ; yet eager to try again whenever oppor tunity should favor. I always had my week's work aUotted me when I could, and generaUy succeeded in redeeming at least the Saturday afternoon for my favorite pastime. And I wish here to bear my testimony against a current theory which imports that boys are naturaUy lazy My experience contra dicts it. My schoolmates and neighbors, who had a great deal more leisure than I, were frequent visitors to the field wherein I was working out my " stint," and very rarely hesi tated to turn in, with hearty good-wUl, and help me out, so I that I might devote the rest of the day to fishing, baU, or i'' other sport with them. A lazy man, in my view, is always the pitiable victim of miseducation. Each human being, properly trained, works as freely and naturaUy as he eats ; only the victims of parental neglect or misguidance hate work, and prefer hunger and rags with idleness, to thrfft won by industry and patient effort. There came a day, early in June, 1824, when I had ran somed from toil the afternoon for perch-fishing in " Inman Pond," a lovely tarn, lying lonely among wooded hUls in Fairhaven, some two miles east of our home. I was unde niably ill, in the forenoon, so that I was twice compeUed to desist from labor and Ue down ; hence, my mother judiciously urged me to let the fish alone for that day, and care for my PLAY-DAYS. 117 health. I had not fished for months, however ; the day was -glorious ; I set off for the pond a Uttle after noon, and was dropping the perch a Une within the hour. But my head soon grew heavy ; there was a strange ache in my every bone ; the breeze that sped gently across the pond, though reaUy warm and bland, seemed to chiU me as never before. I was soon compelled to put aside my pole, and Ue down, shivering, on the bare rock which here formed the shore ; thus passing two hours in a semi-conscious state of mingled delirium and suffering. When the fit of ague passed off, I rose and started homeward, but was constrained to stop at the first house, haff a mile from home, where I passed the night. I had seen fever and ague before, but never felt it ; and I made haste to terminate the unpleasant acquaintance. Judging solely from my own experience, I believe he who wiU begin with an emetic directly after his first fit, and fol low this with heavy and frequent doses of Peruvian Bark (I distrast Quinine, as less natural and more perilous), taking care to eat very Uttle, and that of the simplest vegetable food, and do absolutely no work at aU, may break the fits directly, and retum to work quite well after a fortnight. He who neglects or trifles with this scourge may lose a Summer by it, and never again be restored to his pristine health and vigor. BaU was a common diversion in Vermont while I Uved there ; yet I never became a proficient at it, probably for want of time and practice. To catch a flying baU, propelled by a muscular arm straight at my nose, and coming on so swiftly that I could scarcely see it, was a feat requiring a celerity of action, an electric sympathy of eye and brain and hand, which my few and far-between hours snatched from labor for recre ation did not suffice to acquire. CaU it a knack, if you wiU ; it was quite beyond my powers of acquisition. "Practice makes perfect." I certainly needed the practice, though I am not sure that any amount of' it would have made me a perfect baU-player. I Uke popular amusements, especiaUy those which develop 118 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and strengthen the muscles ; but I do not like the modern matches made up between clubs located hundreds of miles apart. According to my notion, the prize should be awarded in these matches to the side which makes the shorter score. In awarding the palm for such a contest, count my vote al ways for the beaten party. They doubtless mind thefr proper business better, and perform their duties as fathers, husbands, sons, clerks, journeymen, apprentices, &c., more thoroughly than do the victors. It is an honor not to beat, but to be beaten, in a match of this sort. I wish it were practicable to win our countrymen to a wiser and more equable frame of mind respecting recreations. Many sourly contemn and reject them altogether; and I think this was a prevalent mistake of our better class, up to a late period. Now, the excess seems to be of an opposite character. Too many make play a business, when it should be only a diversion from business. The youth, who has given his minority to study and play ¦ alternately, with no experience of work, is deplorably Ul fitted to grapple with the stern reaUties of responsible Ufe. His muscles need harden ing ; his sinews have not been discipUned to the work that soUcits them. As between a youth all work and one aU play, though neither is commendable, the former is pref erable. I never saw a game of BiUiards played, and know nothing of Bowhng ; yet I judge this latter a capital in-door exercise for persons of sedentary pursuits and habits. These I would advise to shun such games as Chess, Cards, Checkers, Back gammon, &c., because of their inevitable tendency to impair digestion and incite headache. If played at aU, they should be played by men who give their days to muscular, out door exertion, and at night feel too tired to study I tried fishing again, after being weaned of it throughout my apprenticeship, while stopping with my father at the West, and had some Uttle success in the creeks adjacent to his new home ; but I was no longer fascinated by the sport, while the proceeds were of slender bulk and value. The PLAY-DAYS. 119 streams were fuU of trees and roots, while overgrown by a tangle of Umbs and bushes ; the sawdust gradually repeUed or IdUed the trout ; the business involved more plague than profit of any land ; and I soon deserted it. I had become, in my poor wav, a fisher of men,.-.- I protest against making a business of play. The Yankees are prone to " ran the thing into the ground," be it what it may. We work immoderately, and play ditto. I have seen very few hohdays during my thirty-six years' sojourn in New York ; and such is the experience of a large class ; while others have too many play-days, — far too many. We must somehow strike a general average, for mutual benefit and the promotion of pubhc health. I have often cooled my imagination, amid the fervid and sweltering heats of a summer of constant work in the city, with a dream of spending a week amid the lakes and moun tains, under the dense forest-shades of " John Brown's Tract," as we term the great northern wilderness wherein the Hud son, Mohawk, Au-Sable, Packet, Black, and other rivers of the eastern haff of our State, have their sources ; and, though I never found time to set foot therein, I have hardly yet rehnqmshed the hope that I may do so. I was ever the zealous advocate of aU works of internal improvement, so caUed, save those which aim at the heart of that wilderness, threatening to hunt the deer from their last refuge on our soU, and denude of their forest-covering the springs which feed our most useful and valued streams. Strip " John Brown's Tract " of its timber, and the Hudson wiU, from June to October, cease to be navigable by floating palaces to Al bany ; while desolating floods, especiaUy in . Spring, wiU do immense damage from Utica down to Castleton. I presume, if I were ever to have the week I covet, I should find it insufferably tedious, — the mosquitoes biting superbly ; the trout shyly, or not at all, — and should long for a return to civiUzation, with its hourly toils and straggles, its thronged pavements, and its damp newspapers with breakfast. StiU, I should Uke to try the experiment ;. and I hope our children 120 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. wiU see, though I shaU not, the greater portion of Pike and Monroe Counties, with other sterile mountain districts of eastem Pennsylvania, converted into spacious deer-parks of. fifty to five hundred square mUes each, enclosed by massive stone waUs, intersected by belts of grass traversing each tiny vaUey (so as speedily to stop the ranning of any fires that might chance to be started), planted with the best timber, and held by large companies of shareholders for sporting, under proper regulations. These lands are not now worth five doUars per acre in the average; but the timber on them would soon be cheap at one hundred doUars per acre, if this plan were adopted. They are fuU of petty lakes, and of spring-fed, swiftly ranning streams, which would soon abound with the finest trout if they were simply let alone ; with proper arrangements for breeding and feeding, they would produce more of tliis deUcate fish than New York and Phila delphia ever yet saw. A century hence, were those bleak mountains thus dealt with, they would be covered, as of old, with a magnificent forest, containing more serviceable pine than is now standing in aU our States east of the Potomac and Lake Erie, and then worth at least five hundred doUars per acre. Yet the fact remains, that we do not enjoy our hoUdays, — do not know how to play judiciously and in moderation. Though often invited, I never yet went on a raifroad excur sion that was to outlast the day of starting ; knowing by in stinct that it would prove a failure so far as enjoyment was concerned. And my recoUection of steamboat excursions, however brief, is, that they were generally bores. I recollect that, one Fourth of July, long ago, an excursion to Sandy Hook was advertised that seemed specially inviting; so I overraled my distrust, and went. At 11 A. M., we passen gers, some ¦ hundreds in number, were debarked, by small boats, on the back side of the island, which we found a sand- heap, thinly bristled with bushes, — its solitary dweUing inhabited by the keeper of the hght-house, whose Umited stock of bread and bacon scarcely afforded us a fair mouthful PLAY-DAYS. 121 each. Our steamboat had gone back to the city for a second load ; so we bathed, and kUled time as weU as we could, untU she returned, — running aground as she attempted to near the shore. We got aboard, and waited dreary hours — hun gry, crowded, and sullen — for the tide to rise and float us off ; being tantaUzed throughout the evening by the shooting up of abundant rockets over the city, barely within our range of vision. At length, we partly floated, partly puUed off; and, at midnight, we were landed at the Battery, — as thor oughly wearied and disgusted a lot of disappointed pleasure- seekers as ever crept sUently to their homes. I have never since hankered after a seaward excursion. We have teachers of every art, science, and ology ; why not a teacher of the art of enjoying leisure, — of making play a Uttle less wearisome than work ? Take excursions to iUus trate my idea. Why should not any person above ten years old know better than to embark on a crowded vessel or train with some hundreds of others, mainly total strangers, expect ing to enjoy in their company a trip of several days ? But ff, instead of this, a small party of intimate, devoted friends, of reasonably accordant tastes, education, and habits, were to charter a Uttle steamboat, or a train, or a dozen wagons, and so betake themselves to some quiet nook where they would be safe from intrusion or prying curiosity, — say an islet off the coast or in the St. Lawrence, a lake-side in our Northern wilderness, a cluster of deserted shingle-makers' huts on the mountains of Eastern Pennsylvania, where fish or game was procurable, and cool breezes in Midsummer might be confidently expected, — they surely might expect to redeem a fuU week from care and trouble, and return to their homes more vigorous, more healthful, more at "peace with themselves and with others, — cured of these interminable headaches, and sound in body and soul. AVho wUl teach us incessant workers how to achieve leisure and enjoy it ? XVI. TRIUMPH. ME. VAN BUEEN was inaugurated President on the 4th of March, 1837 ; when General Jackson retfred to his Hermitage, congratulating himself that he left the Ameri can people prosperous and happy. Never was man more mistaken. He had just before pointed to the immense sales of pubUc lands, in 1835-36, as proof of increased and general addiction to agriculture, when, in fact, it proved only a plethr ora of currency, and a consequent high-tide of speculation. At length, convinced that something was wrong, the General attempted to dam the flood by a " specie circular," prescribing that only coin should thenceforth be received in payment for pubhc lands. This device precipitated the catastrophe it was intended to avert. The harvest of 1836 had been generally bad, while our importations had been quite large ; we were compeUed to import grain, while heavUy in debt to Europe for goods ; thus our banks were drained of specie both ways, — to pay for lands in the West and South, and for grain and goods daUy pouring in from the Old World. They held out so long as they could, and then gave way, — those of our city suspending specie payment on the 10th of May, and aU others directly afterward, save that some of those located in the southwest had done so some days before. Samuel Swartwout, CoUector of Customs at this port, at first proclaimed that he would continue to receive bank-notes for duties, notwith standing 'the suspension (which was promptly legalized by our Jackson legislature) ; but he was soon overruled from Washington ; and the duties on imports — indeed, the entire TRIUMPH. 123 Federal revenue — were thenceforth coUected and kept in coin alone. The revenues of aU the States, however, were stiU coUected, kept, and paid out in bank-notes, which con tinued to be the currency of the people. Mr. Van Buren promptly caUed the new Congress to meet in extraordinary session on the first Monday in September, when he addressed to it a Message which laid the blame of suspension on the banlcs, which were accused of over-issuing and over-lending ; and he thereupon insisted that the Gov ernment should divorce itself from all connection with banks, and should thenceforth coUect, keep, and pay out its revenues in coin only, through the agency of special depositories, form ing what he termed the Independent Treasury. An able, earnest, searching debate in the House was eUcited by this proposition, which was terminated by a motion of Hon. John ' 0. Clark, of this State, that the bUl providing for the Inde pendent Treasury (so caUed) do Ue on the table ; which was carried in a full House by a smaU majority. Mr. Clark had been a Jackson- Van Buren Democrat, but was henceforth accounted a " Conservative," and acted openly with the Whigs, as did Hon. Nathaniel P. Tallmadge, one of our LTnited States Senators, and many other leading men hitherto Demobrats. The Independent Treasury, thus condemned by the House, remained in force, by the President's direction, until it was finaUy enacted in the Summer of 1840. The commercial revulsion, which was rather apprehended than fully experienced in 1834, was abundantly reaUzed in 1837. Manufactories were stopped, and thefr " hands " thrown out of work. Trade was almost stagnant. Bankruptcies among men of business were rather the ride than the excep tion. Property was sacrificed at auction — often at sheriff's or assignee's sale — for a fraction of its value ;• and thousands, who had fondly dreamed themselves miUionnaires, or on the point of becoming such, awoke to the fact that they were bankrapt. The banks were, of course, in trouble, — those 124 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. which had been Govemment depositories, or "pets," rather deeper than the rest. Looking at the matter from their point of view, they had been ffrst seduced into a questionable path, and were now revUed and assailed for yielding to their seducers. Soon were heard the rumbUngs of a poUtical earthquake. Scarcely a State elected Members of Congress or a Governor in 1837, after the Suspension of Specie Payments ; but the Legislative and local elections of Autumn sufficiently indi cated the popular revulsion. When New York came to vote, in November, the gale had stiffened into a tornado. The Whigs carried New York City, — which they had never done before, — with Westchester, Orange, Dutchess, Greene, Oneida, Onondaga, and other counties hitherto overwhelmingly Demo cratic, giving them six of the eight Senate districts, including the Ffrst and Second. Herkimer, Jefferson, St. Lawrence, Suf folk, and a few smaUer counties, were all that clung to the waning fortunes of Van Buren, — the Whigs choosing 100 out of the 128 Members of Assembly. The Senate, being chosen but one fourth annually, remained sfrongly Democratic. I had been active, as usual, in the canvass, but not con spicuously so, — my personal embarrassments consfraining me not to be. I had been privately tendered a place on the City Assembly ticket, but felt obliged to decline it. Outside of the city, I had no political, and little personal, acquaintance in the State ; having never yet attended a State Convention. I was somewhat surprised, therefore, at a visit, in my rude editorial attic, a few days after the extent of our victory was ascertained, from a stranger, who introduced himself as Mr. Thurlow Weed, editor of The Albany Evening Journal, who, with Mr. Lewis Benedict, also of Albany, was stoppmg at the City Hotel, and wished to confer with me at their lodgings. I accompanied Mr. Weed to his hotel, where the business which had brought the friends to New York was unfolded. Decided as had been our triumph in the State, it had been won on a moderate vote, and quite as much by the faUure of TRIUMPH. 125 Democrats to exercise thefr right of suffrage as by thefr voting the Whig ticket. The next election would naturaUy bring many of these stay-at-homes to the polls, and — there being a Governor and Eepresentatives in Congress to be then chosen, with a United States Senator in prospect — would inevitably draw out a heavy vote. To maintain and confirm the Whig ascendency, it had been resolved to pubUsh, throughout 1838, a cheap weekly journal, to be called The Jeffersonian, which I had been pitched upon as the proper person to edit. I believe Mr. Weed first designated me for the post, though he knew nothing of me except by reading my paper. The New- Yorker ; for though I had written for several Whig daiUes, mainly of the ephemeral type, I had done so anonymously. The Jeffersonian was to be a smaU octavo, issued weekly for a year, and virtuaUy given away for the nominal price of fifty cents per annum, — the expense of its issue being made up by voluntary contributions from wealthy or spirited Whigs. I was offered $ 1,000 to serve as editor, and concluded to accept it, though this would obhge me to spend a good part of my time — in Summer, haff of each week ; in Winter, nearly the whole — in Albany. About two months thereafter, having put my affairs into as good a shape as possible, I took stage in Cortlandt Street, one cold Winter moming, and had a sleigh-ride thence up the west side of the Hudson to Albany, where I arrived in the afternoon of the thfrd day. My No. 1 appeared in due time therea;fter; but, as my smaU paper did not require aU my time, I made condensed reports of the Assembly debates for The Evening Journal, and wrote some articles for its editorial columns. The new era in politics had caUed many of our foremost men to Albany. The courtly and gracious Luther Bradish was Speaker of the Assembly. Our city was represented therein by several notables, — among them David B. Ogden, WUUs HaU, Samuel B. Euggles, and Adoniram Chandler. We had chosen as Senator GuUan C. Verplanck, whom we vainly tried to make Mayor in 1834. From Albany, Daniel 126 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. D. Barnard ; from Troy, Day 0. KeUogg ; from Oneida, For tune C. White ; from Onondaga, James E. Lawrence, Victory Bfrdseye, and Azariah Smith ; from Eochester, Derick Sibley ; from Livingston, George W. Patterson, — were Whig Members of Assembly. On the other side stood Abijah Mann, of Her kimer, Preston King, of St. Lawrence, and Eichard Hulbert, of Jefferson, with several others of decided abiUty and clever ness in parUamentary warfare. The Free Banking System — for which our State is speciaUy indebted to WUUs HaU — was developed and established that Winter, — :a great and admirable improvement on the corrupting poUtical monopoly it superseded. Our banks were again aUowed to issue smaU bills, which the last preceding Legislature had forbidden. The partisan device whereby County Judges (there were then several, in each county) were interpolated into the County Boards of Supervisors for the purpose of making certain county appointments, was knocked on the head. In short, I beUeve our State has, since 1824, had no other Legislature so able, nor one that did so much good and so Uttle harm, as that of 1838. The Jeffersonian was a campaign paper, but after a fashion of its own. It carefuUy eschewed abuse, scurriUty, and raU ing accusations. Its editorials were few, brief, and related to the topics of the day, — rarely evincing partisanship, never bitterness. Its pages were mainly devoted to the ablest and calmest speeches made in Congress, — generaUy to those which opposed the Independent (or Sub-) Treasury scheme and its adjuncts, though other able essays also found place in it. In short, it aimed to convince and win by candor and moderation, rather than overbear by passion and vehemence. Its cfrculation was, throughout, about 15,000 copies; and, being mainly read by those who took no other paper, I think it did good. Had it been conducted on the high-pressure principle, it would probably have had a larger circulation, and perhaps done no good at aU. I think its efficiency was some what evidenced by the fact that, whUe the Whigs were beaten TRIUMPH. 127 that FaU in Maine, in Pennsylvania, in Ohio (which they had carried two years before), and in nearly or quite every State westward of Ohio, they were successful in the later election in New York, as the result of a desperate struggle, and on an average vote largely beyond precedent, — WilUam H. Seward ousting WiUiam L. Marcy from the Governor's chair, and Luther Bradish succeeding John Tracy as Lieu tenant-Governor, — each by more than 10,000 majority. We carried also the Assembly (though by no such majority as the year before), and gained somewhat in the Senate ; but that branch was still adverse to us, owing to the dead weight accu mulated in former years : so Governor Seward's nominations were aU laid on the table, and our attempt to reelect Hon. N. P. Tallmadge United States Senator was likewise defeated, — the law requfring each House to nominate a Senator, meet to compare nominations, and, in case of thefr disagreement, proceed to elect in joint ballot ; but the Democratic Senators evaded its reqmrement by each voting for a separate candi date : so that the Senate made no nomination, and could not be compelled to go into joint baUot. Considerable excitement was caused by this evasion of a strictly prescribed duty ; and the Whigs, by desperate exer tions, carried the State again in the ensuing election (Novem ber, 1839), though this city, which for two years had gone with them, now went against them. There were three Sena tors to be chosen this year in the Third (Albany and Dela ware) District ; and the Whigs just carried them aU, — one of them (General Erastus Eoot) by barely one majority. They had never triumphed in this district before ; and I think they never carried it again unless their adversaries were divided. And now, when the new Legislature met (January, 1840), we had, along with the Governor and Assembly, a clear majority (20 to 12) in the Senate, and a new chapter was to be opened. I was writing at a reporter's desk in the Senate, when, very soon after its first sitting had begun, some Whig rose and moved that so and so (the Democratic incumbents) be re moved from the posts of secretary, sergeant-at-arms, &c., and 128 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. that SO and so [nominees of a Whig caucus, held the night before] be appointed in their stead. At once, up rose the venerable but vigorous Colonel Samuel Young, of Saratoga, and for nearly an hour poured hot shot into the proposition, descanting on bleeding constitutions, outraged Uberties, vio lated rights, &c., &c. When he had blown out. Uncle Harry Livingston, of Dutchess, — a humorous old Whig, who, in the general overturn of 1837, had blundered into the Senate from the Second District, to the amazement of himseff and of every body else, — sprang to his feet. As we all knew that he could not make a speech, — in fact, had scarcely, tUl now, attempted it, — curiosity was on tiptoe to catch his ffrst sen tence ; but his consciousness that he had something good to say for a moment choked his powers of utterance. " Mr. Presi dent " (che-hee-hee), — " Mr. President," he at length managed to say, " I take it that this is one of those questions that are settled by the rule of eighteen to fourteen" [Throughout the preceding session, every attempt to confirm one of Governor Seward's nominees resulted in this entry in the journal : "Laid on the table, — 18 to 14."] The hit was decided; the spec tators roared ; the Senator from the Fourth was shut up ; and the Senate proceeded to appoint the Whig nominees without further opposition or demur. Mr. Tallmadge was soon re elected to the Senate, and everything put in order for the decisive straggle of this eventful 1840. XVII. LOG-CABIN DAYS. NEW YOEK, which gave Mr. Van Buren the largest ma jority of any State in 1836, had been held against him throughout his administration, though she was his own State, and he had therein a powerful body of devoted, personal adherents, led by such men of eminent abUiiy as SUas Wright, WiUiam L. Marcy, and Edwin CrosweU. She had been so held by the talent, exertion, and vigUance of men equaUy able and determined, among whom Thurlow Weed, WiUiam H. Seward (now Governor), John C. Spencer, and WUUs HaU were conspicuous. But our majority of 15,000 in '37 had faUen to 10,000 m '38, and to 5,000 in '39, despite our best efforts ; Governor Seward's school recommendations and dis pensation of State patronage had made him many enemies ; and the friends of Mr. Van Buren counted, with reason, on carrying the State for his reelection, and against that of Governor Seward, in the impending straggle of 1840. Penn sylvania, Ohio, Tennessee, and all the Northwest, had been carried against the Whigs in the most recent contests ; Mr. Van Buren's star was clearly in the ascendant at the South ; whUe New England and New Jersey were nicely balanced, — Massachusetts, as weU as Maine and New Hampshire, having chosen a Democratic governor (Marcus Morton) in 1839. Mr. Van Buren's Administration, though at first condemned, was now sustained by a popular majority : New York alone — his own State — stood forth the fiagship of the Opposition. Both parties were silently preparing to put forth thefr very best efforts in the Presidential contest in prospect ; but fuUy two 130 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. thfrds of the States, choosing about that proportion of the electors, were now ranged on the Democratic side, — many of them by impregnable majorities, — whUe scarcely one State was unquestionably Whig. Mr. Van Buren, when first over whelmed by the popular surge that foUowed close upon the collapse of the Pet Bank system, had cahnly and with dignity appealed to the people's " sober second thought " ; and it now seemed mcfraUy certain that he would be triumphantly re elected. Such were the auspices under which the first Whig National Convention (the second National Convention ever held by any party, — that held in 1840 by the Democrats at Baltimore, which nominated Van Buren and Johnson, having been the first) assembled at Harrisburg, Pa., early in December, 1839. Of its doings I was a deeply interested observer. The States were nearly aU represented, though in South CaroUna there were no Whigs but a handful ; even the name was unknown in Tennessee, and the party was feeble in several other States. But the delegations convened included many names widely and favorably known, — including two ex-Governors of Vir ginia (James Barbour and John Tyler), one of Kentucky (Thomas Metcalf), one of Ohio (Joseph Vance), and at least one from several other States. I recoUect at least two ex- Governors of Pennsylvania (John Andrew Shultze and Joseph Eitner) as actively counseUing and sympathizing with the delegates. The sittings of the Convention were protracted through three or four days, during which several baUots for President were taken. There was a plurahty, though not a majority, in favor of nominating Mr. Clay ; but it was in good part com- ' posed of delegates from States which could not rationaUy be expected to vote for any Whig candidate. On the other hand, the delegates from Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana said, "We can carry our States for General Harrison, but not for Mr. Clay." New York and New Jersey cast thefr earlier votes for General Scott, but stood ready to unite on General Harrison whenever it should be clear that he could be nomi- LOG-CABIN DAYS. 131 nated and elected ; and they ultimately did so. The delegates from Maine and Massachusetts contributed powerfuUy to secure General Harrison's ultimate nomination. Each delega tion cast its vote through a committee, and the votes were added up by a general committee, which reported no names and no figures, but simply that no choice had been effected ; untu at length the Scott votes were all cast for Harrison, and his nomination thus effected ; when the result was proclaimed. Governor Seward, who was in Albany (there were no tele graphs in those days), and Mr. Weed, who was present, and very influential in producing the result, were strongly blamed by the ardent, uncalculating supporters of Mr. Clay, as having cheated him out of the nomination, — I could never see with what reason. They judged that he could not be chosen, if nominated, whUe another could be, and acted accordingly. If poUtics do not meditate the achievement of beneficent ends through the choice and use of the safest and most effective means, I whoUy misapprehend them. Mr. John Tyler, with nearly or quite aU his feUow-dele- gates from Vfrginia, was for Clay first, last, and aU the time ; for him whether he could be elected or not. When it was announced that Mr. Clay was defeated, he cried (so it was reported) ; and that report (I think) gave him the nomination for Vice-President without a contest. It was an attempt of the triumphant Harrisonites to heal the wounds of Mr. Clay's devoted friends. Yet the nomination was, for several reasons, a strong one. Mr. Tyler, though a Jackson man, had received, in 1828, the votes for United States Senator of the Adams men in the Vfrginia Legislature, and been thereby elected over John Eandolph. When Jackson removed the deposits from the United States Bank, he united with the Whigs in publicly condemning the act; and, having been superseded therefor, he was thereafter regarded as a Whig. He had voted alone in the Senate of 1832 - 33 against the Force bUl, which pro vided for. the coUection of the Federal revenue in South Caro Una in defiance of the nuUifying ordinance of her Convention. He had run for Vice-President on the White ticket in 1836, 132 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and so had acqufred a hold on the Southem opponents of Van Buren, which soon brought them aU heartUy into the support of the Harrisburg ticket. In short, the Convention made the strongest possible ticket, so far as success was regarded ; and the Democrats m attendance aU felt, though they did not confess it. Every one who had eyes could see that they de- sfred and worked for the nomination of Mr. Clay. One of them, after the ticket was made, offered to bet that it would not be elected; but, his offer being promptly accepted, and -he requested to name the amount, he hauled off. In short, we left Harrisburg with that confidence of success which goes far to secure its own justification ; and we were greeted on our way home as though the battle were afready won. But it was weU understood that the struggle wotdd be desperate, especiaUy in our State, and preparations were soon in progress to render it effective. Our adversaries now helped us to oiir most effective weapons. They at once commenced assailing General Harrison as an imbecUe, dotard, granny, &c., who had seen no real fighting, but had achieved a good deal of taU running from the enemy ; and one mihtia general, Crary, who represented Michigan in the House, having made a speech in this vein, provoked a response from Hon. Tom Corwin of Ohio, which for wit, humor, and withering yet good-natured sarcasm has rarely, if ever, been exceUed. The triumph was overwhelming; and, when the venerable and grave John Quincy Adams, in a few casual remarks next morning, spoke carelessly of " the late General Crary," a spon taneous roar attested the felicity of the allusion. General Harrison had Uved many years after his removal to Ohio in a log-house, and had been a poor man most of his hfe, as he still was. A Democratic joumaUst, scoffing at the idea of electing such a man to the Presidency, smartly ob served, in substance, " Give him a log-cabin and a barrel of hard cider, and he wiU stay content in Ohio, not aspfring to I the Presidency." The taunt was immediately caught up by ' the Whigs : " log-cabins " and " hard cider " became watch words of the canvass ; and every hour the excitement and enthusiasm swelled higher and higher. LOG-CABIN DAYS. 133 But the Democratic party claimed an unbroken series of triumphs in every Presidential election which it did not throw away by its own dissensions ; and, beiug now united, regarded its success as inevitable. " You Whigs," said Dr. Duncan, of Ohio, one of its most effective canvassers, " achieve great vic tories every day in the year but one, — that is the day of election." It was certain that a party which had enjoyed the ever-increasing patronage of the Federal Govemment for the preceding twelve years, which wielded that of most of the States also, and which was stUl backed by the popularity and active sympathy* of General Jackson, was not to be expeUed from power without the most resolute, persistent, systematic exertions. Hence, it was determined in the councils of our friends at Albany that a new campaign paper should be issued, to be entitled The Log-Cabin ; and I was chosen to conduct it. No contributions were made or sought in its behalf. I was to pubhsh as weU as edit it ; it was to be a foUo of good size ; and it was decided that fffteen copies should be sent for the fuU term of six months (from May 1 to November 1) for % 5. I had just secured a new partner (my fifth or sixth) of con siderable business capacity, when this campaign sheet was undertaken ; and the immediate influx of subscriptions fright ened and repeUed him. He insisted that the price was ruin ous, — that the paper could not be afforded for so Uttle, — that we should inevitably be bankrupted by its enormous circulation, — and aU my expostulations and entreaties were unavailing against his fixed resolve to get out of the concem at once. I therefore dissolved and settled with him, and was left alone to edit and publish both The New-Yorker and The Log-Cabin, as I had in 1838 edited, but not pubhshed, The New-Yorker and The Jeffersonian. Having neither steam. presses nor facilities, for Tnaihug^ I was obhged to hire every- ' thmg~done but the^^g4d-:J^Q^,which frivolved heavier outlays than I ought to have had to meet. I tried to make The Log-CabnaTas ¦effective" as 1 could, with wood engravings of General Harrison's battle-scenes, music, &c., and to render it 134 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. a model of its kind ; but the times were so changed that it was more hvely and less sedately argumentative than The Jeffersonian. Its circulation was entirely beyond precedent. I fixed the edition of No. 1 at 30,000 ; but before the close of the week I was obUged to print 10,000 more ; and even this was too few. The weekly issues ran rapidly up to 80,000, and inight have been increased, had I possessed ample faciUties for printing and mailing, to 100,000. With the machinery of distribution by news companies, expresses, &c., now existing, I guess that it might have been sweUed to a quarter of a miUion. And, though I made very Uttle money by it, I gave every subscriber an extra number containing the results of the election. After that, I continued the paper for a fuU year longer ; having a circulation for it of 10,000 copies, which about paid the cost, counting my work as editor nothing. The Log-Cabin was but an incident, a feature of the can vass. Briefly, we Whigs took the lead, and kept it through out. Our opponents struggled manfuUy, desperately; hut wind and tide were against them. They had campaign and other papers, good speakers, and large meetings ; but we were far ahead of them in singing, and in electioneering emblems and mottoes which appealed to popular sympathies. The elections held next after the Harrisburg nominations were local, but they aU went our way; and the State contests, which soon foUowed, amply confirmed their indications. In September, Maine held her State election, and chose the Whig candidate for Governor (Edward Kent) by a smaU majority, but on a very full vote. The Democrats did not concede his election tiU after the vote for President, in November. Penn sylvania, in October, gave a small Democratic majority; but we insisted that it could be overcome when we came to vote for Harrison, and it was. In October, Ohio, Indiana, and Georgia aU gave decisive Harrison majorities, rendering the great result moraUy certam. Yet, when the Presidential LOG-CABIN DAYS. 135 electors chosen were fuUy ascertained, even the most sanguine , among us were astounded by the completeness of our triumph. Wgjgd^iyen General Harrison the electoral votes of all but \ the seven States of New Hampshfre, Virginia, South CaroUna, \ Alabama, IlUnois, Missouri, and Arkansas, — 60 in all, — [ while our candidate had 234; making his the heaviest ma-| jority by which any President had ever been chosen. New^ York, where each party had done its best, had been carried for him by 13,290 majority ; but Governor Seward had been reelected by only 5,315. With any other candidate for Presi dent, he could scarcely have escaped defeat. I judge that there were not many who had done more effective work in the canvass than I had ; but I doubt that General Harrison ever heard my name. I never visited nor wrote him ; I was not of the throng that surrounded him on reaching Washington, — in fact, I did not visit that city, in 1841, untu after his most untimely death. I received the news of that calamity on landing one morning from an Albany steamboat ; and I moumfuUy reaUzed, on the instant, that it was no common disaster, but far-reaching in its malign infiu ence. General Harrison was never a great man, but he had good sense, was moderate in his views, and tolerant of adverse convictions ; he truly loved and aspired to serve his country, and was at the summit of a broadly based and substantial popularity which, had he Uved out his term, would have t averted many impending evils. Our country, in my view, | had lost many abler men, but none that she could so Ul spare [ since Washington. He was President for one short month ; ,| and then the hopes bom of his election were suddenly buried | in his grave. ^ V XVIII. THE TRIBUNE. ON the tenth day of AprU, 1841, — a day of most unseason able chiU and sleet and snow, — our city held her great funeral parade and pageant in honor of our lost President, who had died six days before. General Eobert Bogardus, the ven erable Grand Marshal of the parade, died not long afterward of exposure to its inclemencies. On that leaden, funereal morning, the most inhospitable of the year, I issued the first number of The New Yoek Tribune. It was a smaU sheet, for it was to be retailed for a cent, and not much of a news paper could be afforded for that price, even in those specie- paying times. I had been incited to this enterprise by sev eral Whig friends, who deemed a cheap daUy, addressed more especiaUy to the laboring class, eminently needed in our city, where the only two cheap journals then and stUl existing — The Sun and The Herald — were in decided, though un- avowed, and therefore more effective, sympathy and affiliation with the Democratic party. Two or three had promised pecuniary aid if it should be needed ; only one (Mr. James CoggeshaU, long since deceased) ever made good that promise, by loaning me one thousand doUars, which was duly and gratefuUy repaid, principal and interest. I presume others would have helped me had I asked it ; but I never did. Mr. Dudley S. Gregory, who had voluntarily loaned me one thou sand dollars to sustain The New-Yorker in the very darkest hour of my fortunes, in 1837, and whom I had but recently repaid, was. among my most trusted friends in the outset of my new enterprise also ; but I was able to prosecute it with out taxing (I no longer needed to test) his generosity. THE TRIBUNE. 137 My leading idea was the establishment of a journal re moved ahke from servUe partisanship on the one hand and from gagged, mincing neutraUty on the other. Party spirit is so fierce and intolerant in this country that the editor of a non-partisan sheet is restrained from saying what he thinks and feels on the most vital, imminent topics ; whUe, on the other hand, a Democratic, Whig, or EepubUcan journal is generaUy expected to praise or blame, Uke or disUke, eulogize or condemn, in precise accordance with the views and interest of its party. I beUeved there was a happy medium between these extremes, — a position from which a journaUst inight openly and heartUy advocate the principles and commend the measures of that party to which his convictions aUied him, yet frankly dissent from its course on a particular ques tion, and even denounce its candidates ff they were shown to be deficient in capacity or (far worse) in integrity. I felt that a journal thus loyal to its guiding convictions, yet ready to expose and condemn unworthy conduct or incidental error on the part of men attached to its party, must be far more effective, even party-wise, than though it might always be counted on to applaud or reprobate, bless or curse, as the party's prejudices or immediate interest inight seem to pre scribe. ^^speciaUy by the "Whigs — who were rather the loosely a^gregated,_inainly undisciplined opponents_of_a_great party, than, in_.the stricter-Sfins.e_a._.partv themselves — did i feel that sucha journal was_,coiisciously needed,_and_wpjUd. be fairly sustained. . I had been a pretty constant and copious cohtnEutor (generaUy unpaid) to nearly or quite every cheap Whig journal that had, from time to time, been started in our city ; most of them to faU after a very brief, and not particu larly bright career ; but one — The New York Whig, which was, throughout most of its existence, under the dignified and conscientious direction of JaPob B. Moore, formerly of The New Hampshire Journal — had been continued through two or three years. My famUiarity with its history and manage ment gave me confidence that the right sort of a cheap Whig journal would be enabled to Uve. I had been ten years in 138 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. New York, was thirty years old, in fuU health and vigor, and worth, I presume, about two thousand dollars, haff of it in prmting materials. The Jeffersonian, and stiU more The Log- Cabin, had made me favorably known to many thousands of those who were most likely to take such a paper as I pro posed to make The Tribune, whUe The New-Yorker had given me some literary standing and the reputation of a use ful and well-informed compUer of election returns. In short, I was in a better position to undertake the establishment of a daily newspaper than the great mass of those who try it and fail, as most who make the venture do and must. I pre sume the new journals (in EngUsh) since started in this city number not less than one hundredj whereof barely two — The Times and The World — can be fairly said to be stUl Uving ; and The World is a mausoleum wherein the remains of The Evening Star, The American, and The Courier and Enquirer Ue inurned ; these having long ago swallowed sundry of thefr predecessors. Yet several of those which have meantime Uved their Uttle hour and passed away were conducted by men of decided abiUty and ripe experience, and were backed by a pecuniary capital at least twenty times greater than the fearfuUy inadequate sum whereon I started The Tribune. On the inteUectual side, my venture was not so rash as it seemed. My own fifteen years' devotion to newspaper-mak ing, in aU its phases, was worth far more than wUl be gen eraUy supposed ; and I had afready secured a ffrst assistant in Mr. Henry J. Eaymond, who — having for two years, while in coUege at BurUngton, Vt., been a valued contributor to the hterary side of The New-Yorker — had hied to the city directly upon graduating, late in 1840, and gladly accepted my offer to hire him at eight doUars per week imtil he could do better. I had not much for him to do tiU The Tribune was started : then I had enough : and I never found another person, barely of age and just from his studies, who evinced so signal and such versatile abiUty in journalism as he did. Abler and stronger men I may have met ; a cleverer, readier, more generally efficient journaUst, I never saw. He remained THE TRIBUNE. 139 with me nearly eight years, if my memory serves, and is the only assistant with whom I ever felt required to remonstrate for doing more work than any human brain and frame could be expected long to endure. His salary was of course gradu aUy increased from time to time ; but his services were more valuable in proportion to their cost than those of any one else who ever aided me on The Tribune. Mr. George M. Snow, a friend of my own age, who had had considerable mercantile experience, took charge of the Finan cial or WaU-Street department (then far less important than . it now is), and retained it for more than twenty-two years ; becoming ultimately a heavy stockholder in, and a trustee of, the concern ; resigning his trust only when (in 1863) he de parted for Europe in Ul health ; returning but to die two years later. A large majority of those who aided in prepar ing or in issuing the first number had preceded or have fol lowed Mr. Snow to the Silent Land ; but two remain, and are now Foreman and Engineer respectively in the Print ing Department, — both stockholders and trustees. Others, doubtless, survive, who were with us then, but have long since drifted away to the West, to the Pacific slope, or into some other employment, and the places that once knew them know them no more. Twenty-six years vsdtness many changes, especiaUy in a city Uke ours, a position Uke mine ; and I believe that the only men who were Editors of New York daUies before me, and who stUl remain such, are Mr. WiUiam CuUen Bryant of The Evening Post, and Mr. James Gordon Bennett of The Herald. About five hundred names of subscribers had already been obtained for The Tribune — mainly by my warm personal and poUtical friends, Noah Cook and James CoggeshaU — before its first issue, whereof I printed five thousand, and nearly succeeded in giving away aU of them that would not sell. I had type, but no presses ; and so had to hire my press-work done by the " token " ; my folding and mailing must have 140 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. staggered me but for the circumstance that I had few papers to maU, and not very many to fold. The lack of the present machinery of raifroads and expresses was a grave obstacle to the circulation of my paper outside of the city's suburbs ; but I think its paid-for issues were two thousand at the close of the first week, and that they thenceforth increased pretty steadily, at the rate of five hundred per week, tiU they reached ten thousand. My current expenses for the first week were about five hundred and twenty-five doUars; my receipts ninety-two dollars ; and, though the outgoes steadUy, inevit ably increased, the income increased in a stUl larger ratio, tUl it nearly balanced the former. _But J[ was^ not made__for a pubhsher ; indeed^ nojnmn was, ever quahfied at once to edit and to publish ..a..daily paper such as it must be to hve in. these times ; and it was not untU Mr. Thomas McEfrath — whom I TSd^barely known as a member of the pubhshing firm over whose store I first set type in this city, but who was now a lawyer in good standing and practice — made me a voluntary and whoUy unexpected proffer of partnership ui my stiU straggUng but hopeful enterprise, that it might he considered fairly on its feet. He offered to invest two thou sand dollars as an equivalent to whatever I had in the busi ness, and to devote his time and energies to its management, on the basis of perfect equahty in ownership and in sharing the proceeds. This I very gladly accepted ; and from that hour my load was palpably lightened. During the ten years or over that The Tribune was issued by Greeley & McEfrath, my partner never once even indicated that my anti-Slavery, anti-Hanging, SociaUst, and other frequent aberrations from the straight and narrow path of Whig partisanship, were in jurious to our common interest, though he must often have sorely felt that they were so; and never, except when I (rarely) drew from the common treasury more money than ! could weU be spared, in order to help some needy friend , whom he judged beyond help, did he even look grieved at I anything I did. On the other hand, liis business management ! of the concem, though never briUiant, nor speciaUy energetic, ' THE TRIBUNE. 141 was so safe and judicious that it gave me no trouble, and scarcely required of me a thought, during that long era of aU but unclouded prosperity. The transition from my four preceding years of incessant pecuniary anxiety, ff not absolute embarrassment, was hke escaping from the dungeon and the rack to freedom and sym pathy. Henceforth, such rare pecuniary troubles as I en countered were the just penalties of my own foUy in indors ing notes for persons who, in the nature of things, could not rationaUy be expected to pay them. But these penalties are not to be evaded by those who, soon after entering responsible Iffe, " go into business," as the phrase is, when it is inevitable that they must be thereby involved in debt. He who starts on the basis of dependence on his own proper resources, re solved to extend his business no further and no faster than his means wiU justify, may fairly refuse to lend what he needs in his own operations, or to indorse for. others when he asks no one to indorse for him. But you cannot ask favors, and then churUshly refuse to grant any, — borrow, and then" frown upon whoever asks you to lend, — seek indorsements, but decUne to give any : and so the idle, the prodigal, the dissolute, with the thousands foredoomed by their own de fects of capacity, of industry, or of management, to chronic bankruptcy, Uve upon the earnings of the capable, thrifty, and provident. Better wait five years to go into business upon adequate means which are properly your own, than to rash in prematurely, trusting to loans, indorsements, and the forbearance of creditors, to help you through. I have squan dered much hard-earned money in trying to help others who were afready past help, when I not only might, but should, have saved most of it if I had never, needing help, sought and received it. As it is, I trust that my general obhgation has been fuUy discharged. The Tribune, as it first appeared, was but the germ of what I sought to make it. No journal sold for a cent could ever be much more than a dry summary of the most important or the most interesting occurrences of the day ; and such is not 142 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. a newspaper, in the higher sense of the term. We need to know, not only what is done, but what is purposed and said, by those who sway the destinies of states and realms ; and, to this end, the prompt perusal of the manffestoes of mon archs, presidents, ministers, legislators, etc., is indispensable. No man is even tolerably informed in our day who does not regularly " keep the run " of events and opinions, through the daUy perusal of at least owe good journal ; and the ready cavU that " no one can read " aU that a great modern journal con tains, only proves the ignorance or thoughtlessness of the caviUer. No one person is expected to take such an interest in the rise and faU of stocks, the markets for cotton, cattle, grain, and goods, the proceedings of Congress, Legislatures, and Courts, the pohtics of Europe, and the ever-shifting phases of Spanish-American anarchy, etc., etc., as would in cite him to a daUy perusal of the entire contents of a metro pohtan city journal of the ffrst rank. The idea is rather to embody in a single shegfM^^behifnTTTTgtif^^ requfred hy~ a,U~lbhose who aim to keep "posted" on every important occurrence y so that"theTawyer7 the" merchant, the bankeijihe forwarder, the economist, the author, the politician, etoyjoay^ find here, whatever he needs to see, and be~spared~tEetrouble of looking elsewhere.. A copy of a"^atl[noru2ig-j«*H»al^^'^ contains more matter than an average twelvemo volume, and its production costs far more, whUe it is sold for a fortieth or fiftieth part of the volume's price. There is no other miracle of cheapness which at aU approaches it. The Electric Tele graph has precluded the multipUcation of journals m the great cities, by enormously increasing the cost of pubhshing each of them. The Tribune, for example, now pays more than one hundred thousand dollars per annum for inteUectual labor (reporting included) in and about its office, and one hundred thousand doUars more for correspondence and tele graphing, — in other words, for coUecting and transmitting news. And, while its income ha,s been largely increased from year to year, its expenses have inevitably been sweUed even more rapidly; so that, at the close of 1866, in which its THE TRIBUNE. 143 receipts had been over nine hundred thousand doUars, its expenses had been very nearly equal in amount, leaving no profit beyond a fafr rent for the premises it owned and occu pied. And yet its stockholders were satisfied that they had done a good business, — that the increase in the patronage and value of the estabUshment amounted to a fair interest on their investment, and niight weU be accepted in heu of a dividend. In the good time coming, with cheaper paper and less exorbitant charges for " cable despatches " from the Old World, they wiU doubtless reap where they have now faithfuUy sown. Yet they reaUze and accept the fact, that a journal radicaUy hostUe to the gainful arts whereby the cunning and powerful few Uve sumptuously without useful labor, and often amass wealth, by pandering to lawless sensuahty and popular vice, can never hope to enrich its pubhshers so rapidly nor so vastly as though it had a soft side for the Liquor Traffic, and for aU kindred aUurements to carnal appetite and sensual indulgence. Fame is a vapor ; popularity an accident ; riches take wings ; the only earthly certainty is obUvion; no man can foresee what a day may bring forth ; whUe those who cheer to-day wiU often curse to-morrow : and yet I cherish the hope that the journal I projected and estabUshed wUl Uve and fiourish long after I shaU have mouldered into foigotten dust, being guided by a larger wisdom, a more unerring sagacity to dis cern the right, though not by a more unfaltering readiness to embrace and defend it at whatever personal cost ; and that the stone which covers my ashes may bear to future eyes the stUl inteUigible inscription, " Founder of The New York Tribune." XIX. SOCIALISM. THE Winter of 1837-38, though happily mUd and open tUl far into January, was one of pervading destitution and suffering in our city, from paralysis of business and con sequent dearth of employment. The UberaUty of those who could and would give was heavUy taxed to save from famish ing the tens of thousands who, being needy and unable to find employment, first ran into debt so far as they could, and thenceforth must be helped or starve. For, in addition to aU who may be said to belong here, legions of laborers, servants, etc., are annuaUy dismissed in Autumn from the farms, coun try-seats, arid watering-places of the suburban districts, and drift down to the city, whence they were mainly hfred; vaguely hoping to find work here, which a smaU part of them do : the rest Uve on the good-nature of relatives, ff such they have here, or on credit from boarding-houses, landlords, or grocers, so long as they can; and then make thefr choice between roguery and beggary, or change from this to that, or take them mixed, as chance may dictate. Since the general diffusion of railroads and the considerable extension of our manufacturing industry, business is far more equable than it was, even in prosperous times, thirty years ago ; but Winter is stdl a season of privation and suffering to many thousands who live in tolerable comfort through the W9,rmer seasons. To say that ten thousand young persons here annuaUy take their first lessons in debauchery and crime would be to keep quite within the truth; and, while passion, ignorance, and miseducation ruin their thousands, I judge that destitution SOCIALISM. 145 flowing from involuntary idleness sends more men and women to perdition, in this city, than any other cause, — intemperance possibly excepted. I Uved that Winter in the Sixth Ward, — then, as now, eminent for filth, squalor, rags, dissipation, want, and misery. A pubhc meeting of its citizens was duly held early in De cember, and an organization formed thereat, by which com mittees were appointed to canvass the Ward from house to house, coUect funds from those who could and would spare anything, ascertain the nature and extent of the existing des titution, and devise ways and means for its systematic reUef. Very poor myself, I could give no money, or but a mite ; so I gave time instead, and served, through several days, on one of the visiting committees. I thus saw extreme destitution more closely than I had ever before observed it, and was enabled to scan its repiUsive features intelUgently. I saw two famiUes, including six or eight children, burrowing in one ceUar under a stable, — a prey to famine on the one hand, and to vermin and cutaneous maladies on the other, with sickness adding its horrors to those of a poUuted atmosphere and a wintry temperature. I saw men who each, somehow, sup ported his family on an income of $ 5 per week or less, yet who cheerfuUy gave something to mitigate the sufferings of those who were really poor. I saw three widows, with as many children, living in an attic on the profits of an apple- stand which yielded less than $ 3 per week, and the landlord came in for a fuU third of that. But worst to bear Of all was the pitfful plea of stout, resolute, single young men and young women : " We do not want alms ; we are not beggars ; we hate to sit here day by day idle and useless ; help us to work, — we want no other help : why is it that we can have npthing to do ? " I pondered these scenes at intervals throughout the next two or three years, and was impeUed thereby to write for The New-Yorker — I think, in the Winter of 1839 - 40 — a series of articles entitled, " What shaU be done for the Laborer ? " I beUeve these attracted the attention of Mr. Albert Brisbane, a young man of liberal education and varied culture, a native 10 146 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. of Batavia, N. Y, which he stUl regarded as his home, but who had traveUed widely and observed thoughtfuUy ; making the acquaintance in Paris of the school of SociaUsts called (after their founder) St. Simonians, and that also of Charles Fourier, the founder of a different school, which had been distinguished by his name. Eobert Owen, by his experiments at New Lanark and his " New Views of Society," was the first in this century to win pubUc attention to SociaUsm, though (I beheve) Fourier had not only speculated, but written, before either of his co-laborers. But Owen was an extensive and successful manufacturer ; St. Simon was a soldier, and the heir of a noble famUy ; while Fourier was a poor clerk, reserved and taciturn, whose hard, dogmatic, algebraic style seemed expressly calculated to discourage readers and repel adherents ; so that his disciples were few indeed, down to the date of his death in 1837. Mr. Brisbane, returning not long .afterward from Europe, prepared and published his first work — which was an exposition and commendation of Fourier's industrial system — ixi 1840. My acquaintance with the author and his work commenced soon afterward. I sum up these three competing projects of Social Eeform as foUows : — • Owen. — Place human beings in proper relations, under fa voring circumstances (among which I include Education and IntelUgence), and they wiU do right rather than wrong. Hitherto, the heritage of the great majority has been filth, squalor, famine, ignorance, superstition ; and these have im peUed many to indolence and vice, if not to crime. Make their external conditions what they should be, and these wiU give place to industry, sobriety, and virtue. St. Simon. — " Love is the fulfilUng of the law." Secure to every one opportunity ; let each do whatever he can do best ; and the highest good of the whole wUl be achieved and per petuated. Fourier. — Society, as we find it, is organized rapacity. Haff of its force is spent in repressing or resisting the jealousies and rogueries of its members. We need to organize Universal SOCIALISM. 147 Justice based on Science. The tme Eden Ues before, not behind us. We may so provide that Labor, now repulsive, shaU be attractive ; whUe its efficiency in production shaU he increased by the improvement of machinery and the ex tended use of natural forces, so as to secure abundance, edur cation, and elegant luxury, to aU. What is needed is to provide aU with homes, employment, instruction, good Uving, the most effective implements, machineiy, &c., securing to each the fair and fuU recompense of his achievement; and this can best be attained through the association of some four to five hundred famihes in a common household, and in the ownership and cultivation of a common domain, say of 2,000 acres, or about one acre to each person Uving thereon. I accept, unreservedly, the views of no man, dead or living. "The master has said it," was never conclusive with me. Even though I have found him right nine times, I do not take his tenth proposition on trust ; unless that also be proved sound and rational, I reject it. But I am convinced, after much study and refiection, that the Social Eeformers are right on many points, even when clearly wrong on others ; and I deem Fourier — though in many respects erratic, mistaken, visionary — the most suggestive and practical among them. I accept nothing, on his authority; for I find many of his speculations fantastic, erroneous, and (in my view) pernicious ; but on many points he commands my unreserved concur rence. Yet I prefer to set forth my own Social creed rather than his, even wherein mine was borrowed from his teachings ; and mine is, briefly, as foUows : — I. I believe that there need be, and should be, no paupers who are not infantUe, idiotic, or disabled ; and that civiUzed society pays more for the support of able-bodied pauperism than the necessary cost of its extirpation. II. I beUeve that they babble idly and Ubel Providence who talk of surplus Labor, or the inadequacy of Capital to supply employment to aU whb need it. Labor is often most 148 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. /required and best paid where Capital is scarcest (as was shown /in Cahfornia in 1849-50); and th.ere. is. always-^ even Jn ! China — far more wprk than hands, provided J;he. .abiUty_tQ_ i devise and dfrect be not wantmg. Where Labor stands idle, i save in the presence of some great pubUc calamity, there is a I demonstrated deficiency, not of Capital, but of brams. ^- III. I beUeve that the efficiency of human effort is enor mously, minously diminished by what I term Social Anarchy. That is to say : " We spend haff our energies in buUdmg fences and providing safeguards against each. other's roguery, while our labor is rendered inefficient and inadequately productive by bad management, unperfect implements, a deficiency of power (animal or steam), and the inabUity of our producers to command and wield the most effective machinery. It is quite within the trath to estimate the annual product of our National Industry at less than one haff what it inight be ff --better appUed and directed. IV. Inefficiency in production is paraUeled by waste in consumption. Insects and vermin devour at least one fourth of the farmer's harvests, which inadequate fertiUzing and un skilful cultivation have already reduced far below the proper aggregate. A thousand cooks are required, and a thousand fires maintained, to prepare badly the food of a township; when a dozen fires and a hundred cooks might do it far better, and with a vast saving in quantity as weU as improvement in quaUty. [I judge that the cooks of Paris would subsist One MUlion persons on the food consumed or wasted by Six Hun dred Thousand ih this city ; feeding them better than they are now fed, and prolonging their lives by an average of five years.] V. Youth should be a season of instruction in Industry and the Useful Arts, as weU as in Letters and the Sciences mastered by their aid. Each chUd should be trained to skUl and efficiency in productive Labor. The hours of chUdren should be alternately devoted to Labor, Study, and Eecreation, — say, two hours to each before, and a Uke allotment after, dinner each secular day. Thus each child would grow up an adept, not merely in letters, but in arts, — a skifful worker as SOCIALISM. 149 weU as a proficient in the lessons of the school-room, — able to do weU, not one thing only, but many things, — famiUar with mechanical as weU as agricultural processes, and acquainted with the use of steam and the direction of machinery. Not tUl one has achieved the fuUest command, the most varied use, of all his faculties and powers, can he be properly said to be educated. <_ VL_Isolation is at warjgith_efficiencY_and with progress. As " fron sharpeneth iron," so are man's inteUectual and in ventive faculties stimulated by contact with his feUow-men. A nation of herdsmen, dweUing in movable tents, invents little or nothing, and makes no progress, or next to none. Serfdom was the general condition of the laboring class in Europe, untU aggregation in cities and mantffactories, dif fusing intelUgence, and nourishing aspiration, wrought its downfaU. VII. The poor work at perpetual disadvantage in isolation, because of the inadequacy of their means. Let us suppose that four or five hundred heads of famiUes propose to embark in Agriculture. Each buys his Uttle farm, his furniture, his implements, animals, seeds, fertUizers, &c., &c., and — though he has purchased nothing that he does not urgently need — he finds his means utterly exhausted, and his farm and future exertions heavUy burdened by debt. He hopes and labors to , clear off the mortgage ; but fiood and drouth, frost and fire, work against him; his poverty compels him to do without many implements, and to plough or team with inadequate force ; he runs up an account at the store, and pays twenty per cent. extra for his goods, because others, who buy on credit, fail to pay at aU ; and so he struggles on, tUl his strength faUs, and he dies oppressed with debt. Such is the common lot. — . VIII. Association would have these unite to purchase, in habit, and cultivate a common domain, — say, of two thousand acres, — whereby these advantages over the isolated system \ would be reaUzed : — -^ 1. One fourth (at most) of the land requfred under the old system would be found abundant. 150 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. 2. It cotUd be far better aUotted and appropriated to Grain, Grass, Fruits, Forest, Garden, &c. 3. The draught animals that were far too few, when dispersed among five hundred owners, on so many different farms, would be amply sufficient fpr a common domain. 4. Steam or water power could now be economicaUy em ployed for a hundred purposes — cutting and sawing timber, threshing and grinding grain, ploughing the soU, and for many household uses — where the smaU farmer could not think of employing it. 5. Industry would find new and powerful incentives in the / observation and praise or censure of the entire community ; uniforms, banners, and music, with the rivafry of bands of competing workers, would provoke emulation and hghten labor; whUe such recreations as dramas, concerts, readings, &c., — now utterly beyond the reach of rural workers, — would give a new zest to hfe. At present, our youth escape from rural industry when they can, — not that they reaUy hate work, but that they find their leisure hours even duUer and less endurable than those they give to rugged toU. I must devote another chapter to a narration of my experi ences as" an advocate of the views above set forth, and a brief account of the efforts made within my knowledge to give them practical exeiriplification. That these efforts resulted in faU ures the world afready knows : I wUl endeavor to set forth the facts dispassionately, so as to afford fafr grounds for judg ment as to how far these failures are due to cfrcumstances, and how far they may be fairly charged to the system itself I shall endeavor to lay Uttle of the blame on weU-abused Human Nature ; since, if any system be iU adapted to Man as we find him, it may be excellently calculated for use on some other planet, but not on this one. XX. SOCIALISTIC EFFORTS. THE propagation in this country of Fourier's ideas of Industrial Association was wholly pioneered by Mr. A. Brisbane, who presented them in a series of articles in The Tribune, beginning in 1841, and running through two or three years. The Future — a weekly entfrely devoted to the sub ject — was issued for a few weeks, but received no considerable support, and was therefore discontinued. The Harbinger, a smaUer weekly, was afterward issued from the Brook Farm Association, and sustained — not without loss — for two or three years. Meantime, several treatises, explaining and commending the system, were pubhshed, — the best of them being " Democracy, Pacific and Constructive," by Mr. Parke Godwin, now of The Evening Post. The problem was further discussed in a series of controversial letters between Mr. Henry J. Eaymond and myseff. Thus, by persevering effort, the subject was thrust, as it were, on public attention ; a few zealous converts made to the new ideas, and probably more vehement adversaries aroused ; while the far greater number could not be induced to read or consider, but regarded aU SociaUst theories with stubborn indifference. Those who were in good cfrcumstances, or hoped yet to be, wished no such change as was contemplated by the new theories ; the ignorant, stohd many, who endure Uves of destitution and squaUd misery, were utterly devoid of faith or hope, receiving with profound incredulity and distrust any proposal to im prove their condition. My observation justifies the behef, that the most conservative of mankind, when not under the I 152 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Uifluence of some great, convulsive uprising like the French Eevolution, are those who have nothing to lose. Of the practical attempts to reaUze our social Utopia, I beUeve that known as " Brook Farm," in Eoxbury, Mass., ten mUes from Boston, was first in the order of time, and notable in many other respects. Its projectors were cultivated, scholarly persons, who were profoundly dissatisfied with the aims, as weU as the routine, of ordinary Ufe, and who wel comed in theoretic Sociahsm a fairer and nobler ideal. So they bought a cold, grassy farm of two hundred acres, added two or three new buUdings to those which had served the last preceding owner, and bravely took possession. New members joined from time to time, as others left; the land was improved, and, I beUeve, some was added ; boarders were taken occasionaUy ; a school was started and maintained ; and so the concern fared on through some five or six years. But, deficient in capital, in agricultioral skUl, and in many needful things besides, it was never a pecuniary success, and was finaUy given up about 1847 or '48, — paying its debts, I un derstood, to the last dime, but returning nothing to its stock holders. I beUeve this was the only attempt made in New England. From this city, two bands of SociaUst pioneers went forth, — one to a rugged, lofty region in Pike County, Pa., five mUes from the Erie EaiUroad at the mouth of the Lackawaxen, which they caUed " Sylvania," after the State. The domain here purchased was ample, — some 2,300 acres; the location was healthy, and there was abundance of wood and water. But the soil was stony and poor ; the altitude was such that there was a heaxy frost on the 4th of July, 1844; 'the mem bers were generally very poor, and in good part inefficient also ; and the crops harvested were slender enough. I think "Sylvania" was founded early in 1843, and gave up the ghost — having little else to give up — sometime in 1845. Its domain returned to the seUer or his assigns, in satisfaction of his mortgage, and its movables nearly or quite paid its debts, leaving its stock a total loss. SOCIALISTIC EFFORTS. 153 The " North American Phalanx " had more vitaUty and a better location. The nucleus of its membership was formed in Albany, though it drew associates from every quarter. Several of them were capable mechanics, traders, and farmers. It was located in Shrewsbury, Monmouth County, N. J., five miles from the dock at Eed Bank, on a farm of 673 acres, originaUy good land, but worn out by most improvident, thrfftless cultivation, so that it was bought for less than $ 23 per acre, which was its fuU value. But there was an ample bed of marl on its eastern border, considerable timber along its creeks, two or three very dilapidated farm buildings, and a few large, old apple-trees, which were just better than none. Here we few, but zealous, Associationists of New York and its vicinity for a time concentrated our means and our efforts ; each subscribing freely to the capital, and then aiding the enterprise by loans to nearly an equal amount. I think the capital ultimately invested here (loans included) was fully $ 100,000, or about one fourth the amount there should have been. By means thereof, a capacious wooden dweUing, one or two bams, and a fruit-house were erected, thousands of loads of marl dug and apphed to the land, large orchards were planted and reared to maturity, and a mile square of sterile, exhausted land converted into a thrifty and productive do main. The experiment was finaUy abandoned, on the heel of a heavy loss sustained in the burning of our fruit-house, which, with some other set-backs, discouraged some of the best associates, and caused them to favor a dissolution. There was no pecuniary faUure, in the ordinary acceptation of the term. The property was sold out at auction, — the domain in tracts of ten to eighty acres, — and, though it brought not more than two thirds of its cash value, every debt was paid, and each stockholder received back about 65 per cent, of his investment with interest. I reckoR that not many stock holders in gold-mines or oU-weUs can show a better result. (I can speak of gold-mines from personal experience; oil- weUs — being older when they came into vogue — I have carefuUy kept out of) As I recoUect, the " North American 154 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Phalanx" was founded in 1843, and wound up about 1850, when I think no sister Association was left to deplore its fate. Its means had been larger, its men and women, in the average, more capable and devoted, than those of any rival ; ff it could not Uve, there was no hope for any of them. A serious obstacle to the success of any SociaUst experi ment must always be confronted. I aUude to the kind of persons who are naturaUy attracted to it. Along with many noble and lofty souls, whose impulses are purely philanthropic, and who are wUling to labor and suffer reproach for any cause that promises to benefit mankind, there throng scores of whom the world is quite worthy, — the conceited, the crotchety, the selfish, the headstrong, the pugnacious, the unappreciated, the played-out, the idle, and the good-for-nothing generaUy ; who, finding themselves utterly out of place and at a discount \ in the world as it is, rashly conclude that they are exactly j fitted for the world as it ought to be. These may have faded again and again, and been protested at every bank to which they have been presented ; yet they are sure to jump into any new movement, as ff they had been born expressly to super intend and dfrect it, though they are morally certain to ruin whatever they lay their hands on. Destitute of means, of practical abiUty, of prudence, tact, and common sense, they have such a wealth of assurance and of seff-confidence that they clutch the responsible positions, which the capable and worthy modestly shrink from : so responsibihties that would tax the ablest are mistakenly devolved on the blindest and least fit. Many an experiment is thus wrecked, when, engineered by its best members, it might have succeeded. I judge not what may be done and bome by a mature, thoroughly organized Association ; but a pioneer, haU-fledged experiment — lacking means, experience, edifices, everything — can bear no extra weight, but needs to be composed of, and directed by, most efficient, devoted, self-sacrificing men and women. That there have been — nay, are — decided successes in 1 practical Sociahsm, is undeniable; but they aU have that Communistic basis which seems to me irrational, and calcu- SOCIALISTIC EFFORTS. 155 lated to prove fatal. I cannot conceive it just, that an asso ciate who invests % 100,000 shoiUd stand on an equal footing, so far as property is concerned, with one who brings nothing to the common fund ; nor can I see why an ingenious, efficient mechanic, whose services are worth $ 5 per day, should receive no more of the annual product than an ignorant ditcher, who can at best earn but % 2 per day To my mind, every one is fafrly entitled to what he has earned, and to what he shall earn, unless he chooses to bestow it on some one else ; and I hold, with Fourier, that Communism must destroy individual Uberty. Credit me on the books with what I invested, and what I have since earned or otherwise added to the common wealth; and, if 1 choose to spend my day with a visiting friend, or go off for a week's fishing, it is no one's business but my own. But, say that all we have and aU we make are common property, wherein each has rightfuUy an equal in terest, and I shaU feel moraUy bound to do my share of the work, and shall be dissatisfied when others palpably do less than I do. Hence, I can easUy account for the faUure of Communism, — at New Harmony, and in several other experi ments ; I cannot so easily account for its successes. Yet the fact stares us in the face, that, whUe hundreds of banks and factories, and thousands of mercantile concerns managed by shrewd, strong men, have gone into bankruptcy and perished. Shaker Communities, estabhshed more than sixty years ago, upon a basis of Uttle property and less worldly wisdom, are living and prosperous to-day. And their experience has been imitated by the German Communities at Economy, Pa., Zoar, Ohio, the Society of Ebenezer, &c., &c. Theory, however plausible, must respect the facts. I once visited the Society of Ebenezer, when it was located on lands seven mUes from Buffalo, not long before surrendered by the Tonawanda Indians. The members were nearly all Prussians, led by a rich nobleman, who had invested his aU in the common fund, and led his foUowers to this country, where they first located near Buffalo as aforesaid, but have since sold, and migrated to cheaper land, away from any great 156 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. city, in Iowa. I did not see the " head centre," but the second man was from the Zoar Community, and I had a free talk with him, part of which (in substance) is worth recalling : — " What do you do with lazy people ? " I inquired. " We have none," he promptly repUed. " We have often disciphned members for working too hard and too long ; for, whatever the world may think of us, we profess, to be asso ciated for spiritual edification, not temporal gain ; and we do not desire our people to become absorbed in dmdgery and money-getting." " Yes, I understand," I persisted ; " but suppose you had a lazy member : how would you treat him ? How does your discipline provide for the possible contingency of his attaining to the membership of your body ? " " In this way only : we are a brotherhood and sisterhood for spiritual, not temporal, ends. Our temporal relations are a consequence of our spiritual union. For spiritual growth and improvement, we are divided into four classes, accorduig to our presumed rehgious advancement respectively. If, then, a member of the fourth (highest) class were to evince a lazy, shirldng disposition, he woidd, after some private admonition, be reported by that class to the next general meeting, as not sufficiently developed, or endued with Divine grace, for that class ; and, on that report, he would be reduced to the third class. If, after due probation, he should evince a slothful spirit there, he would be reported by that class, as he had been by the higher ; and, on this report, be reduced to the second class ; and, on the report of this, in Uke manner, to the first or lowest class, — that which includes young chUdren and aU whoUy undeveloped natures. TheoreticaUy, this would be our course ; we know no further or other discipline than this : practically, no occasion for such discipline has arisen. We often discipline members for working too much or too persistently ; never for working too Uttle." I do not beUeve men naturaUy lazy ; but I judge that they prefer to receive the fair recompense of their labor, — to work for themselves and those dear to them, rather than for hun- SOCIALISTIC EFFORTS. 157 dreds, if not thousands, whom they scarcely know by sight. I believe in Association, or Cooperation, or whatever name may be given to the combination of many heads and hands to achieve a beneficent result, whicli is beyond the means of one or a few of them ; for I perceive that vast economies, and vastly increased efficiency, may thus be secured; I reject Communism as at Avar with one of the strongest and most universal instincts, — that which impels each worker to pro duce and save for himseff and his own. Yet Eeligion often makes practicable that which were else impossible, and Divine Love triumphs where Human Science is baffled. Thus I in terpret the past successes and faUures of Socialism. Cooperation — the combination of some hundreds of pro ducers to dispose of their labor or its fruits, or of consumers in Uke manner to supply their common wants of food, &c. more economicaUy and satisfactorUy than by individual pur chases from markets, stalls, or stores — is one-sided, frag mentary Association. Its advantages are signal, obvious, im mediate ; its chief perU is the rascaUty of the agent, treasurer, or manager, whom it is obliged to trust. As it involves no decided, radical change of habits and usages, it is destined to achieve an early success, and thus to pioneer further and more beneficent reforms. It has already won signal triumphs in sober, practical England; it is winning the inteUectual assent of earnest, meditative Germany. I shall be sorely disappointed if this Nineteenth Century does not witness its very general adoption as a means of reducing the cost and increasing the comfort of the poor man's living. It ought to add twenty-five per cent, to the average income of the thriftier half of the laboring class ; whUe its advantages are free to aU with whom economy is an object. And even above its dfrect advantages I prize the habits of calculation, of foresight, of saving which it is calculated to foster and promote among those who accept its principle and enjoy its more material blessings. With a ffrm and deep religious basis, any SociaUstic scheme may succeed, though vicious in organization, and at war with 158 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Human Nature, as I deem Shaker Communism, and the antagonist or "Free Love" Community of Perfectionists at Oneida, N. Y. Without a basis of rehgious sympathy and rehgious aspiration, it wiU always be difficult, though, I judge, not impossible. Even the foUowers of Comte, the swaUowers of his Pantheistic fog, wUl yet be banded or melted into com munities, and wiU endeavor to reaUze the exaltation of Work into Worship, with a degree of success to be measured by the individual characters of the associates. And every effort to achieve through Association a less sordid, fettered, grovelling life, wiU have a positive value for the future of mankind, however speedy and utter its failure. I deem it impossible that beings born in the huts and hovels of isolated society, feebly, ineffectively delving and grabbing through life on the few acres immediately surrounding each of them, shaU there attain the full stature of perfect manhood. They are dwarfed, stunted, shriveUed, by thefr petty avocations and shabby sur roundings, — by the seeming necessity which constrains them to bend thefr thoughts and energies to the achievement of narrow, petty, paltry ends. Our dweUings, our fields, our farms, our industries, aU tend to belittle us ; the edifice which shaU yet lodge commodiously and agreeably two thousand persons, giving each the requisite privacy and independence, though as yet unconstructed, is not a chimera ; no more is the prosecution of agricultural and other labor by large bands, rendered picturesque by unfforms, and inspfred by music. That " many hands make hght work " is an old discovery ; it shaU yet be proved that the combined efforts of many workers make Labor efficient and ennobhng, as weU as attractive. In modern society, aU things tend unconsciously toward grand, comprehensive, pervading reforms. The steamboat, the raU- car, the omnibus, are but bhnd gropings toward an end which, unpremeditated, shaU yet be attained ; in the order of Nature, nothing ultimately resists an economy; and the sceptical, sneering world shaU yet perceive and acknowledge that, in many important relations, and not merely in one, " It is not good for Man to be alone." XXI. HARRY CLAY. JOHN TYLEE succeeded General Harrison in the Presi dency. He was called a Whig when elected Vice-Pres ident; I think he never caUed himself, nor wished others to caU him so, from the day on which he stepped into our dead President's shoes. At aU events, he contrived soon to quarrel with the great body of those whose efforts and votes had borne him into power. If he cried at Harrisburg over Mr. Clay's defeat, Mr. Clay's friends had abundant reason to cry ever afterward over Tyler's success there. He vetoed the biU chartering a new United States Bank ; andj having himself sketched the plan of a substitute, and given it a name, he, when Congress passed it, vetoed that. He having inherited General Harrison's cabinet, this veto compeUed its members to resign ; Mr. Webster, as Secretary ' of State, lingering for months after all the rest had left ; but he, too, had to go at last; and Mr. Tyler stood forth an imbittered, implacable enemy of the party which had raised him from obscurity and neglect to the pinnacle of power. Men always hate those they have wronged ; and Mr. Tyler fafrly detested those he had betrayed. Before he had been a year in power, he was in fuU, though covert, aUiance with the Democrats, and figur ing for their next Presidential nomination. But such as he are often used, never trusted. Of course, the blighting of the fond hopes of the Whigs, and the transfer to thefr adversaries of the power and patron age they had so arduously won, were disastrous. Their pluur der-seekers went over to the adversary ; their favorite meas- 160 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. ures were defeated, and their energies paralyzed: so State after State deserted their standard. New York, which had proved herself Whig at every State election held under Van Buren's administration, went strongly Democratic at the very first held under Tyler's, and remained so at the two foUowing. Two thirds, ff not three fourths, of the States were carried against us in the State elections of 1841, '42, '43. On the 1st of May, 1844, a Whig National Convention assembled in Baltimore. The venerable Ambrose Spencer, of New York, then nearly eighty years old, presided. Henry Clay was nominated for President without a dissenting voice, and with rapturous enthusiasm. Theodore FreUnghuysen, of New Jersey, was, after a spfrited contest, presented for Vice- President. The delegates separated in undoubting confidence that their choice would be ratified by the people. The Democratic Convention met in the same city soon afterward. A large majority of the delegates had been ex pressly instmcted to nominate Martin Van Buren for Pres ident, and such was the undoubted preference of the Demo cratic masses. But many of the managing poUticians had other views. Some of them had rival personal aspirations ; and these thought two chances for the Presidency enough for one person, even though he had but once succeeded. A good many were tired of the New York ascendency, and eager for a change. The question of annexing Texas — of which more hereafter — had been so manipulated as to render many Southern politicians bitterly, actively hostUe to Mr. Van Buren, who had taken ground adverse to annexation under the existing circumstances. Hence, when the Convention met, a resolve was introduced and passed requiring the vote of two thirds of the delegates to nominate a candidate. Van Buren's pledged majority was thus rendered of no avaU ; and soon, as the ballotings progressed, delegate after delegate dropped away from him, untU at length his remauiing and earnest supporters, in order to defeat Cass, Buchanan, and Woodbury, went over in a body to James K. Polk, of Ten nessee, and nominated him on the forty-fourth baUot. Silas HARRY CLAY. 161 Wright, of New York, was quite unanimously named for Vice-President; but he declined, and George M. Dallas, of Pennsylvania, was set up in his stead. Mr. Polk was a man of moderate abiUties, faultless private character, and undeviating Jacksonism. He had briefly but positively avowed himseff an advocate of the immediate An nexation of Texas. He had once been chosen Speaker of the House of Eepresentatives, and once Governor of Tennessee ; being beaten, when he stood for reelection, by Colonel James C. Jones, the Whig candidate. The suggestion that such a man, whose very name was unknown, up to the hour of his nomination, by a majority of those whose votes he must obtain if he were to be elected, should be pitted against the world- known and admired Harry Clay, was deemed the height of absurdity. And not only did multitudes of Whigs deem the nomination of Polk a virtual surrender at discretion, but many Democrats privately cherished a simUar conviction. The canvass, which opened at once with unusual spirit and deter mination, soon undeceived them. Yet I think I do not err in stating that thousands supported Mr. Polk who intended only to maintain their standing in the Democratic party, whUe they neither expected nor wished to defeat ?.Ir. Clay's election. The early nomination of Silas Wright for Governor of our State added immensely to Mr. Polk's strength. He was widely known as a Ufe-long. friend and devoted foUower of Mr. Van Buren, and his refusal to be placed second on the Polk ticket had increased his popularity with those who felt_ as he did. It soon became CAddent that the party would be substantiaUy united on its National nominees, — united rather by their common hostility to Mr. Clay than by thefr devotion to his competitor. A few eminent New York Democrats issued what was caUed a secret cfrcular, advising their friends to vote for Polk and DaUas, but to be careful to send members to Congress who would oppose to the last the Annexation of Texas. This recommendation was not foUowed. Those Demo crats who dishked Annexation generaUy held their peace; 11 162 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Silas Wright, in two or more campaign speeches, proclaimed that Annexation should only take place under conditions that gave Free Labor equal advantages with Slave from the acqui sition. In the event, though the repugnance to Annexation at the North had been strong and general, Mr. Polk lost very - few Democratic votes on account of it, though his support of the measure was open and unequivocal Mr. Clay, on the other hand, though always clearly hostile to the Tyler or any kindred project, — to any scheme of immediate, unconditional Annexation without the prior consent of Mexico, — yet wrote -several letters on the subject that served to embarrass his friends and encourage his foes. He explained that he did not object to Annexation because of Slavery, which he re garded as temporary, whUe the acquisition of Texas would be permanent, and, under fit circumstances, desirable. These letters were written to two different friends in Alabama, and were probably not intended, for pubUcation, — at aU events, they should not have been published. They gave Mr. Clay's opponents plausible grounds for saying that he was dissatisfied with his position before the public, and anxious to change it ; they embarrassed his many friends who did object to Annexa tion on anti-Slavery grounds; and they did not help him anywhere. Alabama and all the planting States went against him, — aU but Georgia and Louisiana heavUy so. He would have been stronger with the people ff he J had stood on his letter written from Ealeigh, N. C, before his nomination, which was sufficiently full and expUcit. A candidate for a \ high elective office can hardly be too sparing of personal j manifestoes and explanations. On the other great issue of the canvass — the Tariff — Mr. Clay's position was unquestionable. He was for Protection as a cardinal feature of a beneficent National poUcy, and he was especiaUy in favor of the Protective Tariff of 1842, then just fairly in operation, and giving profitable employment to much hitherto dormant labor, not only in existing mines, furnaces, factories, &c., but in opening new mines, and in erecting and fitting up many more furnaces and factories. HARRY CLAY. 163 The country had unquestionably been poor, its industry par alyzed, its revenue deficient, when that Tariff was enacted; the subsequent change had been signal and rapid, and the Whigs believed and insisted that the Protection and the Pros perity stood to each other in the relation of cause and effect. Our opponents, of course, denied the relation : they could not plausibly deny the facts. And thefr metropohtan organ, — The Globe, — which issued a prospectus for campaign sub scribers, in which Protection and the Tariff were fiercely as sailed, circulated in Pennsylvania a revised and expurgated edition, from which the anti-Tariff fulmination was carefuUy expunged. Nor was this the worst. Mr. Polk had been for years in Congress, and had always voted there against Protection, as aU Southem Democrats had voted since 1828. He was as much a Free-Trader in his votes as Mr. Calhoun had been ever since 1824. And yet he was induced by the exigencies of the canvass in Pennsylvania to write (or sign) the foUowing letter : — Columbia, Tenn., June 19, 1844. Dear Sir : I have received recently several letters in reference to my opinions on the subject of the Tariff, and, among others, yours of the 10th ultimo.* My opinions on this subject have been often given to the public. They are to be found in my public acts, and in the public discussions in which I have participated. I am in favor of a tariff for revenue, — such a one as wiU yield a sufficient amount to the Treasury to defray the expenses of Gov emment, economically administered. In adjusting the details of a revenue tariff, I have heretofore sanctioned such moderate dis criminating duties as would produce the amount of revenue needed, and at the same time afford incidental protection to our home industry. I am opposed to a tariff for protection merely, and not for revenue. Acting upon these general principles, it is weU known that I gave my support to the policy of General Jackson's admin istration on this subject. I voted against the tariff act of 1828. I voted for the act of 1832, which contained modifications of some of the objectionable provisions of the act of 1828. As a member * Never given to the public. — H. G. 164 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. of the Committee of Ways and Means of the House of Representar tives, I gave my assent to the bih reported by that committee in December, 1832, making further modifications of the act of 1828, and making also discriminations in the imposition of the duties which it proposed. That bill did not pass, but was superseded by. the biU commonly called the Compromise Bill, for which I voted. In my judgment, it is the duty of the govemment to extend, as far as it may be practicable to do so, by its revenue laws and all other means within its power, fair and just protection to aU the great interests of the whole Union, embracing Agriculture, Manu factures, and the Mechanic Arts, Commerce, and Navigation. I heartily approve the resolutions upon this subject passed by the Democratic National Convention, lately assembled at Baltimore. I am, with great respect, dear sfr. Your ob't serv't, John K. Kane, Esq., Pliiladelphia. 3 AWES K. PoLK. It was impossible not to see that this was an elaborate attempt to darken counsel so as to break the force of the Tariff issue, which was teUing strongly against him wherever Protection was the favorite poUcy, and especiaUy in intensely, and aU but unanimously. Protective Pennsylvania. The Whigs had felt confident of carrying Pennsylvania on the Tariff issue in her State (October) election, and thereupon carrying, not her only, but New York and other doubtful States, at the Presidential election in November; but this letter enabled those who saw fit to insist that Polk was as much a Tariff man as Clay, and thereupon to override us by appeals to Pennsylvania's Democratic and Jackson prepossessions. A remarkably clever .and subtle speech by SUas Wright, at Watertown, N. Y., aided this effort. Mr. Wright had voted in Congress for both the Tariffs of 1828 and 1842, — the two most Protective of any ever yet passed. Yet he assaUed the latter, not in principle, but in detaU ; arguing that it favored the woollen manufacturer at the expense of the wool-grower, by admitting cheap, coarse foreign wool at a low rate of duty. All our efforts to make a distinct issue, and obtain a popular decision as between Protection and Free Trade respectively, HARRY CLAY. 165 were thus baffled ; and, while every Free-Trader went again^ us, — Gulian C. Verplanck leaving us expressly on that ground, — we lost the votes of thousands of Protectionists, who were unfafrly induced to beUeve Polk as much a Protectionist as Clay ! A " Native American " movement, which had originat ed in the FaU of 1843 among the native Democrats of this city, who revolted against what they considered a monopoly of office by our foreign-born population, had extended to, and almost absorbed, the Whig voters of this and other cities, — New York and Philadelphia being both swept by it in the Spring of '44. The first impression that Mr. Clay would gain more than he would lose by this side-wind was not justified by the result; as the Presidential contest grew hotter and hotter, the Democratic Natives returned to their old standard, whUe immigrants by tens of thousands were naturaUzed ex- , pressly to vote against Nativism, and aU their votes told I against us, as did those of thousands more who managed to * vote without awaiting naturalization. Hence we failed to elect our Governor in Pennsylvania by 4,397 majority, — the vote standmg: Shunk, 160,759; Markle, 156,352; and of course failed to carry the State at the following Presidential election, when Polk had 167,535 to 161,203 for Clay; and, as Pennsylvania then voted on the Friday before our election, which commenced on the foUowing Monday and continued tUl Wednesday night, — the weight of that State's vote against us feU heavily on New York, and, by the help of a heavy iUegal vote in this city, barely carried her against us; the votes cast being : PoUc, 237,588 ; Clay, 232,482 ; and Bfrney (AboUtion), 15,812. I think we should have had at least half of that Bfrney vote for Clay, and made him President (for he only needed the vote of New York), in-spite of aU other draw backs, but for those fatal Alabama letters. And the result in Michigan was likewise decided by the Birney vote; while Louisiana was lost by the scandalous " Plaquemine " frauds, — a parish which had given 179 Democratic to 93 Whig votes in '42 giving 1,007 Democratic to but 37 Whig in '44 : the voters coming down from New Orleans on a steamboat, 166 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and pouring in their Ulegal baUots with scarcely a .fig-leaf of decency. Polk carried that State by 699 majority ; and he had 970 in Plaquemines, where he was entitled to 200 at most. As it was, we carried for Mr. Clay the States of Ver mont, Massachusetts, Ehode Island, Connecticut, New Jer sey, Delaware, Maryland, Ohio, North Carolina, Kentucky, and Tennessee, — 11 in aU, casting 105 electoral votes ; whUe Mr. Polk's electors were chosen in fifteen States, casting 170 votes. And, so close was the contest throughout, that Mr. Clay had in the whole Union 1,288,533 popular votes to 1,327,325 for Mr. PoUc : Polk's majority, 38,792. Mr. Birney had in all 62,263 votes : so that Mr. Polk was preferred by a plurality, not a majority, pf the entfre people. But that did jiQt affect the fact nor the validity of his election. I have admired and trusted many statesmen : I profoundly loved Henry Clay. Though a slaveholder, he was a champion of Gradual Emancipation when Kentucky formed her first State Constitution in his early manhood ; and he was openly _th,e same when she came to revise it, haff a century later. He was a conservative in the true sense of that much-abused term : satisfied to hold by the present untU he could see clearly how to exchange it for the better ; but his was no obstinate, bigoted conservatism, but such as became an intel Ugent and patriotic American. From his first entrance into "Congress, he had been a zealous and effective champion of Internal Improvements, the Protection of Home Industiy, a sound and uniform National Currency, — those leading fea tures of a comprehensive, beneficent National policy which commanded the fuUest assent of my judgment and the best exertions of my voice and pen. I loved him for his generous nature, his gaUant bearing, his thriUing eloquence, and his life-long devotion to what I deemed our country's unity, pros- .perity, and just renown. Hence, from the day of his nomina tion in May to that of his defeat in November, I gave every hour, every effort, every thought, to his election. My wife and then surviving child (our third) spent the Summer at a farm-house in a rural township of Massachusetts, whUe I HARRY CLAY. 167 gave heart and soul to the canvass. I traveUed and spoke much ; I wrote, I think, an average of three columns of The Tribune each secular day; and I gave the residue of the hours I could save from sleep to watching the canvass, and doing whatever I could to render our side of it more effective. Very often, I crept to my lodging near the office at 2 to 3 A.M., with my head so heated by fourteen to sixteen hours of incessant reading and writing, that I could only win sleep by means of copious affusions from a shower-bath; and these, whUe they probably saved me from a dangerous fever, brought out such myriads of boils, that — though I did not heed them tUl after the battle was fought out and lost — I was covered by them for the six months ensuing, often fifty or sixty at once, so that I could contrive no position in which to rest, but passed night after, night in an easy-chair. And these unwelcome visitors returned to plague me, though less se verely, throughout the foUowing Winter. I have suffered from their kindred since, but never as I did from thefr young luxu riance in that Winter of '-44 - 45. Looking back through almost a quarter of a century on that Clay canvass of 1844, I say dehberately that it should not have been lost, — that it need not have been. True, there was much good work done in it, but not haff so much as there should have been. I, for example, was in the very prime of Iffe, — thirty-three years old, — and knew how to write for a newspaper ; and I printed in that canvass one of the most effective daily poUtical journals ever yet issued. It was sold for two cents; and it had 15,000 daily subscribers when the canvass closed. It should have had 100,000 from the first day onward; and my Clay Tribune — a campaign weekly, issued six months for fffty cents — should have had not less than a quarter of a miUion. And 'those two issues, wisely and carefuUy distributed, could not have faffed to turn the long-doubtful scale in favor of Mr. Clay's election. Of course, I mean that other effective, devoted journals should also have been systematicaUy disseminated, until every voter who could and would read a Whig journal had been supphed with one, even though he had paid nothing for it. A quarter of a miUion 168 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Campaign Tribunes would have cost at most $ 125,000 ; and there were single houses largely engaged in mining or manu facturing who were damaged more than that amount by Mr. Clay's defeat, and the consequent repeal of the Tariff of '42. There should have been $ 1,000,000 raised by open subscrip tion during the week in which Mr. Clay was nominated, and every dime of it judiciously, providently expended in furnish ing information touching the canvass to the voters of New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. To put a good, effi cient journal into the -hands of every voter who wiU read it is the true mode of prosecuting a poUtical canvass ; meetings and speeches are weU enough, but this is indispensable. Mr. Clay might have been elected, ff his prominent, eariiest sup porters had made the requisite exertions and sacrifices ; and I cannot but bitterly feel that great and lasting pubhc calami ties would thereby have been averted. Mr. Clay, bom in poverty and obscurity, had not even a common-school education, and had only a few months' clerk ship in a store, with a somewhat longer training in a lawyer's office, as preparation for his great career. TaU in person, though plain in features, graceful in manner, and at once dignified and affable in bearing, I think his fervid patriotism and thriUing eloquence combined with decided natural abUi ties and a wide and varied experience to render him the American more fitted to win and enjoy popularity than any other who has lived. That popiUarity he steadily achieved and extended through the earUer haff of his long pubhc Ufe ; but he was now confronted by a poUtical combination weU- nigh invincible, based on the potent personal strength of General Jackson ; - and this overcame him. Five times pre sented as a candidate for President, he was always beaten, — twice in conventions of his poUtical associates, thrice in the choice of electors by the people. The careless readsr of our history in future centuries wUl scarcely reaUze the force of his personal magnetism, nor conceive how milhons of hearts glowed with sanguine hopes of his election to the Presidency, and bitterly lamented his and their discomfiture. XXII. MARGARET FULLER. THE year 1840 — rendered notable by the Harrison can vass — was signaUzed by several less noisy reactions and uprisings against prescription and routine. One of these made itseff manifest in the appearance at Boston of The Dial, — the quarterly utterance of a smaU fraternity of scholars and thinkers, who had so far outgrown the recognized stand ards of orthodox opinion in theology and phUosophy as to be grouped, in the vague, awkward terminology of this stammer ing century, as Transcendentalists. Inexcusably bad as the term is, it so clearly indicates an aspiration, a tendency, as contradistinguished from a reaUzation, an achievement, that it may be aUowed to stand. Those to whom it was apphed had alike transcended the preexisting hmitations of decorous and aUowable thinldng ; but they were aUke in little else. The chosen editor of this magazine was Sarah Margaret Fuller, while Ealph Waldo Emerson and George Eipley were announced as her associates. After a time, Mr. Emer-_ son became the editor, with his predecessor as his cluef as sistant, but there was in reality Uttle change; and, while others contributed to its pages. The Dial, throughout the four or five years of its precarious existence, was chiefly regarded and valued as an expression and exponent of the ideas and / convictions of these two rarest, if not ripest, fruits of New England's culture and reflection in the middle of the Nine teenth Century. The original editor was to have been paid a salary of two hundred doUars per annum, had the sale of the work justified so Uberal a stipend ; but I beUeve it never 170 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. did. What was purposed by its projectors is thus stated in one of her private letters : — " A perfectly .free organ is to be offered for the expression of individual thought and character. There are no party measures to be carried, no particular standard to be set up. A fair, calm tone, a recognition of imiversal principles, wiU, I hope, pervade the essays in every form. 1 trust there wdl be a spfrit neither of dogmatism nor of compromise ; and that this journal wiU aim, not at leading public opinion, but at stimidating each man to judge for himself, and to think more deeply and more nobly, by letting him see how some minds are kept alive by a wise self-trust We cannot show high culture, and I doubt about vigorous thought. But we shaU manifest free action as far as it goes, and a high aim. It were much if a periodical could be kept open, not to accomplish any outward object, but merely to afford an avenue for what of hberal and calm thought might be originated among us, by the wants of individual minds." I presume the circulation of The Dial never reached two thousand copies, and that it hardly averaged one thousand. But its influence and results are nowise measured by the number of its patrons, nor even of its readers. To the " fit audience, though few," who had long awaited and needed its advent, without clearly comprehending their need, it was hke manna in the -wilderness ; and scores of them found in its pages incitement and guidance to a noble and beneficent, even though undistinguished, career. S. Margaret Fuller, the eldest child of Timothy and Margaret Crane FuUer, was born at Cambridgeport, Mass., on the 23d of May, 1810. Her father was a la-wyer of hum ble origin, who had risen, by force of resolution and industry, to a respectable position at the Boston bar, though he was a Eepubhcan, and aU the wealth and business of that city were intensely Federal ; and he ultimately represented in Congress, for several terms, the Middlesex district adjacent. This did not increase his popularity nor his professional gains in Bos ton ; so that, when he died of cholera (Oct. 2, 1835), after a hfe of labor and frugaUty, he left but a narrow competence MARGARET FULLER. 171 to his -widow and large family of mainly young, dependent children. But that -widow was a woman of signal exceUence of soul and Ufe. He was weU estabUshed in practice, and must have heen ten or fifteen years at the bar when he met her, — a young gfrl of humble famUy and Uttle education, but of rare beauty, physical and mental ; and, falling in love with her at sight, sought her acquaintance, wooed, won, and married her. And, though she never found time for extensive study, her natural refinement was such that the deficiencies of her edu cation were seldom or never perceptible. Her eldest daughter was too early stimulated to protracted, excessive mental labor by her fond, exacting, ambitious fa ther, justly proud of her ^eat natural powers, and ignorant of the perU of overtaxing them. I have heard that, when but eight years old, she had her " stint " of so many Latin verses to compose per day, ready to recite to lum on his retum. to their suburban home from his day's work in the city. This may be idle gossip ; I only know that, when I first made her acquaintance, she was, mentaUy, the best instructed woman in America ; whUe she was, physicaUy, one of the least envi able, — a prey to spinal affUction, nervous disorder, and pro tracted, fearfuUy torturing headaches. Those who knew her in early youth have assured me that she was then the picture of rude health, — red-cheeked, robust, vigorous, and comely, if not absolutely beautiful. Too much of this was sacrificed to excessive study. Her near friend and Uterary associate, Ealph Waldo Emerson, gives this account of his first impres sions of her in her early prime of womanhood, ten years be fore I met her : — " I stUl remember the first half-hour of Margaret's conversation. She was then twenty-six years old. She had a face and frame that would indicate fulness and tenacity of life. She was rather under the middle height ; her complexion was fair, with strong, fafr hair. She was then, as always, carefiiUy and becomingly dressed, and of lady-like self-possession. For the rest, her appearance had noth ing prepossessing. Her extreme plainness, a trick of incessantly 172 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. opening and shutting her eyelids, the nasal tones of her voice, all repelled ; and I said to myself, ' We shall never get far.' It is to be said that Margaret made a disagreeable flrst impression on most persons, including those who became afterward her best friends, to such an extreme that they did not wish to be in the Same room with her. This was partly the effect of her manners, ^ which expressed an overweening sense of power, and slight esteem 1 of others ; and partly the prejudice of her fame. She had a dan- I gerous reputation for satire, in addition to her great scholarship. The men thought she carried too many guns, and the women did not like one who despised them. I believe I fancied her too much interested in personal history ; and her talk was a comedy, in which dramatic justice was done to everybody's foibles. I remem ber that she made me laugh more than I liked ; for I was, at that time, an eager scholar of ethics, and had tasted the sweets of soli tude and stoicism, and I found something profane in the hours of amusing gossip into which she drew me ; and, when I returned to my library, had much to think of the crackhng of thorns under a pot." Her beloved and lo-nng cousin, Eev. WiUiam H. Chan ning, in his account of a -visit he paid her, somewhat lat er, when she Uved at Jamaica Plain, near Boston, in 1840, says : — " As, leaning on one arm, she poured out her stream of thought, turning now and then her full eyes upon me to see whether I caught her meaning, there was leisure to study her thoroughly. Her temperament was predominantly what the physiologist would caU nervous-sanguine ; and the gray eye, rich brown hair, and light complexion, with the muscular and weU-developed frame, bespoke delicacy balanced by vigor. Here was a sensitive yet powerful being, fit at once for rapture or sustained effort, intensely active, prompt for adventure, firm for trial She certainly had no beauty; yet the high-arched dome of her head, the changeful expressiveness of every feature, and her whole air of mingled dig nity and impulse, gave her a commanding charm. Especially characteristic were two physical traits. The first was a contraction of the eyelids almost to a point, — a trick caught from near-sight edness, — and then a sudden dilation, tiU the fris seemed to MARGARET FULLER 173 emit flashes, — an effect, no doubt, dependent on her highly magnetized condition. The second was a singular pliancy of the vertebrae and muscles of the neck, enabling her, by a mere move ment, to denote each varying emotion ; in moments of tenderness, or pensive feeling, its curves were swan-like in grace ; but, when she was scornful or indignant, it contracted, and made swift turns, like that of a bird of prey. FinaUy, in the animation, yet abandon, of Margaret's attitude and look, were rarely blended the fiery course of northern, and the soft languor of southern races." Margaret Euller. Such a woman could not Uve idly, especiaUy in diUgent, practical New England, even had she been shielded by for tune from the most obvious necessity for habitual industry. After the completion of her school-day education, and hefore undertaking the editorship of The Dial, she had taught classes of girls in her home, given two years to the conduct of a sem inary in Pro-vidence, E. I. (for which she was never paid), had translated (in 1839) Eckermann's "Conversations with Goethe," and in the autumn of this year she planned and an nounced her most unique enterprise, — a series of conversa- 174 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. tions (in Boston), for women only, wherein she- was to take a leading part; but every one who attended was required to contribute according to her abUity, by written essay or spoken word, as should be suggested or found possible. The general object of these conferences, as declared in her programme, was to supply answers to these questions : " What were we bom to do ? " and " How shaU we do it ? " or (as I think she else where said), " to vindicate the right of Woman to think," by showing that she can think nobly and to good purpose ; but Life, Literature, Mythology, Art, Culture, EeUgion, were Ub erally drawn upon for material and stimulus in the progress of this most arduous undertaking. But Margaret had higher qualifications for such a task than any other person that America had yet produced, being " the best talker since De Stael," as I once heard her characterized. And, as the ablest and most cultivated women in and around Boston were. naturally attracted to her conversations, and in cited to take part in them, I doubt not that they were more interesting and profitable than any intellectual exercises which had preceded them ; and, while the attendance was necessarUy hmited, — averaging less than fffty persons, — there are stfll many Uving who gratefully recaU them as the starting-point and incitement of a new and nobler existence. Yet an at tempt by Margaret to extend their advantages to men proved a failure ; and,' even when repeated under the guidance of so eminent a conversationist as Mr. A. Bronson Alcott, I judge that no decided success was achieved. In 1839, she had visited, -with a party of friends, what was then " the Great West " ; spending weeks in traversing the prairies of Illinois, as yet undeformed by fences and unvexed by the plough. Her observations and impressions, embodied in a volume entitled " Summer on the Lakes," evinced an un- American ripeness of culture, and a sympathetic enjoyment of Nature in her untamed luxuriance. But the alternating meadow and forest of that bounteous region in its primitive state evinced little of the ragged wUdness of mountain or desert; and she remarked that it seemed a reproduction. MARGARET FULLER. 175 though on a gigantic scale, and without enclosures, of the great baronial domains and parks of Europe; so that the traveUer was constantly looking for the castles and other evi dences of human occupation and enjoyment which, it seemed, must be just at hand. Half a century hence, IlUnoians will read her book, and wonder ff the region it vividly depicts and describes can indeed be identical with that which surrounds them. But the work by which she -will be longest and -widest known ffrst appeared in The Dial (1843) as " The Great Law suit," and, when afterward expanded into a separate volume, was entitled, "Woman in the Nineteenth Century." If not the clearest and most logical, it was the loftiest and most commanding assertion yet made of the right of Woman to be regarded and treated as an independent, inteUigent, rational being,, entitled to an equal voice in framing and modifying the laws she is required to obey, and in controUing and dis posing of the property she has inherited or aided to acquire. Yet questions of property, personal rights, guardianship of chUdren, &c., are but incidental, not essential. She says : — ¦_^_ " It is the faujt of Marriage, and of the present relations be tween the sexes, that the woman belongs to the man, instead of forming a whole with him Woman, self-centred, would never be absorbed by any relation ; it woidd only be an experience to her, as to Man. It is a -vulgar error, that love — a love — is to Woman her whole existence : she also is bom for Truth and Love in their universal energy. Would she but assume her inheritance, Mary would not be the only virgin mother." < If you say this is vague, mystical, unmeaning, I shaU not contradict you ; I am not arguing that Woman's undoubted -wrongs are to be redressed by the concession of what Mar garet, or any of her disciples, has claimed as Woman's in herent rights; I only feel that hers is the ablest, bravest, broadest, assertion yet made of what are termed Woman's Eights ; and I suspect that the statement might lose in force by gaining in clearness. And, at aU events, I am confident that there hves no man or woman who would not profit (ff 176 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. he or she has not already profited) by a thoughtful perusal of " Woman in the Nineteenth Century." My wife, having spent much time in and near Boston, had there made Margaret's acquaintance, attended her conversa tions, accepted her leading ideas ; and, desiring to enjoy her society more intimately and continuously, Mrs. G. planned and partly negotiated an arrangement whereby her monitor and friend became an inmate of our famUy and a writer for The Tribune. Up to the close of the Presidential canvass in 1844, 1 had lived thirteen years in New York, and never haff a mUe from the City HaU, — usuaUy -within sixty rods of it. The newspaper business requfring close attention, and being whoUy prosecuted "do-wn to-wn," it seemed, when I once ventured to Uve so far up as Broome Street, that I had strayed to an inconvenient distance from my work; but, -when the great straggle was over, and I the worst beaten man on the conti nent, — worn out by incessant anxiety and effort, covered with boils, and thoroughly used up, - — I took a long stride landward, removing to a spacious old wooden house, built as a country or summer residence by Isaac La-wrence, formerly President of the United States Branch Bank, but which, since his death, had been neglected, and suffered to decay. It was located on eight acres of ground, including a wooded ravine, or deU, on the East Eiver, at Turtle Bay, nearly opposite the southern most point of BlackweU's Island, amid shade and fruit trees, abundant shrubbery, ample garden, &c. ; and, though now for years perforated by streets, and in good part covered by buUd ings, was then so secluded as to be only reached by a narrow, devious, private lane, exceedingly dark at night for one accus tomed to the glare of gas-lamps ; the nearest highway being the old " Boston Eoad " at Forty-ninth Street ; while an hourly stage on the Third Avenue, just beyond, afforded our readiest means of transit to and from the city proper. Accustomed to the rumble and roar of carriages, the stUlness here at night seemed at first so sepulchral, unearthly, that I found difficulty MARGARET FULLER. 177 in sleeping. Of the place itself, Margaret — who became one of our household soon after we took possession — -wrote thus to a friend : — " This place is, to me, entfrely charming ; it is so completely in the country, and all around is so bold and free. It is two miles or more from the thickly settled parts of New York, but omnibuses and cars give me constant access to the city; and, while I can readily see what and whom I will, I can command time and retire ment. Stopping on the Harlem Road, you enter a lane nearly a quarter of a mile long, and, gohig by a small brook and pond that locks in the place, and ascending a slightly rising ground, get sight of the house, which, old-fashioned and of mellow tint, fronts on a flower-garden filled with 'shrubs, large vines, and trim box borders. On both sides of the house are beautiful trees, standing fair, fuU- grown, and clear. Passing through a wide haU, you come out upon a piazza stretching the whole length of the house, where one oan walk in all weathers ; and thence, by a step or two, on a la-wn, with picturesque masses of rocks, shrubs, and trees, overlooking the East River. Gravel-paths lead, by several turns, do-wn the steep bank to the water's edge, where, round the rocky point, a smaU bay curves, in which boats are lying ; and, owing to the cur rents and the set of the tide, the sails glide sidelong, seeming to greet the house as they sweep by. The beauty here, seen by moonhght, is truly transporting. I enjoy it greatly, and the genus loci receives me as to a home." We have seen that the first impressions made by Margaret, even on those who soon learned to admire her most, were nbt favorable ; and it was decidedly So in my case. A sufferer myseff, and at times scarcely able to ride to and from the office, I yet did a day's work each day, regardless of nerves or moods ; but she had no such capacity for incessant labor. If quantity only were considered, I could easUy -write ten columns to her one : indeed, she would only -write at aU when in the vein ; and her headaches and other infirmities often precluded aU labor for days. Meantime, perhaps, the interest of the theme had evaporated, or the book to be reviewed had the 12 178 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. bloom bmshed from its cheek by some rival journal. Attend ance and care were very needful to her ; she would evidently have been happier amid other and more abundant furniture than graced our dwelhng ; and, whUe nothing was said, I felt that a richer and more generous diet than ours would have been more accordant with her tastes and wishes. Then I had a notion that strong-minded women should be above the weakness of fearing to go anywhere, at any time, alone, — that the sex would have to emancipate itseff from thraldom to etiquette and the need of a masculine arm in crossing a street or a room, before it could expect to fight its way to the bar, the bench, the jury-box, and the polls. Nor was I whoUy exempt from the vulgar prejudice against female claimants of functions hitherto devolved only on men, as mistaking the source of their dissatisfaction. Her cousin, Channing, narrat ing a day's conversation -with her in 1840, deUcately says : — " But the tragedy of Margaret's history was deeper yet. Behind the poet was the woman, — the fond and relying, the heroic and disinterested woman. The very glow of her poetic enthusiasm was but an outflush of trustful affection ; the very restlessness of her inteUect was the confession that her heart had found no home. A ' book-worm,' ' a dilettante,' a ' pedant,' I had heard her sneeringly caUed ; but now it was evident that her seeming insensibility was virgin pride, and her absorption in study the natural -veat of emo- I tions which had met no object worthy of life-long attachment. At once, many of her peoidiarities became inteUigible. Fitfulness, unlooked-for changes of mood, misconceptions of words and actions, substitution of fancy for fact, — which had annoyed me during the previous season, as inconsistent in a person of such capacious judg ment and sustained self-government, — were now referred to'the morbid influence of affections pent up to prey upon themselves." If I had attempted to say this, I should have somehow blundered out that, noble and great as she was, a good hus band and two or three bouncing babies would have emanci- \ pated her from a deal of cant and nonsense. Yet I very soon noted, even before I was prepared to ratify their judgment, that the women who -visited us to make or MARGARET FULLER. 179 improve her acquaintance seemed instinctively to recognize and defer to -her as their superior in thought and culture. Some who were her seniors, and whose -writings had achieved a far wider and more profitable popularity than hers, were eager to sit at her feet, and to Usten to her casual utterances as to those of an oracle. Yet there was no assumption of precedence, no exaction of deference, on her part ; for, though somewhat stately and reserved in the presence of strangers, no one "thawed out" more completely, or was more un starched and cordial in manner, when sun'ounded by her friends. Her magnetic sway over these was marveUous, un accountable : women who had known her but a day revealed to her the most jealously guarded secrets of their Uves, seek ing her sympathy and counsel thereon, and were themselves annoyed at having done so when the magnetism of her pres ence was -withdra-wn. I judge that she was the repository of more confidences than any contemporary ; and I am sure no one had ever reason to regret the imprudent precipitancy of thefr trust. Nor were these revelations made by those only of her o-wn plane of Ufe, but chambermaids and seamstresses unburdened thefr souls to her, seeking and receiving her counsel ; whUe children found her a deUghtful playmate and a capital friend. My son Arthur (other-wise " Pickie "), who was but eight months old when she came to us, learned to walk and to talk in her society, and to love and admire her as few but nearest relatives are ever loved and admired by a chUd. For, as the elephant's trunk serves either to rend a lunb from the oak or pick up a pin, so her wonderful range of capacities, of experiences, of sympathies, seemed adapted to every condition and phase of humanity. She had marvel ous powers of personation and mimicry, and, had she conde scended to appear before the foot-Ughts, would soon have been recognized as the first actress of the Nineteenth Century. For every effort 'to Umit vice, ignorance, and misery she had a ready, eager ear, and a -wiUing hand ; so that her charities — large in proportion to her slender means — were signaUy en hanced by the fitness and fulness of her wise and generous 180 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. counsel, the readiness and emphasis with which she, publicly and privately, commended to those richer than herseff any object deserving their alms. She had once* attended, -with other noble women, a gathering of outcasts of their sex ; and, being asked how they appeared to her, repUed, " As women Uke myself, save that they are -victims of -wrong and misfor tune." No project of moral or social reform ever failed to command her generous, cheering benediction, even when she could not share the sanguine hopes of its authors : she trusted that these inight somehow benefit the objects of their self- sacrifice, and felt confident that they must, at aU events, be blest in their o-wn moral natures. I doubt that our various benevolent and reformatory associations had ever before, or have ever since, received such wise, discriminating commenda tion to the favor of the rich, as they did from her pen during her connection with The Tribune. In closing her " Woman in the Nineteenth Century," not long before she came to New York, she had said : — " I stand in the sunny noon of life. Objects no longer glitter " in the dews of morning, neither are they yet softened by the shadows of evening. Every spot is seen, every chasm revealed. Climbing the dusty hill, some few effigies, that once stood for symbols of human destiny, have been broken ; those I stiU- have with me show defects in this broad light. Yet enough is left, even by experience, to point distinctly to the glories of that destiny, — faint, but not to be mistaken, streaks of the future day. I can say with the bard, — ' Though many have suffered shipwreck, still beat noble hearts.' " Though ten years had not passed since her first visit to Em erson, at Concord, so graphicaUy narrated by him in a reminis cence wherefrom I have already quoted, care and suffering had meantime detracted much from the lightness of her step, the buoyancy of her spfrits. If, in any of her varying moods, she was so gay-hearted and mirth-provoking as he there describes her, I never happened to be a witness ; but then I was never so intimate and adnured a friend as he became at an early MARGARET FULLER. 181 day, and remained to the last. Satfrical she could stUl be, on great provocation ; but she rarely, and, I judge, reluctantly, gave evidence of her eminent power to rebuke assumption or meanness by caricaturing or intensifying their unconscious exhibition. She could be joyous, and even merry; but her usual manner, whUe with us, was one of grave thoughtfulness, absorption in noble deeds, and in paramount aspirations and efforts to leave some narrow comer of the world somewhat better than she had found it. I may have afready spoken of her quick, earnest sympathy with humanity under aU diversities of temporal condition, her easy penetration of the disguise which sometimes seeks to conceal the true king in the beggar's rags, and her profound appreciation of nobleness of soul, wherever and however mani fested. Here is an ihstance, from her newspaper article on " Woman in Poverty " : — " The old woman was recommended as a laundress by my friend, who had long prized her. I was immediately struck with the dig nity and propriety of her manner. In the depth of Winter, she brought herself the heavy baskets through the slippery streets ; and, when I asked her why she did not employ some younger per son to do what was so entirely disproportioned to her strength, simply said, she 'lived alone, and coidd not afford to hire an errand-boy.' ' It was hard for her 1 ' ' No ; she was fortunate in being able to get work, at her age, when others could do it better. Her fiiends were very good to procure it for her.' ' Had she a comfortable home?' 'Tolerably so; she should not need one long.' ' Was that a thought of joy to her ? ' ' Yes ; for she hoped to see again the husband and children from whom she had long been separated.' " Thus much in answer to the questions ; but, at other times, the little she said was on general topics. It was not from her that I learned how the great idea of Duty had held her upright through a life of incessant toil, sorrow, bereavement ; and that not only had she remained upright, but that her character had been constantly progressive. Her latest act had been to take home a poor sick girl who had no home of her own, and could not bear the idea of dying . in an hospital, and maintain and nurse her through the last weeks 182 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. of her life. ' Hor eyesight was failing, and she shoidd not be able to work much longer ; but, then, God would pro-fide. Somebody ought to see to the poor motherless girl' " It was not merely the greatness of the act, for one in such cir cumstances, but the quiet, matter-of-course way in which it was done, that showed the habitual tone of the mind, and made us feel that life could hardly do more for a human being than to make him or her the somebody that is daUy so deeply needed, to represent the right, to do the plain right thing. '"God wUl provide.' — Yes, it is the poor who feel themselves near to the God of Love. Though He slay them, stiU do they trust Him. '"I hope,' said I, to a poor apple-woman, who had been drawn on to disclose a tale of distress that, almost in the mere hearing, made me weary of life, — ' I hope I may yet see youjn^ happier con dition.' " ' With Gpd's help ! ' she replied, with a smile that a Raphael would have delighted to transfer to his canvas ; a Mozart, to strains of angelic sweetness. All her life she had seemed an outcast chdd ; stiU, she leaned upon a Father's love." In the summer of 1846, — modifying, but not terminating, her connection with The Tribune, — Margaret left New- York for Boston, and, after a parting -visit to her relatives and early friends, took passage thence (August 1) for Europe. As I last saw her on the steamboat that bore her hence, I inight, perhaps, here bid her adieu. But my recoUections of her do not cease with her departure ; and I feel that my many young readers, whose previous acquaintance with her was but a vague tradition, cannot choose that she be thus abruptly dis missed from these reminiscences, but -will prefer to hear more of the most remarkable, and in some respects the greatest, woman whom America has yet known. I therefore devote some pages to her subsequent career ; only regretting that time and space do not serve to render that career ampler justice. Leaving in the company of admiring, devoted friends, who welcomed her to the intimacy of thefr famUy circle, and wiitr MARGARET FULLER. 183 ing to The Tribune whenever she (too seldom) found topics of interest that did not trench upon her deference to the sanc tities of social intercourse, she first traversed Great Britain ; meeting and conversing -with Wordsworth, Joanna BaiUie, De Quincey, Carlyle, Mazzini, Dr. Chalmers, the Howitts, and many other celebrities, — most of whom have since passed away, — thence crossing to France, where she met George Sand, B^ranger, La Mennais, saw Eachel act, and listened to a lecture by Arago. The next Spring (1847), she, -with her party, sped to Italy ; coasting to Naples, and thence returning leisurely to Eome, where Pius IX. had just been made Pope, and had signalized his accession by words of sympathy and cheer for the aspirations to freedom of do-wn-trodden milUons, which he has long since recanted, but they refuse to forget. Passing thence by Florence, Bologna, Eavenna, to Venice, she there parted -with the friends who had thus far been her companions in travel, — they crossing the Alps on thefr home ward way; whUe she — fuUy identified -with the new-born hopes of Italy — had decided to remain. After hastily visit ing Vicenza, Verona, Mantua, Brescia, MUan, the lakes Garda, Maggiore, and Como, and spending a few days in southern Switzerland, she returned, via Milan and Florence, to Eome, august " city of the soul," which she had chosen for her future home, and whence she wrote (December 20) to her friend Emerson : — " I find how true was the hope that always drew me toward Europe. It was no false instinct that said I might here find an atmosphere to develop me in ways that I need. Had I only come ten years earlier! Now, my life must be a failure, so much strength has been wasted on abstractions, which only came because I grew not on the right soU." She was privately married, not long after her retum to Eome, to Giovanni Angelo OssoU, of a noble but impoverished Eoman famUy. He had caught the .infection of Uberal prin ciples from the air, or from her, — his three brothers being, as he had been, in the Papal ser-vice, and so remaining after the Pope had disappointed the hopes excited by his first words and 184 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. acts under the tiara. In the troublous times then imminent, it was deemed expedient to keep their marriage a close secret; as thefr only hope of securing thefr share of the patrimony of OssoU's recently deceased father ; and she spent the ensuing Summer at the little mountain -vUlage of Eieti, where her son Angelo was born. Eeturning before Winter to Eome, she became at once a trusted counseUor of Mazzini during the brief but glorious era of the Eepubhc ; and, when the city was invested and besieged by a French army, she was ap pointed director of a hospital, and therein found a sphere of sad, but earnest and beneficent acti-dty. WhUe thus ab sorbed in the noblest efforts in behaff of Italy, of Freedom, and Humanity, she snatched time (May 6) to send me a letfe descriptive of the situation, opening, trumpet-toned, as foUows : — " I -write you from barricaded Rome. The mother of nations is now at bay against them aU. " Rome was suffering before. " The misfortunes of other regions of Italy, the defeat at Novarra, — preconcerted, in hope to strike the last blow at Italian inde pendence, — the surrender and painfid condition of Genoa ; the money difficulties, — insuperable, unless the government could secure confidence abroad as weU as at home, — prevented her people from finding that foothold for which they were ready. The vaciUations of France agitated them ; stiU, they could not seriously believe she would ever act the part she has. We must say France, because, though many honorable men have washed their hands of aU share in the perfidy, the Assembly voted funds to sustain the expedition to Civita Vecchia, and the nation, the army, have re mained quiescent." This letter closed as foUows : — * " The Americans here are not in a pleasant situation. Mr. Cass, the Charg6 of the United States, stays here without recognizing the government. Of course, he holds ,no position at the present moment that can enable him to act for us. Besides, it gives us pain that our country, whose policy it justly is to avoid physical interference with the affairs of Europe, shoidd not use a moral MARGARET FULLER, 185 influence. Rome has — as we did — thrown off a govemment no longer tolerable ; she had made use of the suffrage to form another ; she stands on the same basis as ourselves. Mr. Rush did us great honor by his ready recognition of a principle, as represented by the French Provisional Govemment; had Mr. Cass been em powered to do the same, our country would have acted nobly, and aU that is most truly American in America would have spoken to sustain the sickened hopes of European Democracy. But of this more when I write next. Who knows what I may have to teU another week 1 " She soon afterward -wrote (June 6) to another friend as foUows : — "On Sunday, from our loggia, I witnessed a terrible, a real battle. It began at four in the moming : it lasted to the 4ast gleam of hght. The musket-fire was almost unintermitted ; the roU of the cannon, especiaUy from St. Angelo, most majestic. As aU passed at Porta San Pancraaio and ViUa Pamfili, I saw the smoke of every discharge, the flash of the bayonets ; with a glass, could see the men. The French could not use their heavy cannon, being always driven away by the legions of Garibaldi and , when trying to find positions for them. The loss on our side is about three hundred kiUed and wounded ; theirs must be much greater. In one casino have been found seventy dead bodies of thehs The cannonade on our side has continued day and night (being fuU moon) tiU this moming ; they seeking to advance or take other positions, the Romans firing on them. The French throw rockets into the town ; one burst in the court-yard of the hospital just as I arrived there yesterday, agitating the poor suf ferers very much ; they said they did not want to die like mice in a trap." She -writes, five days later, to her friend Emerson as foUows : — ^ " I received your letfTer amid the sound of cannonade and mus-* ketry. It was a terrible battle, fought here from the first till the last hght of day. I could see all its progress from my balcony. The Italians fought hke lions. It is a truly heroic spirit that animates them. They make a stand here for honor and their rights, with little ground for hope that they can resist, now they are heteayed by France. T86 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. " Since the 30th April, I go almost daily to the hospitals ; and though I have suffered, — for I had no idea before how terrible gunshot wounds and wound-fever are, — yet I have taken pleasure, and great pleasure, in being with the men ; there is scarcely one who is not moved by a noble spirit. Many, especiaUy among the Lombards, are the flower of the Italian youth. When they begin to get better, I carry them books and flowers ; they read, and we talk. " The palace of the Pope, on the Quirinal, is now used for con valescents. In those beautiful gardens, I walk with them, — one with his sling, another with his crutch. The gardener plays off all his water-works for the defenders of the coimtry, and gathers flowers for me, their friend. " I feel profoundly for Mazzini ; at moments, I am tempted to say, 'Cursed with every granted prayer,' — so cunning is the demon. He is becoming the inspiring soul of his people. He saw Rome, to which aU his hopes through life tended, for the ffrst time as a Roman citizen, and to become in a few days its ruler. He has animated, he sustains her to a glorious effort, which, if it fails this time, wiU not in the age. His country will be free. Yet to me it would be so dreadful to cause aU the bloodshed, to dig the graves of such martyrs. " Then Rome is being destroyed ; her glorious oaks ; her villas, haunts of sacred beauty, that seemed the possession of the world forever, — the -nlla of Raphael, the viUa of Albani, home of Wm- kelmann, and the best expression of the ideal of modern Rome, and so many other sanctuaries of beauty, — aU must perish, lest a foe should level his musket from thefr shelter. / could not, could not ! " I know not, dear friend, whether I shall ever get home across that great ocean ; but here in Rome I shaU no longer wish to hve. 0 Rome, my country ! could I imagine that the triumph of what I held dear was to heap such desolation on thy head ! " Speaking of the Repubhc you say, ' Do not I -wish Italy had a great man ? ' Mazzini is a great man. In mind, a great poetie statesman ; in heart, a lover ; in action, decisive, and fuU of re- soiuces as Casar. Dearly I love Mazzini. He came m just as I had finished the first letter to you. His soft, radiant look make? melancholy music in my soul ; it consecrates my present life, that, MARGARET FULLER. 187 like the Magdalen, I may, at the unportant hour, shed aU the consecrated ointment on his head. There is one, Mazzini, who understands thee weU ; who knew thee no less when an object of popular fear, than now of idolatry ; and who, if the pen be not held too feebly, wiU help posterity to know thee too." Her friend, Mrs. WUUam W. Story, an eye-witness, -writes of her in those heroic days as foUows : — " Night a,nd day, Margaret was occupied, and, with the Princess [Belgiojoso], so ordered and disposed the hospitals, that their con duct was truly admfrable. All the work was skilfuUy divided, so that there was no confusion or hurry ; and, from the chaotic con dition in which these places had been left by the priests, — who previously had charge of them, — they brought them to a state of perfect regularity and discipline. Of money they had very httle ; and they were obliged to give thefr time and thoughts in its place. From the Americans in Rome they raised a subscription for the aid of the wounded of either party; but beside this they had scarcely any means to use. I have walked through the wards with Margaret, and saw how comforting was her presence to the poor suffering men. ' How long wdl Signora stay ? ' ' When wiU the Signora come again]' they eagerly asked. For each one's peculiar tastes she had a care : to one, she carried books ; to another, she told the news of the day ; and listened to another's oft-repeated tale of -wrrongs, as the best sympathy she could give. They raised themselves up on thefr elbows, to get the last glimpse of her as she was going away. There were some of the sturdy feUows of Garibaldi's Legion there ; and to them she listened, as they spoke with delight of their chief, of his courage and skill ; for he seemed to have won the hearts of his men in a remarkable manner." Of course, this most unequal struggle cajdd have but one result. Eome, gallantly defended by the badly armed, iU-sup- pUed, motley host of volunteers, who had gathered from aU Italy to uphold the flag of the EepubUc, at last feU : the superiority of the French in numbers, in discipline, and in every resource, being too decided to leave room for hope. Margaret had accompanied her husband to the battery in front of the enemy. 188 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. where his company was stationed on the last evening of the siege ; but the cannonade was not renewed, and next moming the city surrendered. Husband and wffe hastened dfrectly to Eieti, where thefr chUd had been left at nurse through the storm ; and whence she -wrote her mother, saying : — " Dearest Mother : I received your letter a few hours before reaching Rome. Like aU of yours, it refreshed me, and gave me as much satisfaction as anything could at that sad time. Its spfrit is of eternity, and befits an epoch when -wickedness and perfidy so impudently triumph, and the best blood of the generous and honorable is poured out like water, seemingly in vain. " I cannot teU you what I suffered to abandon the wounded to the care of their mean foes ; to see the young men that were faith ful to their vows hunted from their homes, — hunted hke wUd beasts, — denied a refuge in every civilized land. Many of those I loved sunk to the bottom of the sea by Austrian cannon, or wiU be shot ; others are in penury, grief, and exUe. May God give due recompense for all that has been endured ! " My mind still agitated, and my spfrits worn out, I have not felt like writing to any one. Yet the magnificent Summer does not smile quite in vain for me. Much exercise in the open air, living much on milk and fruit, have recruited my health ; and I am regaining the habit of sleep, which a month of nightly can nonade in Rome had destroyed. . • " Receiving, a few days since, a packet of letters from America, I opened them with more feeling of hope and good cheer than for a long time past. The first words that met my eye were these, in the hand of Mr. Greeley : ' Ah, Margaret ! the world grows dark with us ! You grieve, for Rome is faUen ; / mourn, for Pickie is dead.' " I have shed rivers of tears over the inexpressibly affecting letter thus begun. One would think I might have become fa miliar enough with images of death and destmction ; yet, some how, the image of Pickie's little dancing figure lying stiff and stark, between his parents, has made me weep more than aU else. There was little hope he could do justice to himself, or lead a happy life, in so perplexed a world ; but never was a character of richer capacity, — never a more charmmg child. To me, he was MARGARET FULLER. 189 most dear, and would always have been so. Had he become stained with earthly faults, I could never have forgotten what he was when fresh from the soul's home, and what he was to me when my soul pined for sympathy, pure and unaUoyed. The three chddren I have seen who were fairest in my eyes, and gave most promise of the future, were Waldo [Emerson], Pickie, Hermann Clarke ; — aU nipped in the bud. Endless thought has this given me, and a resolve to seek the realization of all hopes and plans elsewhere ; which resolve wiU weigh with me as much as it can weigh before the silver cord is finally loosed. Till then, Earth, our mother, always finds strange, unexpected ways to draw us back to 'her bosom, — to make us seek anew a nutriment which has never faded to cause us frequent sickness." Ha-ving somewhat regained her health and calmness at Eieti, she journeyed thence, with her husband and chUd, by Perugia to Florence, where they were welcomed and cheered by the love and admfration of the Uttle American colony, and. by the few British Uberals residing there, — the Brownings prominent among them. Here they spent the ensuing Winter, and Margaret wrote her survey of the grand movement for ItaUan Uberty and unity, which had miscarried for the moment, but which was stiU cherished in mUUons of noble hearts. With the ensuing Spring came urgent messages from her native land, awaking, or rather strengthening, her natural longing to greet once more the dear ones from whom she had now been four years parted ; and on the 17th of May, 1850, they embarked m the bark EUzabeth, Captain Hasty, at Leg horn, for New York, which they hoped to reach within sixty days at farthest. Margaret's correspondence for the preceding month is dark ened with apprehensions and sinister forebodings, which were destined to be fearfuUy justifled. First : Captain Hasty was prostrated, when a few days on his voyage, by what proved to be confluent small-pox, whereof he died, despite his wffe's tenderest care, and his body was consigned to the deep. Then Angelo, Margaret's chUd, was attacked by the terrible disease, and his Ufe barely saved, after he had for days been utterly 190 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. bUnd, and his recovery seemed hopeless. So,, after a week's detention by head winds at Gibralter, they fared on, under the mate's guidance, untU, at noon of July 15, in a thick fog, ¦with a southeast breeze, they reckoned- themselves off the Jersey coast, and headed northeast for the bay of New York, which they expected to enter next moming. But the evening brought a gale, which steadUy increased to a tempest, before which, though under close-reefed saUs, they were driven -with a rapidity of which they were unconscious, untU, about four o'clock the next morning, the EUzabeth struck heavUy on Fire Island Beach, off the south coast of Long Island, and her prow was driven harder and farther into the sand, whUe her freight of marble broke through her keel, and her stem was graduaUy hove around by the terrible waves, untU she lay broadside to their thundering sweep, her deck being careened toward the land, the sea making a clear sweep over her at every sweU. The masts had been promptly cut away; but the ship was afready lost, and her inmates could only hope to save their own Uves. Making their way -with great diffi culty to the forecastle, they remained there, amid the war of elements, untU 9 A. M., when, as the -wreck was e-vidently about to break up, they resolved to attempt the perUous pas sage to the desolate sand-hiUs which were plainly -visible at a distance of a few hundred feet ; and, venturing upon a plank, Mrs. Hasty, aided by a seaman named Da-vis, reached the shore. But Margaret and her husband refused to be saved separately, or without their child ; and the crew were directed to save themselves, which most of them did. StiU, some remained on the -wreck, and were persuading the passengers to trust them selves to planks, when, at 3 P. M., a great sea struck the fore castle, carrying away the foremast, together -with the deck and aU upon it. Two of the crew saved themselves by swim ming ; the steward, with Uttle Angelo in his arms, both dead, was washed ashore twenty minutes later; but of Marg-aret and her husband nothing was evermore seen. Just before setting out on this fateful voyage, she had written apprehensively to a friend at home : — MARGARET FULLER. 191 " I shall embark more composedly in our merchant-ship ; pray ing fervently, indeed, that it may not be my lot to lose my boy at sea, either by unsolaced iUness, or amid howling waves ; or, if so, that Ossoli, Angelo, and I may go together, and that the anguish may be brief" So passed away the loftiest, bravest soul that has yet irra diated the form of an American woman. IN MEMORY OF THE MARTYRS TO HUMAN LIBERTY, WHO FELL DURING THE SIEGE OF MAY AND JUNE, 1849, AS DEFENDERS OF ROME; STERNLY STRUGGLING AGAINST OVERWHELMING NUMBERS, AGAINST AMPLE MUNITIONS, AGAINST FATE: THEIR HIGHEST HOPE THAT IN THEM, LIVING OR DEAD, THE SACRED CAUSE SHOULD NOT BE DISHONORED: THEIR PROUDEST WISH THAT FREEDOM'S CHAMPIONS THROUGHOUT THE WORLD MIGHT RECOGNIZE THEM AS BRETHREN, NOBLY DYING THAT SURVIVING MILLIONS MAY DULY ABHOR TYRANNY AND LOVE LIBERTY : CLOSING THEIR EYES SERENELY, IN THE GENEROUS FAITH THAT RIGHTS FOR ALL, DOMINION FOR NONE, WILL SOON REVIVIFY THE EARTH BAPTIZED IN THEIR BLOOD. STAY, HEEDLESS WANDERER! DEFILE NOT WITH LISTLESS STEP THE ASHES OF HEROES ! BUT, ON THE RELICS OF THESE MARTYRS, SWEAR A DEEPER AND STERNER HATE TO EVERY FORM OF OPPRESSION : HERE LEARN TO FEEL A DEARER LOVE FOR ALL WHO STRIVE FOR LIBERTY : HERE BREATHE A PRAYER FOR THE SPEEDY TRIUMPH OF RIGHT OVER MIGHT, LIGHT OVER NIGHT ; AND FOR Rome's fallen defenders, THAT THE GOD OF THE OPPRESSED AND AFFLICTED MAY HAVE THEM IN HIS HOLY KEEPING. '* They never fe-il who die In a great cause ; the block may soak their gore ; Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limits Be strung to city gates and castle -walls, — But still their spirit walks abroad." Btbon, Marino Faliero, Act U. Scene 2. XXIII. BEQGARS AND BOEEOWERS. NEW YOEK is the metropoUs of beggary. The -wrecks of incapacity, miseducation, prodigaUty, and profligacy drift hither from either continent, and are finaUy stranded on our shore. Has a pretentious famUy in Europe a member who is felt as a burden or loathed as a disgrace ? money is somehow scraped together to ship him off to New York ; tak ing good care that there be not enough to enable him to ship himseff back again. Does a famUy coUapse anywhere in the interior or along the coast of our country, lea-ving a helpless widow and fatherless children to straggle with difficulties utterly unexpected" and unprepared for ? though too proud to work, or even beg, where they are kno-wn, they are ready enough to try their fortune and hide thefr faU in this great emporium, where they would gladly do — if they could get it — the very work which they reject as degrading in the home of their by-gone prosperity and consequence. Though U-ving is here most expensive, and only eminent skUl or effi ciency can justify migration hither on the part of any but single young men, yet mechanics and laborers of very mod erate abUity, and even widows with smaU children, hie hither, in reckless defiance of the fact that myriads have done so before them, — at least nineteen-twentieths of them only to plunge thereby into deeper, more squahd, hopeless misery than they had previously known. Want is a hard master 'anywhere ; but nowhere else are the sufferings, the woes, the desperation, of utter need so trying as in a great city ; and they are preeminently so in this city ; because the multi- BEGGARS AND BORROWERS. 193 pUcity of the destitute benumbs the heart of charity and precludes attention to any one's wants, whUe each is ab sorbed in his o-wn cares and efforts to such extent that he knows nothing of the neighbors who may be starving to death, -with barely a brick wall between him and them. The beggars of New York comprise but a smaU proportion of its sufferers from want ; yet they are at once very numerous and remarkably impudent. One who would accept a franc in Paris, or a shilling in London, with grateful acknowledg ments, considers himself Ul-used and insulted if you offer him less than a doUar in New York. With thousands, beg gary is a profession, whereof the rudiments were acquired in the Old World ; but experience and observation have quahfied them to pursue it -with veteran proficiency and success in the New. Even our native beggars have a boldness of aspiration, an audacity of conception, such as the magnificent proportions of our lakes and vaUeys, our mountains and prairies, are calculated to inspire. I doubt that an Asiatic or European beggar ever frankly avowed his intent to beg the purchase- money of a good farm, though some may have invested their gains thus laudably ; but I have been soUcited by more than one American, who had visited this city from points hundreds of mUes distant, expressly and avowedly to beg the means of buying a homestead. I wish I were certain that none of these had more success -with others than -with me. Begging for churches, for seminaries, for Ubraries, has been one of our most crying nuisances. If there be two hundred negro famiUes living in a city, they wiU get up a Baptist, a Methodist, and perhaps an Episcopal or Congregational Church ; and, being generaUy poor, they wiU undertake to build for each a meeting-house, and support a clergyman, — in good part, of course, by begging, — often in distant cities. A dozen boys attenduig a seminary wiU form a Ubrary asso ciation, or debating club, and then le-vy on mankind in gen eral for the books they would Uke to possess. Thus, in addi tion to our "resident mendicancy. New York is made the cruising-ground, the harvest-field, of the high-soaring beggary 13 194 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. of a whole continent ; while our princely merchants, at some seasons, are waited upon by more soUcitors of contributions than purchasers of goods. Hence, our rich men generaUy court and secure a . reputation for meanness, which may or may not be deserved in a particular instance, but which, in any case, is indispensable as a protection, Uke the ' sheU of a tortoise. Were they reputed benevolent and free-handed, they would never be aUowed time to attend to thefr business, and could not enjoy an hour's peace in the bosom of thefr respective famiUes. The chronic beggars are a bad lot ; but the systematic bor rowers are far worse. What you give is gone, and soon for gotten, — there is the end of it. It is presumable that you can spare, or you would have -withheld it. But you lend (in your greener days) with some expectation of being repaid; hence, disappointment and serious loss, — sometimes, even disgrace, — because of your abused faith in human nature. I presume no year passes wherein the solvent business men of this city lose so httle as Ten MiUions of DoUars borrowed -of them, for a few hours or days, as a momentary accommoda tion, by neighbors and acquaintances, who would resent a suggested doubt of its punctual repayment ; yet who never do repay it. I am confident that good houses have been reduced to bankruptcy, by these most irregular and impro-vi- dent loans. Worse stiU is the habit of borro-wing and lending among clerks and young mechanics. A part of these are pro-vident, thrifty, frugal, and so save money ; another, and much larger class, prefer to " Uve as they go," and are constantly spending in drink and other dissipation that portion of thefr eamings which they should save. When I was a journeyman, I knew several who earned more than I did, but who were always behind with their board. Men of this class are continuaUy borrowing five dollars or ten dollars of thefr fragal acquaint ances to invest in a baU, a sleigh-ride, an excursion, a frohc ; and a large proportion of these loans are never repaid. MU Uons of doUars, in the aggregate, are thus transferred from BEGGARS AND BORROWERS. 195 the pockets of the fragal to those of the prodigal ; depriving the former of means they are sure to need when they come to furnish a house or undertake a business, and doing the lat- ¦ ter no good, but rather confirnung them in thefr evU ways. Such lending should be systematicaUy discountenanced and refused. -- — I hate to say anything that seems calculated to steel others against the prayers of the unfortunate and necessitous ; yet an extensive, protracted experience has led me to the conclu sion that nine tenths of those who soUcit loans of strangers or casual acquaintances are thriftless vagabonds, who wUl never be better off than at present, or scoundrels, who would not pay if they were able. In hundreds of cases, I have been importuned to lend from one doUar up to ten dollars, to help a stranger who had come to the city on some errand or other, had here faUen among thieves (who are far more abundant here than they ever were on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho), been made drunk, and plundered of his last cent, and -who asked only enough to take him home, when the money would be surely and promptly returned. Sometimes, I have lent the sum required ; in other cases, I have refused it ; but I cannot remember a single instance in which the promise to repay was made good. I recoUect a case wherein a capable, intelUgent New-England mechanic, on his way from an East- em city to work two hundred .miles up the Erie EaUroad, borrowed of me the means of saving his children from famine on the way, promising to pay it out of his first month's wages; which he took care never to do. This case differs from many others only in that the swindler was clearly of a better class than that from which the great army of borrowers is so steadUy and bounteously recruited. In one instance, a young man came with the usual request, and was asked to state his case. " I am a clerk from New Hampshire," he began, " and have been for three years em ployed in Georgia. At length, a severe sickness prostrated me ; I lost my place ; my money was exhausted ; and here am I, with my wife, without a cent ; and I want to borrow 196 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. enough to take me 'home to my father's house, when I wUl surely repay it." "Stranger," was the response, "you evi dently cannot stay here, and I must help you get away ; but why say anything about paying me? You know, and /• know, you wiU never pay a cent." My visitor protested and remonstrated ; but I con-vinced, if I did not convert, him. "Don't you see," I rejoined, "that you cannot have been three years a clerk in a leading mercantUe house in Georgia vidthout making the acquaintance of merchants doing busi ness in this city ? Now, if -you were a person likely to pay, you would apply to, and obtain help from, those merchants whom you know; not ask help of me, — an utter stranger." He did not admit the force of my demonstration ; but of course the sequel proved it correct. I consider it aU but an axiom, that he who asks a stranger to lend him money wUl never pay it ; yet I have known an exception. Once, when I was exceedingly poor and needy, in .a season of commercial re-vulsion or " panic," I opened a letter from Utica, and found therein five doUars, which the -writer asked me to receive in satisfaction of a loan of that sum which I had made him — a needy stranger — on an oc casion which he recaUed to my remembrance. Perplexed by so unusual a message, and especially by recei-ving it at . such a time, when every one was seeking to borrow, — no one condescending to pay, — I scanned the letter more closely, and at length achieved a solution of the problem. The -writer was a patient in the State lunatic asylum. ^_A gushing youth once wrote me to this effect : — " Dear Sir ; Among your literary treasures, you have doubt less preserved several autographs of our country's late lamented poet, Edgar A. Poe. If so, and you can spare one, please enclose it to me, and receive the thanks of yours traly." I promptly responded, as foUows : — " Dear Sir : Among my literary treasures, there happens to be exactly one autograph of our country's late lamented poet, Edgar A. Poe. It is his note of hand for fifty doUars, with my indorse- BEGGARS AND BORROWERS. 19.7 ! ment across the back. It cost me exactly $50.75 (including pro- j test), and you may have it for half that amount. Yours, respect- i fuUy." ' That autograph, I regret to say, remains on my hands, and i is stiU for sale at first cost, despite the lapse of time, and the depreciation of our currency. I I once received a letter from an utter stranger, U-nng two j hundred mUes away, asking me to lend him a large sum on a ' mortgage of his farm, and closing thus : — _^ " P. S. My religious views are radically antagonist to yours ; but I know no member of my own church of whom I would so readily, and with such confidence, ask such a favor, as of you." This postscript impelled me, instead of dropping the letter quietly into the waste-basket, as usual, and turning to the next business in order, to answer him as foUows : — " Sir : I have neither the money you ask for, nor the inclina tion to lend it on the security you proffer. And your P. S. prompts the suggestion that, whenever / shaU be moved to seek favors of the members of some other church, rather than of that to which I have hitherto adhered, I shaU make haste to join that other church." — I trust I have here said nothing calculated to stay the hand or chill the spirit of heaven-born Charity. The world is fuU of needy, suffering ones, who richly deserve compas-^ sion ; not to speak oif the vagrants, who, though undeser-ving, l must not be aUowed to starve or freeze. I was struck -with I the response of a man last from St. Louis, who recently in sisted on being helped on to Boston, which he said was his early home, and to whom I roughly made answer, — " You need not pretend to me that the universe is bankrupt : I know better, — know that a man of your natural abUities, if he only behaved himseff, need not be reduced to beggary." " WeU, sfr," he quickly rejoined, " I don't pretend that I have always done the right thing, — if I did, you would know bet ter, — all I say is, that I am hungry and penniless, and that, ff I can only get back to Boston, I can there make a U-ving. 198 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. That 's my whole story." I felt that he had the better reason on his side. There must, there wUl, be heavy drafts made on the sym pathies and the means of aU who can and wiU give, especiaUy during a hard, duU Winter or a " panic." Every prosperous man should ask himseff, " How much can I afford to give ? " and should set apart from a tenth to a third df his income for the rehef of the needy and suffering. Then he should search out the most effective channels through which to reach those whose priva^ons are greatest, and on whom private alms can be -wisely and usefuUy expended. There are thousands who ought to go to the Almshouse at once, — who wiU be more easUy supported there than elsewhere, — and it is no charity to squander your means on these. A great majority of the destitute can be far better dealt with by associations than by indi-nduals ; and of good associations for phUanthropic pur poses there is happUy no lack in any great city. There re mains a scanty residuum of cases wherein money or food must be given at once, by whomsoever happens to be nearest to the sufferer ; but two tlurds of those who beg from door to door, or who -write begging letters, are the very last persons who ought to be given even a shinplaster dime. And, as a general rale, the importunity of a beggar is in inverse ratio to liis deserving, or even to his need. — " Then you condemn borro-wing and lending entirely ? " No, I do not. Many a man knows how to use, wisely and beneficently, means that he does not, while others do, possess : lending to such, under proper safeguards, is most commend able. Many a young farmer, who, by working for others, has earned one thousand doUars, and saved a good part of it, is now prepared to work a farm of his o-wn. He who lends such a youth from one thousand to two thousand doUars, where-with to purchase a farm, taking a mortgage thereon for the amount, and leaving to the young farmer his own weU- earned means wherewith to buy stock and seed, provisions and implements, -wiU often enable him to work his way into a modest independence, surrounded and blessed by a wffe and BEGGARS AND BORROWERS. 199 children, — himseff a useful member of society, and a true pUlar of the State, — when he must, but for that loan, have remained years longer single and a hireUng. So, a young mechanic may often be wisely and safely aided to estabUsh himseff in business by a timely and weU-secured loan ; but this should never be accorded him tUl, by years of patient, frugal industry, he has quahfied himseff for mastery, and proved himseff worthy 'of trust. (Of traders, there wiU always be too many, though none should ever be able to borrow a doUar.) But improvident borro-wing and lending are among our most prevalent and baneful errors ; and I would gladly conduce to thefr reformation. I hold that it may sometimes be a duty to lend ; and yet I judge that at least nine of every ten loans to the needy result in loss to the lender, with no substantial benefit to the borrower. That the poor often suffer from poverty, I know ; but oftener from lack of capacity, skUl, management, efficiency, than lack of money. Here is an empty-handed youth who wants much, and must have it ; but, after the satisfaction of his most urgent needs, he wants, above aU thuigs, abUity to earn money and take good care of it. He thinks his first want is a loan ; but that is a great mistake. He is far more certain to set resolutely to work without than with that pleas ant but baneful accommodation. Make up a square issue, — " Work or starve ! " — and he is quite Ukely to choose work ; whUe, provided he can borrow, he is more Ukely to dip into some sort of speculation or traffic. That he thus almost in evitably fools away his borrowed money concerns only the unwise lender ; that he is thereby confirmed in his aversion to work, and squanders precious time that should fit him for decided usefulness, is of -wider and greater consequence. The widow, the orphan, the cripple, the invaUd, often need alms, and should have them; but to the innumerable hosts of needy, would-be borrowers the best response is Nature's, — "Eoot, hog, or die!" XXIV. DEAMATIC MEMOEIES. I KNOW not that the instinctive yearning of human beings for dramatic representations, and the deUght with which, these are witnessed, ahke by cit and savage, may not be a dictate of Man's innate and utter depra-vity, inspired by the great author of e-vil ; yet I bear unhesitating testimony to its existence. It is very nearly haff a century since my father, lying on a sick-hed, and supposed to be asleep, was intensely amused, as I afterward heard him relate, by witnessing the gambols of his three younger chUdren, — aU between eight and three years old, — who rudely recast into a dramatic form the nonsensical old song of " A frog he would a-wooing go," and enacted it — each personating one of the animals men tioned therein — for their own mutual delectation ; supposing that no one else was cognizant of the performance. I have no reason to suppose that one of them had ever heard of a theatre or play prior to that unique effort. Four or five years later, after we had migrated to Vermont, what was caUed an "exhibition" — that is, a play — was set on foot in our Westhaven school district, prompted by the master, and I was aUotted a part therein. The drama was entitled, I think, " The PaU of Bonaparte," and was intensely saturated with detestation of the great but faUen Corsican, who, I beheve, was stiU Uving, though in reduced cfrcum stances. I recoUect that iny part was that of either General or Captain Lescourt (both were in the play, and I have for gotten which was mine) ; I only recoUect that it was as fuU of execration of the destroyer of French Uberty, the betrayer DRAMATIC MEMORIES. 201 of the hopes of the untitled nuUions, as even / could wish to utter. I recoUect that we had several recitations, and that the play nearly spoiled our studies for that Winter; but I cannot be certain of the consummation. I beUeve our play was played — badly, of course; for the performers did not average twelve years old, and not one of them had ever seen a drama reaUy enacted. If any one asserts from knowledge that that long-expected and intently prepared-for " exhibition" faUed, for some reason, to come off, I shaU not contradict him, though my impression is different. More years passed ; and at length, while an apprentice at Poultney, an "exhibition" was advertised to come off one evening in the church at WeUs, six nules south of us : so a party was made up to attend it, — I being one of that party. Wells had rather a hard reputation in those days (perhaps from the Ul behavior of those who went thither from neigh boring to-wns to " carry on " ) ; which fame, I trast, it has since outgro-wn. It was late in Winter, with deep snow, but thaw ing ; so that, to protect us from the balls of ice and snow con stantly thro-wn at us from our horse's feet, a long board had been set up on edge across the front of our rude sleigh, or, rather, sled ; and this, in passing a point of rock which pro jected into the narrow road through the forest which skirted " Lake St. Austin " (other-wise WeUs Pond), was caught and held; so as to rake the sled clear of its human freight. I received a hurt on my right shin which remained unhealed for years. But no one complained, aU laughed ; and we were soon aU on board and in motion again ; reaching WeUs in good time for the "exhibition." The church was crowded with eager, and not very critical, auditors ; the players were con siderably older than we of Westhaven were at the date of our maiden effort ; and I presume the playing was better, mainly because it could not easUy be worse. There were several pieces (most of them UteraUy so) on the bUls, and aU were duly undergone; yet even their names have escaped me. One pecuUarity remains firmly imbedded in my memory. There was a scene in one of the plays whereui a man snugly 202; RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. hidden amid the thick branches of an evergreen tree overhears. a plot to commit robbery, and perhaps murder also. Where upon he bides his time, and duly precipitates himself on the robber (or robbers) in the very act, putting him (or them) ta death or flight, and gaUantly rescuing the intended victim/ WeU : here is where, the laugh comes in : The tree — a sub stantial pine or hemlock, some eight inches through, and twenty feet high — had been firmly implanted in the stage before the " exliibition " began ; and there it remained to the end, — forming a noticeable, but not very congmous, portion of the furniture of every parlor, boudofr, prison-ceU, court room, &c., &c., from first to last. If city audiences were less fastidious, I suspect that managers might have leamed how to retrench their expenses for furniture, fixtures, scenery, attendants, &c., by studying that Wells " exhibition." UnluckUy, some of my companions on that excursion were of the " won't go home tUl morning " stamp, and could not see why any one should go to WeUs unless to have a " high old time." They controUed the team, and would neither set it on the road to Poultney, nor permit the rest of us to do so, until late the next day. Meantime, they would neither sleep nor tolerate slumber on the part of any one else. The per formances of the latter haff of the night were a Uttle -wUder and rougher than any I was ever before or since impUcated in, however innocently, and WeUs was no-wise to blame there for. I never saw that respected viUage save during that single -visit ; and I sincerely trust that my reputation there is not based on the average conduct of my party on that ex- ceptionaUy boisterous occasion. It was never before nor since so hard for me to work as during the afternoon and evening foUowing our retum to Poultney. More years passed ; I had migrated to this city ; and, in December, 1831, I was first a spectator of a genuine dramatic performance. The place was the Old Bowery ; the play was WUUam TeU ; the hero's son was personated by a Miss Mes- tayer, then in her early teens, and stiU, I think, on the stage, though I have not seen her these many years. The night DRAMATIC MEMORIES.' 203 was intensely cold, in-doors as weU as out; the house was thin ; the playing from fair to middling ; yet I was in rap tures from first to last. I have since thought that the -wise way would be to choose a fit occasion, go once to a good theatre, and never darken the doors of any playhouse again. I never yet entered a green-room, and have no desire to enter one ; but, dim as is my eyesight, I cannot now help seeing boards, and paint (coarsely laid on), and spangles, and general tawdrfriess, where I once saw glory, and beauty, and splendor, and poetry, — Ufe ideaUzed, and Paradise realized. Yes ; un less to recaU lost dreams whUe watching the ecstasies of chU dren on thefr first visit, I judge that the -wise man is he who goes but once to the theatre, and keeps the impression then made on his mind fresh and clear to the close of Ufe. During that, my first Winter in New York, a new theatre was opened at Eichmond HUl (corner of Charlton and Varick Streets), in what was said to have been Aaron Burr's country- seat thfrty years before, and was stUl deemed far up town, though now far below the bulk of our population. There were no street-cars, and scarcely an omnibus, in those days ; Eichmond HiU was away from the great thoroughfares ; so, though the house was smaU, it was seldom weU fiUed ; and we journeymen printers, who worked on ne-wispapers that helped the theatres to auditors, were admitted on orders from the editors respectively on Saturday evenings, when audiences were habituaUy and emphaticaUy thui. I think I thus at tended ten or twelve times, — oftener than in any five con secutive years thereafter. The manager was a Mr. EusseU, — gossip said Mrs. EusseU, who was certauily the better player, and presumptively a cleverer person, than her husband, whose talents were nevertheless respectable. Here I saw Mrs. Duff personate Lady Macbeth better than it has since been done m this city, though she played for $ 30 per week, and others have received ten times that amount for a single night. I doubt that any woman has since played in our city, — and I am thinking of Fanny Kemble, — who was the superior of Mrs. Duff in a wide range of tragic charactei-s. I am not 204 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. sufficiently famiUar with the present stage to render my judg ment of much value ; yet it seems to me that Henry Placide at the Park was a better general comedian than we now have, though John S. Clarke and Joseph Jefferson probably each surpass him in a certain round of characters, and Sothern stands alone as Lord Dundreary. Barney WUUams is a clever Irishman of his kind ; so is WilUam J. Florence : but is not this decidedly a poorer kind than the genial, gentlemanly Irishman of the lamented Power ? I have seen feUows (none of these) personating Irishmen on our stage, — and with a rude, Chinese fidelity to a low, vulgar type of Irish character, — who seemed to me deserving of indictment as UheUers of an unlucky race, who, with aU thefr faults, never yet made themselves despicable. A glad vision is evoked from the long-buried past as I recaU and reveiw the playing I have seen, — that of Naomi Vincent, who appeared at the Old Bowery, became Mrs. Hamblin, and died whUe stUl very young. I never saw her off the stage ; am not sure that she was beautfful, nor even that she had the elements of a great actress in her nature ; but beauty of mind she must have had, or her face greatly beUed her. I never saw another walk the stage -with such an ingenuous, trustful, confiding manner, evincing either .artiessness or the perfection of art, — in her case, I am sure, it must have been the former. Yet her dramatic capacities were barely in the bud — hardly in the blossom — when she was caUed away by inexorable Death. While in Europe, I attended some haff a dozen plays, — mainly operatic, — but the only one that much impressed me was that wherein several popular authors took part, in behalf of the fund for the reUef of their luckless and decayed brethren. The Duke of Devonshire had fitted up a theatre hi his London palace,— a very large and fine one, — BiUwer had -written " Not so Bad as we Seem '' for the occasion ; and the leading parts in it were presented by Douglas Jerrold, Mark Lemon, Charles Dickens, &c., &c. I believe the actresses were dra-wn from the ranks of the profession ; so that their playing was less bad than DRAMATIC MEMORIES. 205 that of the men, who were for the most part — not to speak it profanely — sticks. I never -witnessed more melancholy fail ures than the attempts at dignity and courtesy of those who stood for noblemen. The demonstration of Thackeray's theory that the British plebeian is essentiaUy a snob was perfect. But we had for afterpiece a farce, -written by Dickens and Mark Lemon conjointly ; and the chief part — that of a smart, garrulous, conceited lawyer, named Gabblewig — was played by Dickens most admirably. Though it was not concluded tiU after midnight, I suspect most of the auditors found this play entirely too short. I witnessed the d^hut in America of Fanny Kemble and her father, — she being in her spring-time of youth and its comeliness ; he either a man of Uttle genius, or suffering from the premature decay of his physical powers. I heard the first notes that Jenny Lind condescended to exchange for our doUars, — either of them of greater worth than those of to day. As I never heard MaUbran, I cannot say that Jenny Lind's vocal power exceeded that of any other woman who ever Uved, though I suspect such was the fact. I saw and heard Forrest in his later prime, and judged him effective in a round of characters by no means the highest. When in Paris, 1 attended several representations at the Thd§,tre Fran- 9ais, and, though I understood little that was said, I could not faU to notice the -wide difference between French and Anglo-Saxon acting, — a difference nowise creditable to the latter. Off the stage, the French are more demonstrative and theatrical than the English. Why is it that their positions are reversed before the foot-lights ? — that the Frenchman is there quiet, simple, natural, and the Anglo-Saxon quite other- ¦wise.. Why does the " star " of our kin walk as though on stUts, and speak Uke an auctioneer's beUman ? Can any one explain this strange incongruity ? Of late years, I have seldom visited the theatre, unless to accompany some country friend to whom a play was a novelty 206 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and a luxury ; having been repeUed by its habitual leaning to the side of Slavery, TippUng, and other fruquities whereby some men derive profit from others' weaknesses. The stage was of old a powerful aUy of Liberty ; yet, throughout our long ahd arduous straggle against the -vUest and grossest sys tem of oppression ever kno-wn, it had ever so many sneers and slurs to each cheering, sympathizing word for the cham pions of Man's right to his own Umbs and sinews. AVhy this was, I stop not here to inqufre : I rest on the shameful fact. And the Temperance Eeform has Uke-wise been confronted at every step by scurrUous jests, insidious flings, and mean insinuations, from before the foot-Ughts. Hence thousands, impatient of constant misrepresentation and insult, have aban doned the theatre. I beUeve that it is even yet possible to restore the faUing prestige of the stage, — to revive its by-gone glories in the ages when eminent moralists, like Addison and Dr. Johnson, were its steadfast patrons, and when actors like Garrick and John PhiUp Kemble were the honored and intimate friends of the proudest nobles in the land. But, to achieve this, we must have a manager who can no-wise be bribed or tempted to minister to prurient appetites, nor pettffog the cause of the oppressor. We must have a stage which commands the respect of the wise and good, of the philanthropic and humane, by never varnishing vUlany, never sneering at -vir tue, never pandering to lewd impulses, nor gilding with soph istry the car of triumphant -wrong. I know that " confidence is a plant of slow growth," — that, once justly forfeited, it is not easily regained ; yet I feel sure that there wUl yet be a stage which, by years of patient, self-sacrificing devotion to ¦ right and justice, to freedom and humanity, wiU -win the favor and support of the noble and worthy, and wiU exert a benign influence over the earthly progress and destiny of our race. xxv. "OLD ZACK." OUE Whig anticipations of malign results from the defeat of Clay by Polk, in the Presidential contest of 1844, were fuUy justified by the result. The XXIXth Congress, elected with Polk, was strongly Democratic ; Mr. Eobert J. Walker, of Mississippi, who was made Secretary of the Treas ury, devoted his first annual Eeport to an elaborate and skil ful attack on the Protective. policy, and on the Tariff of 1842 ; and Congress proceeded thereupon to pass a new Tariff, sub stantiaUy as drafted by Mr. Walker, which not only effaced or modified the Protective features of the Tariff of 1842, but substituted Ad Valorem for nearly every Specific duty em bodied in the latter. In other words : where the Tariff of 1842 imposed a duty of so many dollars per ton on a particu lar kind of fron (pr instance), that of 1846 substituted one of 30 per cent, on its value; so that, whenever iron brought a high price, the duty on its importation was correspondingly high ; but, when the price ran down to zero, the duty was diminished in proportion; being thus highest when it was least needed by our iron-workers, and lowest when their need of Protection was greatest. And this act, though opposed by every representative of Pennsylvania in Congress but one, was carried through the Senate by the casting vote of Vice-Presi dent DaUas, whose nomination had been harped upon in the Presidential canvass as a guaranty to Pennsylvania,^ that the Tariff of 1842 would stand unaltered ! Thus the very staff on which she leaned proved a spear to pierce her. In 1844, that State had chosen 12 Democrats, JO Whigs, 208 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and 2 Natives, as her representatives in the XXIXth Con gress ; electing the Democratic Governor by 4,397 majority. We took an appeal to her people in the election of 1846, and they reversed their verdict of 1844, or, rather, attested that they had been deceived in rendering it ; choosing the Whig over the Democratic candidate for Canal Commissioner (the only office fiUed at that election by a general vote of her people) by a majority of 8,894, on a Ught vote. At this elec tion, she chose 16 Whigs and 1 Native to 8 Democrats, to represent her in the XXXth Congress. New York, New Jersey, North CaroUna, and even Virginia, also showed decided Whig gains ; so that, though Maine, New Hampshire, Indiana, IlUnois, Missouri, and Michigan remained strongly Demo cratic, along -with the Cotton States, the new House had a small Whig majority, whereby Eobert C. Winthrop, of Boston, was chosen Speaker. This was a clear verdict against Mr. Polk's Administration, and more especiaUy against its deal ings with the Tariff question in acquiring and in -wielding power. Mr. PoUc had not yet been inaugurated when the indorse ment and momentum given to the Annexation policy by his election carried a bill, providing equivocaUy for the acquisition of Texas, through both Houses of the expiring Congress, — the Senate being -with difficulty, and not without intimidation, induced to concur therein by a bare majority. President Tyler eagerly signed it, and despatched an agent post-haste to Texas to secure her assent, which was as eagerly given. Mr. Polk, soon after his inauguration (March 4, 1845), despatched a considerable part of our little army, under General Zachary Taylor, to the southern limit of the territory actuaUy pos sessed by the Texans, near Corpus Christi, where the General halted, and awaited expUcit orders — which were finaUy sent him — to cross the intervening desert, and advance to the Eio Grande del Norte, nearly opposite Matamoros. "V^Tien he had thus uivaded a region which had, except for a very few days, been in peacefully undisturbed possession of Mexicans for at least a century, he was attacked by a Mexican force, under "OLD ZACK." 209 Ampudia and Arista, which he easUy routed, first at Palo Alto ; * then, pursuing, at Eesaca de la Palma ; f whence the Mexicans were driven across the river in disorder ; evacuating Matamoros, when General Taylor crossed, without making a shadow of resistance. And the war thus begun was prose cuted -with such manifest disproportion of resources and of mUitary prowess, that New Mexico and Upper California were yielded to our arms without a serious contest. General Taylor defeated Santa Anna with an army thrice as numerous as his own at Buena Vista, % in the heart of Northern Mexico, where feU Henry Clay, Jr., at the head of his Kentucky regi ment, and Hon. John J. Hardin, of Illinois, also commanding a regiment of volunteers, with many others of our bravest and best. The Mexicans' loss was, as usual, considerably heavier than ours. Further advance on this line being impracticable, — the country being in the main a ragged, waterless desert, — General Scott was despatched with an army considerably larger than General Taylor's to Vera Cruz, which he soon re duced ; § advancing thence, -with 10,000 men, directly on the city of Mexico; being opposed by Santa Anna, with 15,000 men, at a difficult and strongly fortified pass in the moun tains, fifty miles inland, kno-wn as Cerro Gordo, which he carried after severe fighting ; |1 the Mexicans losing five gen erals and 3,000 men. Scott thence advanced by easy marches, whoUy unopposed, through Xalapa and Perote, to Puebla, where he waited some time in expectation of peace ; but none was offered, and he again advanced to the vicinity of the capital, where Santa Anna had coUected 30,000 men to stop the march of Scott's 12,000, behind such intrenchments, and in positions of such natural strength, that he deemed them impregnable. But those works were partly turned by a flank ing movement toward the South, when that at Contreras was assaulted at 3 A. M.,ir and carried by the bayonet ; the Mexi cans losmg 22 guns, 700 kUled, and 1,500 prisoners. Pur suing their advantage, our soldiers next attacked the Mexicans * May 8, 1846. J February 22, 1847. || April 18. t May 9. § March 27. IF August 20. 14 210 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. at Churubusco (or San Pablo), where the latter were again beaten, after a protracted resistance, with a loss of 1,000 on our side to 5,000 on theirs. The battle closed at the gates of the city of Mexico, which General Scott might at once have entered ; but he chose to remain outside, whUe a volunteer effort at peace-making, by Mr. Nicholas P. Trist, was made, without immediate result. Meantime, the Mexicans had strongly intrenched themselves at Chepultepec, on the south side of the city ; and another fight took place at MoUno del Eey,* near Tambago, where General Worth's di-\dsion routed a force of t-wice its o-wn numbers, inflicting a loss of 3,000, but suffering one of 700, including Colonels Martin Scott and Graham. Chepultepec was next bombarded and assaulted ; f the Mexicans being driven from it with great loss, and pur sued to the gates of the city, where they were met at midr night by commissioners, who gave notice that Santa Anna was escaping with the remnant of his forces, and that the capital was at General Scott's mercy. Our soldiers — reduced by so many bloody conflicts to about 6,000 effectives — marched in -without further resistance, and the Stars and Stripes floated over the " halls of the Montezumas ! " Peace —r despite the difficulty of finding a responsible govemment wherewith to make it — was at length negotiated; J Mexico ceded New Mexico and upper Cahfornia to the United States ; abandoned aU her rights in or claim to Texas ; and received from us an indemnity of $ 15,000,000, whereof $ 3,000,000 were to be reserved, and appUed to the payment of our citi zens who had claims against her for spohations. So ended — when our forces had been withdra-wn, and the stipulated pay ments made -^ our war upon Mexico. The Presidential canvass of 1848 opened directly there after. General Zachary Taylor — a native of Virginia, but long resident in Louisiana — had evinced quaUties ih the war which strongly commended him to many as a candidate for * September 8. f September 12, 13. X February 2, 1848. "OLD ZACK." 211 our highest civU office. Though his part in it was less hrU- Uant, less important, than that of General Scott, he had com mended himseff far more widely to popular favor. Quiet, resolute, sententious, unostentatious, he was admired by mul titudes who profoundly detested the war wherein he had so suddenly achieved renown ; and many of them gloated over the prospect of hurUng from power the poUticians who had so wantonly plunged us into a contest of aggression and in vasion by means of the very instrument which they had em ployed to consummate their purposes. I non-concurred in this view, most decidedly. General Taylor, though an exceUent soldier, had no experience as a statesman, and his capacity for ci-vU administration was whoUy undemonstrated. He ha-d never voted ; had, apparently, paid httle attention to, and taken Uttle interest in poUtics ; and, though inclined toward the Whig party, was but sUghtly iden tified with its ideas and its efforts. Nobody could say what were lus views regarding Protection, Internal Improvement, or the Currency. On the great question — which our vast acquisitions from Mexico had suddenly invested with the gravest importance — of excluding Slavery from the yet un tainted Federal Territories, he had nowise declared himself; and the fact that he was an extensive slaveholder justified a presumption that he, like most slaveholders, deemed it right that any settler in the Territories should be at Uberty to take thither, and hold there as property, whatever the laws of his own State recognized as property. We desired to "take a bond of fate '' that this -view should not be held by a Whig President, at aU events. And then I (with many others) wanted to try over again the issue on which I thought we had been defrauded in 1844. It seemed impossible that Pennsylvania (in -view of her recent experience) should again be persuaded that any Democrat was as good a Protectionist as Henry Clay. Trae, we had not defeated Governor Shunk's reelection in 1847 ; but the mnning of distinct Whig and Native candidates for Governor rendered our defeat inevitable. New York we had carried in 212 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. 1847 by a very large majority, — the Free-Soil section of the Democratic party withholding its votes from the pro-Slavery or "Hunker" State ticket. The Whigs of our State were mainly for Clay ; we could give him her electoral vote ; and this, with Pennsylvania, made his election moraUy certain. Hence I worked hard to secure his nomination. The attempt to run a paraUel between this case and that of 1840 failed in the most material point. General Harrison may not have been so able as Mr. Clay, but he was not less earnestly and unequivocaUy a Whig. No one could indicate a shade of difference in their poUtical views. General Harri son's military career was brief and casual ; his hfe had been that of a civihan, honored and trasted by aU Administrations between 1800 and 1828, — a Territorial Governor, United States Senator, and Ambassador to Columbia. General Taylor, now an old man, had been in the regular army from boyhood, and was in aU things a veteran soldier. His slender acquaint ance with and interest in politics was no-wise feigned, but was usual and natural -with men of his class and position. The Whig National Convention met at Philadelphia on the 1st of June. There was a pretty full, but not extraordinary, attendance. I beheve ex-Governor Morehead, of North Caro lina, presided. It was very soon apparent that the shrewd, influential, managing poUticians were generaUy for Taylor, who had a plurahty, but not a majority, on the first baUot, and gained steadily on the two foUowing, viz. : — 1st. 2d. 3d. Taylor, . 1H 118 133 Clay, 97 86 74 Scott, 43 49 54 "Webster, 22 22 17 Scattering, 6 — — An adjournment was now had tUl next moming ; but the issue was already decided, and General Taylor was nominated on the next baUot ; when the vote stood : Taylor, 171 ; Clay, 35 ; Scott, 60 ; Webster, 14. / AU that we Clayites achieved was the substitution of MiUard FiUmore as Vice-President for Abbott Lawrence, of Boston, who was on the Taylor slate ; but " OLD ZACK." 213 the evidences of dissatisfaction induced the managers to take him off, and let Mr. FiUmore be nominated. The Democrats had met at Baltimore, May 22, and, after a spirited contest, nominated General Lewis Cass, of Michigan, for President, and General WilUam 0. Butler, of Kentucky, for Vice-President. This ticket was respectable both as to character and services, yet its prospects were marred by the fact that that faction of the New York Democracy which had been known as ''Barnburners," or Free-Soil men, resenting the admission of thefr competitors to seats in the Convention, had bolted, and refused to be governed by the result. Ulti mately, they united with the AboUtionists, and with sym pathizing Democrats in other States, in holding a National Convention at Buffalo, which nominated Martin Van Buren, of New York, for President, and Charles Francis Adams, of Massachusetts, for Vice-President. This ticket, though it obtained no single electoral vote, blasted the hopes of General Cass and the regular Democracy. Eunning General Dix for Governor of this State, with Seth M. Gates (AboUtion) for Lieutenant-Governor, it poUed a larger popular vote than was given to Cass ; while General Taylor — though he received many thousands fewer of the people's votes than Mr. Clay did four years previous — carried the State by 98,093 plurahty. He carried Pennsylvania Ukewise by 13,357 plurality, and 2,274 majority over aU. Vermont and Connecticut gave him plurahties only; while Massachusetts, Ehode Island, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, North Carolina, Georgia, Ken tucky, Tennessee, Louisiana, and Florida gave him absolute majorities : making fifteen States in aU that went for him, giving him 163 electoral votes. General Cass had pluraUties only in Maine, Ohio, Indiana, Ilhnois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Iowa, just carrying the two last named ; he was run very close by Taylor in Virginia, Alabama, and Mississippi, but carried them by majorities, as there was no third party in either. New Hampshire, Texas, and Arkansas were all the States that went strongly for him ; making fifteen States in all, casting 127 electoral votes. General Cass received the vote 214 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. of every State lying north and west of the Ohio and Missouri rivers. General Taylor had a plurahty of the popular vote in the Free, and a small majority of that cast in the Slave States ; carrying seven of the former and eight of the latter. In the entire Union, the popular vote stood: Taylor, 1,361,450; Cass, 1,221,920; Van Buren, 291,342. (South CaroUna choosing her electors by the Legislature, no retum of her popular vote can be given.) In the event, I think the anticipations of those who had favored and those who had opposed General Taylor's nomina tion as the Whig candidate for President were both reahzed. He proved an honest, wise, fearless pubUc servant, ^- true to his convictions, but yielding aU proper fealty and deference to those whose votes had placed him in the White House. None more keenly regretted his sudden, untimely death — which occurred on the 9th of July, 1850, after he had been sixteen months President — than those who had most strenu ously resisted his nomination. Yet the fact remains, that the Whig party was demoraUzed by that nomination, and lost ground thereby in the confidence of the masses. We had fought through our great stmggle-of 1844 on weU-defined, important principles of national pohcy, whereon we were at odds -with our adversaries. We had chaUenged them to meet us, and had met them, in face-to- face discussion of our respective views, and had shown the people how and why their personal prosperity and weU-behig would be promoted by the triumph of our ideas, our measures. Beaten in the declared result, the Whig party never stood so strong in the popular con-viction that its aims were just and its pohcy beneficent, as at the close of the canvass of 1844, — as was evinced in our carrying the next House of Eepre sentatives. On the other hand, our success in 1848 was the triumph of General Taylor, not of our principles. It showed that a majority preferred General Taylor to General Cass for President : that was aU. We had fought the contest, not on our principles, but on our candidates ; hence, many who accepted our candidates were indifferent or averse to our " OLD ZACK." 215 principles ; and the very House elected with or under General Taylor chose a Democratic Speaker, and was organized to oppose his Administration. The Whigs could not say with Pyrrhus, " Another such victory, and I am ruined ! " Tius one sufiiced to disintegrate and destroy their organization. They were at once triumphant and undone. I think I never saw General Taylor save for a moment at the Inauguration BaU, on the night after his accession to the Presidency. I was never introduced and never wrote to him ; and, whUe I ultimately supported and voted for him, I did not hurry myseff to secure his election. In fact, that of 1848 was my easiest and least anxious Presidential canvass since 1824. When a resolve opposing the WUmot Proviso was laid on the table at the Convention that nominated him, I felt that my zeal, my enthusiasm for the Whig cause was also laid there. Yet I have Uttle faith in third-party movements, — which are generaUy impelled by an occult purpose to help one of the leading parties by drawing off votes from the other. General Taylor at length avowed himseff " a Whig, but not an ultra Whig " ; and I beheve that was about the Uteral truth. Zeal ous Whigs apprehended that he might, ff elected, shrink from discharging the officeholders appointed by Tyler and Polk; but, after giving him a trial, they were constrained to admit that he " tumed out better than had been expected." He was a man of httle education or Uterary culture, but of signal good sense, coolness, and freedom from prejudice. Few trained and poUshed statesmen have proved fitter depositaries of ci-vU power than this rough old soldier, whose Ufe had been largely passed in camp and bivouac, on the rude outskfrt of civUization, or in savage wastes far beyond it. General Taylor died too soon for his country's good, but not tiU he had proved himseff a -wise and good ruler, ff not even a great one. XXVI. C ON Q-RESS. — MILEAGE. IN our State Election for 1846, Da-vid S. Jackson (Demo crat) had been chosen to represent the upper district of our city in the XXXth Congress, by a smaU majority over Colonel James Monroe (Whig). That majority was obtained by bringing over from BlackweU's Island and poUing in the XlXth Ward the adult male paupers domicUed in the Alms house — not merely those who had resided in our district before they honored our city by condescending to hve at her expense, but those who had been gathered in from other dis tricts. Colonel Monroe objected to this as carrying a joke too far ; and, on his contesting the return of Mr. Jackson, the House sustained the objection, and unseated Jackson without replacing him by Monroe. The people were requfred to vote again. By this time, it was 1848, — the yearof General Taylor's election. Colonel Monroe confidently expected to be the Whig candidate, not merely for the vacancy, but for the ensu ing (XXXIst) Congress. The delegates, however, were "fixed" for Mr. James Brooks, editor of The Express, who was duly nominated for the XXXIst, whUe Colonel Monroe was ten dered the nomination for the remaining ninety days (at $ 8 per day) of the XXXth Congress. He decUned indignantly ; whereupon, that fag-end of a term was tendered to me. I at first resolved to decUne also, — not seeing how to leave my business so abraptly for a three months' sojourn at Washing ton ; but the nomination was so kindly pressed upon me, with such apparently cogent reasons therefor, that I accepted it. CONGRESS. — MILE A GE. 217 There was never any doubt of the result. A poUtician soon caUed on me, professing to be from Mr. Brooks, to inquire as to what should be done to secure our election. "TeU Mr. Brooks," I responded, " that we have only to keep so stiU that no particular attention wUl be caUed to us, and General Taylor wUl carry us both in. There are not voters enough in the district who care about either of us, one way or the other, to s-wamp the majority that the Taylor Electors cannot faU to receive." The returns proved the correctness of this calculation ; the vote of the district standing as foUows : — Electors Taylor 11,066 XXXth Congress. . . Greeley 9,932 XXXIst Congress . . Brooks ..... 9,709 My Cass competitor had 6,826 votes ; my Van Buren ditto, 1,681. General Taylor received but a plurality of the vote of our entire State, whUe Mr. Van Buren's popular vote exceeded that for General Cass ; but in our city the case was quite otherwise ; the aggregates being : Taylor, 29,057 ; Cass, 18,884; Van Buren, 5,106. I beUeve that was the very last election wherein our city ever gave a clear majority against the Demo cratic party, save that in 1854 her vote was pretty evenly divided between the Democratic, Whig-Eepubhcan, and Know- Nothing parties. Owing to the Democratic spUt, nearly or quite aU the Eepresentatives elected from our city to the XXXIst Congress were Whigs. The district from which I was chosen included all our city above Fourteenth Street, with the Xlth, XVth, and XVIlth Wards lying below that street. It then contained about one third of the city's entire population ; it now contains at least two thirds. When, soon after taking my seat, I introduced a biU authorizing each landless citizen of the United States to occupy and appropriate a small allotment of the National Domain free of charge, a Western member wanted to know why Mw York should busy herseff as to the disposal of the PubUc Lands. I responded that my interest in the matter was stimulated by the fact that I represented more landless men than any other member on that floor. 218 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. When the pay of Members of Congress was originaUy fixed, railroads and steamboats as yet were not ; stage-coaches ran on a few, and but a few, great highways of travel; most of the members came part of the way on horseback, as some came aU the way. It was therefore deemed just, ui fixing thefr compensation at $ 6 per day, to stipulate that a Uke sum should be aUbwed as mUeage, or the cost in time and money of journeying each twenty mUes on the roads to and from Washington. Congress, in time, raised its own pay to $ 8 per day, and % 8 for every twenty mUes in coming to and returning from Washington. In 1816, the pay was changed to $ 1,500 per annum, the mUeage remaining as before; but the people revolted at this, and swept out nearly every member who had voted for it. Henry Clay had not voted at aU on the ques tion; but he was Speaker when the bUl passed, and was, therefore, held responsible for its passage, — a responsibUity which he gaUantly met. Opposed for reelection by one-armed John Pope, — one of the ablest men then Uving in Kentucky, but who labored under the serious disadvantage of having been a FederaUst, — Mr. Clay had aU he could do, by popular addresses and personal appeals, to stem the tide of discontent raised by the passage of the Compensation Act; even his barber — a naturalized Irishman, who had hitherto heen one of his most enthusiastic, efficient supporters — maintaining an ominous silence on the subject, untU Mr. Clay himself canvassed him, saying : " I trust I may count on your hearty support, as usual ? " when he responded : " Faith, Mr. Clay, I think I shall vote this time for the man who can get but one hand into the Treasury." Mr. Clay triumphed, as he ever did when a candidate for the House ; but he had to promise to favor a repeal of the Compensation Act, which was carried without serious opposir tion. I think it was at this time that the pay was advanced from $ 6 to $ 8 per day : mileage to correspond. But the introduction and rapid multiphcation of steamboats, especiaUy on our great trans-AUeghany network of rivers CONGRESS. — MILEAGE. 219 and lakes, rendered this mileage absurdly too high. A mem ber now traversed a distance of two thousand miles about as quickly as, and at hardly more expense than, his predecessor by half a century must have incurred on a joumey of two hundred mUes, for which the latter was paid $ 80, and the former $800. Nor was this aU. The steamboat routes, though much more swfftly and cheaply traversed, were nearly t-wice — sometimes thrice — the length of the stage and horseback roads they superseded. And — as the law said at first, and continued to say, that they were to charge MUeage " by the usuaUy traveUed route" — they now charged and received twice as much for traveUing five days in a sumptuous cabin, replete ¦with every luxury, as their fathers paid for roughing it over the mountains in fifteen to twenty days, at a far greater cost. Colonel Benton, — who deemed himseff, and meant to be, an honest man, — somewhere about 1836, made a claim on I the Treasury for about % 2,000, which (he computed) was re quired to bring up his MUeage in past years to a par with the charges of others ! — and this amount was aUowed and paid him. Said First ComptroUer EUsha Whittlesey to me, near the close of his long, upright, and useful pubhc Ufe : " Even Mr. CaUioun has increased his charge for MUeage since the old horseback and stage-coach days : and there is just one man in Congress who charges MUeage now as aU did then. That man is Heney Clay." ^ Getting into the House, I had access to the schedules of Compensation and Mileage, which (though they are said to he printed) were not (and are not) easily found by outsiders ; and I resolved to improve my opportunity. So I hired a reporter to transcribe them, and (using as a basis of compari son the United States Topographer's ofiicial statement of the distances from Washington, by the most direct maU-route, of each post-office in the country) I aimed to show exactly ho)» much could be saved, in the case of each member, Iwxom- puting Mileage on the most dfrect post-route insteaA of " the 220 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. usuaUy traveUed route." This expos^, when prepared, was transmitted to New York, duly appeared in The Tribune, and so came back to Washington. I had expected that it would kick up some dust ; but my expectations were- far outran. It happened that two of our Whig members from Ohio had been run out by close votes at the recent election (October, 1848), and that the crooked MUe age they charged had been used with effect by thefr oppon ents in the canvass. It might be aU right for them to charge Mileage from the heart of Ohio around by Lake Erie to Wash ington, when the Government had constructed a first-rate national road from the vicinity of Baltimore due west through ZanesviUe and Columbus to IndianapoUs; but the people did n't or would n't see it. These beaten sore-heads were specially prompt and eager in preaching a crusade against me on the floor. Good and true men shared, to some extent, their feehngs. Earely, for example, has our country been served by a purer, more upright man than Hon. Jacob CoUamer, of Vermont. " Mr. Greeley," said he to me, " is it not hard that I should be held up to the pubhc as a swindler ? Look at the facts : I Uve in Woodstock. I take the stage to Windsor, — twenty- two miles, — where I strike the nearest raifroad. I ride thence by rail to Boston ; from Boston to New York ; from New York to Washington. It is the easiest and quickest route I can take, — the natural route of travel. I charge for the miles I actuaUy travel, — not one more. Wliy is not this right ? " " Judge," I responded, " now hear me. Your predecessors, I happen to know, took stage from Woodstock to Eutland ; from Eutland to Troy ; thence steamboat to New York ; thence raUroad to Washington. It is now cheaper and easier for you to go by Boston, — three hundred miles farther. WUl you teU me why you should be paid % 240 more per annimi %iecause this cheaper and easier route has lately been opened ? I concede you the advantage of the unproved transit. I pro test agaiEist your charging $ 240, and the people paying it, therefor. That is not just." CONGRESS. — MILE A GE. 221 The only answer I ever received to this way of putting the case was, " Such is the law." But Congress was master of the law, — able, at any time, to make it just, — therefore hound to make it just. It was the object of my expos^ to compel such adjustment. General J. J. McKay, of North CaroUna, once came across to my seat. He was a stern, pro-Slavery Democrat, and it was not the habit of such to waste civilities on me. " Mr. Greeley," he said, " you have printed me as charging seven mUes more than the actual distance from my home to Washington. The fact is not so. I charge precisely as you say is just, — by the shortest maU-route; but I Uve seven mUes beyond my post-office, and I charge from my own house." " How could I know that ? " I inquired. "You could not," he replied. " I am not blaming you ; on the contrary, I thank you for what you have done. It was needed, and wiU do good. I only wished that you should know the facts." As I remember, the MUeage expos6 was first brought formally to the notice of the House by Hon. WiUiam Sawyer, of Ohio, — a very bitter Democrat, who had been annoyed, ere this, by the strictures of a correspondent of The Tribune on his habit of eating a luncheon in the House behind the Speaker's chair. He had a new grievance in the MUeage expos4, — in that, though the eocpos4 correctly stated the dif ference between his Mileage as charged, and what it would be if computed by the most dfrect mail-routes, there was a blun der in the case of his nearest Whig neighbor, Hon. Eobert C. Schenck, -whose overcharge was not made nearly so much as it should be. Schenck promptly rose and offered to- swap -with his GoUeague, if that would afford him any satisfaction. It did n't. There was one shabby dodge of those who stretched their Mileage to the utmost, that challenged, but did not command, my admiration : Each of them would find out which old stager 222 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Uving near him had crowded his MUeage up to the highest high-water mark ; and, upon being asked by the Chafrman of the Committee on Mileage to state his distance from Washing ton, would respond, "I Uve -miles beyond [or this side of] Mr. ." The Chairman would make out his MUeage accordingly; and now the indignantly -virtuous beneficiary would say, "/ had nothing to do with the matter. The Chairman made out my Mileage as he saw fit, and I took whatever he aUowed me." The cleverer wounded pigeons knew a great deal better than to take issue with me directly on the Mileage question; whereon (as I told them) they were a party of ten-score, con fronted by twenty-odd miUions. Thefr true expedient was a back-fire ; and they contrived to set one. This Congress had, at its former session (when I was not a member), voted itseff the books which it had for years been the custom to purchase for each new member, consisting of American Archives, De bates in Congress, etc., now sweUed (by enormous charges) to a cost of about $ 1,000 per man. Those books had been ordered and bought ; nothing remained but to pay for them. I had resolved to vote against this item when the bUl which contained it came up in the House, though I knew it must be paid ; for I apprehended that the advocates of what are caUed liberal appropriations would seek to make capital out of my voting for such an item. Yet, when the usual Deficiency BUl was rapidly going through the House in Comnuttee of the Whole, the members being called on a dozen times in twenty minutes to vote (by rising) for or against some motion or item, a mischievous neighbor caUed out to me, " There, — you 've voted for the books ! " I presume it was so ; and his exultation was based on his knowledge that it was my pur pose to vote against them. And yet (as I had often said) had those books been bought at fair prices, and deposited as public property by the receivers in public libraries and county clerk's ofiices in their respective districts, the outlay would have been judicious and proper. It -was weU known, how ever, that many to whom the books were voted never took CONGRESS. — MILE A GE. 223 nor saw them, — merely drawing an order for them and seU ing it to the book-suppUers for so much cash in hand, — less than half what the boolis cost the Treasury. In one case, a member well kno-wn to me was reputed to have sold his order, and gambled away the proceeds, before going to his lodging the night after the appropriation was voted. A concerted effort was made to involve me in glaring incon sistency on this subject, — A. testified that I had justified the book-buying, — B. that I had denied having intended to vote for it, — and so on. I presume that what each so asserted was trae, or nearly so ; a very slight explanation might have harmonized statements which were so made as to seem in conflict. For a time, it looked as though the MUeage men had the upper hand of me ; and I was told that a paper was drawn up for signatures to see how many would agree to stand by each other in voting my expulsion, but that the movement was crushed by a terse interrogatory remonstrance from Hon. John Wentworth, then a leading Democrat. " Why, you blessed fools ! " warmly inquired ' long John,' " do you want to make hun President ? " They didn't, and so subsided. Much has been said on sundry occasions about the time / wasted, the trouble /made, in the House, concerning Mileage. In fact, I did not introduce the subject there, — made no move regarding it, — and scarcely alluded to it. Hon. EUjah Embree, of Indiana, moved an amendment to the proper Ap propriation BUl, providing that Mileage should thenceforth be charged by the most dfrect maU-route, — a clause which would have saved to the Treasury more than $ 100,000 per annum, — and I voted for it ; but it was beaten in Committee of the Whole, and I think never came to the yeas and nays. At aU events, the abuse was not corrected, and has not yet been ; though the last Congress, in raising its own pay from $ 3,000 to % 5,000 per annum, had the grace to cut down Mileage from forty to twenty cents per mile by " the usually traveUed route." But I think it is no longer " usual " for a man Uving in central Ohio, Indiana, or Illinois to "swing around the 224 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. circle," via Detroit, Buffalo, Albany, and New York, in travel ling from home to Washington city; in fact, raUroads are generaUy straightening and shortening the " usual " routes of traveL I presume, therefore, that the worst excesses of the Mileage swindle have ere this been abated. So mote it be 1 I do not imply that legislation, whether in Congress or else where, is purer and cleaner now than it was twenty or forty years ago. On the contrary, I judge that it is oftener swayed, to the prejudice of the pubhc interest, by considerations of personal advantage, and that the evU tends strongly to in crease and diffuse itseff. The chartering of raUroads through public lands which are required (as is clearly just) to contrib ute to their construction, whether by Uberal grants of terri tory or by direct subsidies in cash, and many kindred devices for promoting at once pubhc and private prosperity, have strongly tended to render legislation mercenary, whether in Congress, in State legislatures, or in municipal councils. When I was in the House, there were ten or twelve members — not more than twelve, I am confident — who were generaUy presumed to be " on the make," as the phrase is ; and they were a class by themselves, as clearly as if they were so many black sheep in a large flock of white ones. I would gladly beheve that this class has not since increased in numbers or in impudence ; but the facts do not justify that presumption. XXVII. CONGEESS AS IT WAS. WHEN I first saw the Congress of the United States, in the Summer of 1836, 1 judge that the Senate was the ablest body of its numbers on earth. Though there were scarcely more than fifty Senators in aU, among them were Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, John C. Calhoun, Silas Wright, John Forsyth, John M. Clayton, George B. Poindexter, Thomas E-wing, WilUam C. Preston, Nathaniel P. Tall madge, and James Buchanan. The House, though less no ticeably strong, contained many able and eminent members, headed by the " old man eloquent," John Quincy Adams, who had been — -with James K. Polk and Franklin Pierce, of whom each was to be — President of the United States. When I entered the House twelve years later, Mr. Adams had recently died ih the Capitol, and been succeeded by Horace Mann, who won much honor in his educational, but httle distinction in his parUamentary, career. The Senate was decidedly weaker than when I first looked down on it from the gaUery ; but Messrs. Webster, CaUioun, and Clayton were stUl members, while Messrs. Wright, Forsyth, Poin dexter, and Preston had passed away, and Mr. Ewing was h-ving (as he stUl is) in retirement. Mr. Polk was President, and Mr. Buchanan was his Secretary of State. Mr. Clay had resigned in 1842, and had not since been in pubhc hfe, save that he was a candidate for President in 18-44 ; but he was reelected to the Senate that winter, and served thenceforth tiU his death, June 29, 1852. Mr. Pierce, after serving four years in the House, and five in the Senate, had resigned in 1843, 15 226 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and had suice been in retirement, save that he took part in the Mexican War. He had been so completely lost to pubhc life that his nomination for President, three or four years afterward, seemed nearly equivalent to a resurrection. Abraham Lincoln and Andrew Johnson (each then about forty years old) were members of the House to which I was chosen, as Mr. Johnson had been of the two preceding and remained through the two following, when he was translated to the Senate. Mr. Johnson, being a Democrat, seldom -vis ited our side of the hall, and I saw much less of him than of Mr. Lincoln, who was a Whig, and who, though a new member, was personally a favorite on our side. He seemed a quiet, good-natured man, did not aspire to leadership, and seldom claimed the floor. I think he made but one set speech during that session, and this speech was by no means a long one. Though a strong partisan, he voted against the bulk of his party once or t-wice, when that course was dic tated by his convictions. He was one of the most moderate, though firm, opponents of Slavery Extension, and notably of a buoyant, cheerful spirit. It -wiU surprise some to hear that, though I was often in his company thenceforward tUl his death, and long on terms of friendly intimacy with him, I never heard him teU an anecdote or story. I judge that Massachusetts had, relatively, the strongest delegation in the House; as hers included Eobert C. Winthrop (Speaker), Julius Eockwell, Joseph Grinnell, Charles Hud son, George Ashmun, Horace Mann, and John G. Paffrey. Ohio probably ranked next; being in part represented by Samuel F. Vinton (then Chairman of Ways and Means), Eobert C. Schenck (who now fiUs that post), Joshua E. Gid dings, and Joseph M. Eoot. Of the Democrats in that House, those whom I recoUect as strongest were James J. McKay and Abraham W. Venable of North Carolina, HoweU Cobb of Georgia, John Wentworth of lUinois, Jacob Thompson of Mississippi, and George W. Jones of Tennessee. Messrs. Alexander H. Stephens and Eobert Toombs of Georgia were conspicuous members, but both then Whigs, though they CONGRESS AS IT WAS. 227 have since been quite otherwise. Vermont had already been reduced to three representatives; but two of these were Jacob CoUamer and George P. Marsh. Virginia had (I beheve) more Whigs in that House than in any before or since ; and among them were John M. Botts, WiUiam L. Goggin, and John S. Pendleton. I judge that A. H. Stephens was the raost acute, and perhaps the ablest, member of that House ; but one of the cleverest, if he had kno-wn how to take good care of himself, was WilUam T. HaskeU of Tennessee, of whom the world never heard. He was not reelected, and died a few years afterward. I do not propose to give here a history of the Uttle that was achieved or the much that was said at that short session. As those were the last sands of an Administration already super seded, the old heads of either party were indisposed to have much done beside passing the necessary Appropriation biUs ; and they were able to have substantiaUy their own way. It used to be a standing topic of complaint, in Congress as weU as out of it, that too much time was wasted there in de bate on abstractions, and especiaUy on questions relating to Slavery. I was repeatedly asked, " Don't you want the floor for a speech on the Slavery question ? " — to which I answered that I did not, — that my views on that subject were already tolerably weU known, and that I did not see how -I could use the time of the House to public advantage by haranguing it on the threadbare topic. I think I did once speak some twenty minutes on the ruling theme ; but it was on an even ing set apart for general debate, and when the time was to be thus wasted anyhow. Yet, one day, when the House was in Committee on some bill ha-ving no necessary or proper con nection -with Slavery, a member rose and said, " Mr. Chair man, I propose to improve this opportunity to give my views on the Slavery question." Hereupon another rose and said, " Mr. Chairman, I object. The subject of Slavery is not now in order. The rule df the House is plain and imperative : the only subject that can he debated is that expressly before us. I insist that the gentleman shaU proceed, if at all, in 228 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. order." The Chairman decided that, since it had long been the tolerated practice to discuss anything pertaining to the state of the Union when in Committee on that subject, he should rule that the gentleman was in order ; and, though we ralhed a respectable force to overrule this decision, it was triumphantly- sustained, — those who were frequently de nouncing " Slavery agitation " taking the lead in its support. Sundry attempts at reforming what were considered abuses were made that Winter, but without briUiant success. We tried to aboUsh flogging in the Na-vy, but were beaten. I think it was Mr. (now General) Schenck who raised a laugh against us by proposing so to amend that the commander of a ship of war should never order a sail spread or reefed with out caUing aU hands and taking a vote of his crew on the question. We were temporarily successful in voting in Com nuttee to stop dealing out strong drink to the sailors and marines in our Navy, though this, too, was ultimately de feated ; but, in the first flush of our delusive triumph, a mem ber sitting near me, who had voted to stop the grog ration, said to a friend who (I believe) had voted the same way, — " Gid, that was a glorious vote we have just taken." " Yes, glorious," was the ready response. " Gid," resumed the elated reformer, " let us go and take a drink on the strength of it." " Agreed," was the wiUing echo ; and they went. I had heen but a few days on the floor, when a leading member on our side came along canvassing in behaff of an embryo proposition that the House should pay from its con tingent fund seven doUars and a half per column each to The Union and The National IntelUgencer respectively for report ing and printing our debates. " You can't pass that scheme here," I said, somewhat abruptly. " WeU, sir, I beUeve you have been a member of this House some four or five days," he retorted ; " and you seem to begin early to decide what m'easures can and what cannot pass." "No matter," I re joined, "you can't pass that measure here." Nevertheless, he tried, but couldn't. Up to this period, I had been favor ably regarded and kindly treated by Messrs. Gales and Seaton, CONGRESS AS IT WAS. 229 the excellent but unthrifty editors of The National InteUi- gencer ; but they wasted no more civUities nor smiles on me so long as they Uved respectively. They e-vidently could not reaUze that any one could oppose such a proposition from any impulse other than one of personal hostUity or general maUgnity. An abuse had crept in, a few years before, at the close of a long, exhausting session, when some Uberal soul proposed that each of the sub-officers and attaches of Congress (whose name is Legion) be paid two hundred and fifty dollars extra because of such protracted labor. Thenceforth, this gratuity was repeated at the close of each session, — the money being taken by the generous members, not from their own pockets, but Uncle Sam's, and the vote being now that " The usual extra compensation," &c. As our session was a light as weU as a short one, some of us determined to stop this Treasury leak; and we did it once or twice, to the chagrin of the movers.- At length, came the last night of the session, and -with it a magnificent " spread,", free to aU members, in one of the Committee-rooms, paid for by a le-vy of five doUars per head from the regiment of underUngs who hoped thus to secure their "usual" gratuity; giving each a net profit on the investment of two hundred and forty-five dollars. After the House had been duly meUowed and warmed, a resolve to pay the "usual extra compensation" was sprung, but faded, — two thirds in the affirmative being ' necessary to effect the requisite suspension of the rules. Nothing daunted, the operators drew off to repair damages ; and soon there was moved a resolve to pay the chaplain of the House his stipend from the Contingent Fund, and to suspend the rules to accord this resolve an immediate consideration. "I object, Mr. Speaker," I at once interposed; "we aU know that the chaplain's salary has not been left unpro-vided for to this time. This is a ruse, — I caU for the Yeas and Nays on suspending the rules." " Shame ! shame ! " rose and reverberated on every side ; " don't keep the chaplain out of his hard-earned money ! Ee- fuse the Yeas and Nays ! " 230 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. They were accordingly refused ; the rules were indignantly suspended, and the resolution received. " And now, Mr. Speaker," said the member who had been cast for this part, " I move to amend the resolve before us by adding the usual extra compensation to the sub-clerks, door keepers, and other employ^ of the House." No sooner said than done; debate was cut off, and the amendment prevaUed. The resolve, as amended, was rushed through ; and our employes pocketed their two hundred and fifty doUars each, less the five doUars so recently and judi ciously invested as aforesaid. I was placed by the Speaker on the Committee on Public Lands, whereof Judge Collamer of Vermont was chairman, and which was mainly composed of worthy, upright men, intent on standing up for public right against private greed. Various fair-seeming biUs and claims came before us, some of which had passed the Senate, yet which we put our heel on as barefaced robberies. Virginia land-claims (for addi tional bounty lands to her Eevolutionary soldiers), a pre emption to part of Eock Island, a preemption claim to Eelgrass Island, etc., were among the jobs remorselessly slaughtered by us : our self-complacency — not to say, self- conceit — steadily augmenting. At length, there came along a meek, innocent-looking stranger, by whom we were nicely taken in and thorouglUy done for. It was a bUl to cede to the several New States (so called) such portions of the unsold public lands within their limits respectively as were sub merged or sodden, and thu^ rendered useless and pestUential, — that is, swamps, marshes, bogs, fens, etc. These lands, we were told, were not merely worthless while undrained : they bred fevers, ague, and all manner of zymotic diseases, shorten ing the Uves of the pioneers, and rendering good lands adja cent unhealthy and worthless. But cede these swamp lands to the States including them respectively, on condition that they should sell them and devote the proceeds to draining and improving them, and everything would be lovely, — the neighboring dry lands would seU readUy, and the Treasury be CONGRESS AS IT WAS. 231 generously replenished, etc. There was never a cat roUed whiter in meal ; and I, for one, was completely duped. As I recoUect, the bUl did not pass at that session; but we re ported strongly in its favor ; and that report, doubtless, aided to carry the measure through the next Congress. The con sequence was a reckless and fraudulent transfer to certain States of millions on millions of choice pubhc lands, whole sections of which had not muck enough on thefr surface to accommodate a single fafr-sized frog ; whUe the appropriation of the proceeds to draining proved a farce and a sham. The lands went, — aU of them that had standing water enough on a square inUe of thefr surface to float a duck in March, -with a good deal more beside ; whUe never a shake of ague has any pioneer been spared by reason of aU the drainage done under this specious act. I can only hope that some of us learned a wholesome lesson of distrast. The last night of a session is usuaUy a long one ; and ours was not only long, but excited. The two Houses were at variance : The House desfring (at least, voting) to prohibit the introduction of Slavery into the vast territories just then acquired from Mexico ; the Senate dissenting from that pohcy. Of course, we who voted for the restriction could not carry it through nor over the Senate. But that body was not content to stand on the defensive : it attached to the great Ci-vU and Diplomatic Appropriation biU (since divided) a provision for the organization of the new Territories, — of course, without the restriction against Slavery, — and, in effect, said to us, "You shaU agree to this, or the new [Taylor] Administration shaU not have a dollar to spend after the 1st of July ensuing." We had one or two conferences by com mittee ; but neither House would give way. FinaUy, the bfll came back to us on this last evening, — the Senate in sisting on its Territorial amendment. Each side had raUied in fuU force (there were but three of aU the representatives chosen from the Slave States who were not in their seats), and we were moraUy certain to be beaten on a motion to recede, — three or four weak brethren changing their votes 232 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. rather than leave the Govemment pennUess ; when some one on our side — I beUeve it was Eichard W. Thompson of Indiana — got in a motion to concwr, with an amendment. This amendment accepted the Senate's project of organizing the new Territories, barely adding a stipulation that the exist ing laws thereof should remain in force till changed hy consent of Congress. (The existing laws were those of Mexico, and forbade Slavery.) This motion prevaUed (as I recoUect, the vote on one important division stood one hundred and eleven to one hundred and ten), and completely changed the whole aspect of the matter. The pro-Slavery men were now as anxious to expunge the Territorial clause as they had previ-'- ously been determined to insert it at aU hazards ; and the Senate struck out its cherished provision, and let the Appro priation biU pass as it originaUy was, lea-ving the question of Slavery in the new Territories as a legacy of trouble to the incoming Administration. Never was a parUamentary move more clever than that motion to concur with an amendment. AVhen it had been carried through our House, and whUe the Senate was chewing upon it, there ensued a hiatus or interregnum, — the House ha-ving reaUy nothing to do but wait. At such times, any member who has a pet project or biU asks a suspension of the rules in favor of its considera tion. Among these motions was one by Mr. Eobert W. Johnson of Arkansas, who wished the House to consider a bUl pro-vid- ing payment for horses lost by his constituents whUe acting as volunteers in Indian wars. His motion to suspend the rules faUed ; when I drew from my drawer a resolve, which had lain there for weeks, proposing that our country take the general name of Columbia, in honor of the great discoverer. I was making a few remarks introductory to my motion to suspend the rales, — which I knew would be defeated, — when, as the affafr was afterward explained to me, Mr. E. W. John son, my predecessor on the floor, turned upon Mr. 0. B. Fick- hn of lUinois, who sat very near him, and angrUy said: " FickUn, why do you always oppose any motion I make ? " " I did not oppose your motion," was the prompt and trae CONGRESS AS IT WAS. 233 reply. " You Ue ! " rejoined Johnson, whose powers of obser vation were not then in their best estate, and he sprang for ward as though to clutch FickUn ; when Mr. Samuel W. Inge of Alabama rushed upon the latter, and struck him two or three blows with a cane. "Order! Order! — Sergeant-at- arms, do your duty ! " interposed the Speaker ; and the affray was promptly arrested. " Why, Inge, what did you fall upon FickUn for ? " inquired one of his neighbors ; FickUn being an intensely pro-Slavery Democrat, as were Inge and Johnson. " Why, I thought,'' explained Inge, " that the fight between the North and the South had commenced, and I might as weU pitch in." I did not hear him say this ; but it was re ported to me directly afterward, and I have no doubt that he said and thought so. Mr. Giddings went over to the Democratic side of the House that night, and made some jocular remark to an ac quaintance on the change of aspect since we had made and. sustained our motion to concur with an amendment, — when he was assaulted, and was glad to get away quite rapidly. I am confident I could not have passed quietly through that side of the House between ten and two o'clock of that night without being assaulted ; and, had I resisted, beaten -within an inch of my Ufe, ff not kUled outright. Yet I had proposed nothing, said nothing, on the exciting topic ; I was obnoxious only because I was presumed earnestly hostUe to Slavery. I' beUeve it was just 7 A. M. of the 4th of March, 1849, — the day of General Taylor's inauguration, — when the two Houses, having finished aU the inevitable business of the, session, were adjoumed without day, and I walked down to my hotel, free thenceforth to mind my own business. I have not since been a member, nor held any post under the Federal Government; it is not likely that I shaU ever again hold one ; yet I look back upon those three months I spent in Congress as among the most profitably employed of any in the course. of my Ufe. I saw things from a novel point of -view ; and, if I came away from the Capitol no wiser than I went thither, the fault was ^ntfrely my own. XXVIII. GLAMOUE. I BELIEVE I heard vaguely of what were caUed "The Eochester Knockings" soon after they were first pro claimed, or testified to, in the Spring of 1848 ; but they did not attract my attention tiU, during a brief absence from New York, — perhaps whUe in Congress, — I perused a connected, circumstantial account of the aUeged phenomena, signed by several prominent citizens of Eochester, and communicated by them to The Tribune, wherein I read it. It made Uttle impression on my mind, though I never had that repugnance to, or stubborn increduUty regarding, occurrences caUed super natural which is evinced by many. My consciousness of ignorance of the extent or hmitations of the natural is so vi-vid, that I never could reaUze that difficulty in crediting what are termed miracles, which many afiirm. Doubtless, the first per son who observed the attraction of fron by the magnet sup posed he had stumbled upon a contradiction to, or violation of, the laws of nature, when he had merely enlarged his own acquaintance with natural phenomena. The fly that sees a rock Ufted from its bed may fancy himself -witness of a mira cle, when what he sees is merely the interposition of a power, the action of a force, which transcends his narrow conceptions, his ephemeral experience. I know so very Uttle of nature, that I cannot determine at a glance what is or is not super natural ; but I know that thuigs do occur which are decidedly supemsual, and I rest in the fact -without being able, or feeUng required, to explain it. I beUeve that it was early in 1850 that the Fox family, m GLAMOUR. 235 which the so-caUed Knockings had first occurred or been noted, — first at the little hamlet Imown as HydesvUle, near Newark, Wayne Co., N. Y., — came to New York, and stopped at a hotel, where I caUed upon them, and heard the so-caUed "raps," but was neither edified nor enlightened thereby Nothing transpired beyond the " rappings " ; which, even if deemed inexpUcable, did not much interest me. In fact, I should have regretted that any of ony departed ones had been impeUed to address me in the presence and hearing of the motley throng of strangers gathered around the table on which the " raps " were generaUy made. I had no desfre for a second " sitting," and inight never have had one ; but my wffe — then speciaUy and deeply interested in aU that pertains to the unseen world, because of the recent loss of our darling " Pickie " — visited the Foxes twice or thrice at thefr hotel, and invited them thence to spend some week or so with her at our house. There, along -with much that seemed tri-vial, imsatisfactory, and unhke what might naturaUy be expected from the land of souls, I received some responses to my questions of a very remarkable" character, evincing knowledge of occurrences of which no one, not an inmate of our family in former years, could weU have been cognizant. Most of these could have no significance or co gency to strangers ; but one of them seems worth narrating. It was the second or third day after the Foxes came to our house. I had worked very hard and late at the office the night before, reaching home after aU others were in bed ; so I did not rise'tiU aU had had breakfast and had gone out, my wife mcluded. When I rose at last, I took a book, and, readuig on a lounge in our front parlor, soon feU into an imperfect doze, during which there caUed a Mrs. Freeman, termed a clairvoyant, from Boston, -with her husband and an invaUd gentleman. They had together visited Niagara FaUs, had seen the Foxes at Eochester on their way ; and now, return ing, had sought them at their hotel, and followed them thence to our house. As they did not inquire for me, being unaware of, as weU as indifferent to, my presence in the house, they 236 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. were shown into the back parlor, separated by sUding-doors from that in which I was, and they there awaited the retum of the Foxes, which occurred in about haff an hour. The sUding-doors being imperfectly closed, I drowsUy heard the strangers urge the Foxes to accompany them to thefr hotel ; saying, " We feel Uke intruders here." This impeUed me to rise and go hito the back parlor, in order to make the stran gers welcome. Mrs. Freeman had been afready, or was soon afterward, magnetized by her husband into the state termed clairvoyance, wherein she professed to see spirits related to those who were put into magnetic rapport with her. What she reported as of or from those spirits might be ever so true or false for aught / kno-W. At length — merely to make the strangers feel more at thefr ease — I said, " Mr. Freeman, may not / be put into communication with spfrits through Mrs. Freeman ? " to -which he readUy assented, placed my hand in hers, made a few passes, and bade me ask such questions as I would. As she had just reported the presence of spfrit broth ers and sisters of others, I asked, " Mrs. Freeman, do you see any brothers or sisters of mine in the spirit world ? " She gazed a minute intently, then responded, " Yes, there is one ; his name is Horace," and then proceeded to describe a chUd quite circumstantiaUy. I made no remark when she had con cluded, though it seemed to me a very wild guess, even had she kno-wn that I had barely one departed brother, that his name was identical with my o-wn, though such was the fact. I resumed, " Mrs. Freeman, do you see any more brothers or sisters of mine in the spirit world 1 " She looked again as before; then eagerly said, "Yes, there is another; her name is Anna — no — her name is Almfra — no (perplexedly), I cannot get the name exactly,— ;- yet it begins -with A." Now the only sister I ever lost was named Arminda, and she, as weU as my brother, died before I was born, — he being three, and she scarcely two, years old. They were buried in a se cluded rural graveyard in Bedford, N. H., about sixty years ago, and no stone marks thefr resting-place. Even my wffe did not know thefr names, and certainly no one else present GLAMOUR. 22>*1 hut myseff did. And, ff Mrs.- Freeman obtained one of these jiames from my mind (as one theory affirms) why not the other as weU ? since each was there as clearly as the other. Not long after this, I had caUed on MademoiseUe Jenny Lind, then a new-comer among us, and was conversing about the current marvel -with the late N. P. WUUs, while MademoiseUe Lind was devoting herseff more especially to some other caU- ers. Our conversation caught MademoiseUe Lind's ear, and arrested her attention ; so, after making some inquiries, she asked ff she could -witness the so-caUed " Manifestations." I answered that she could do so by coming to my house in the heart of the city, as Katy Fox was then staying -with us. She assented, and a time was fixed' for her caU ; at which time she appeared, -with a considerable retinue of total stran gers. AU were soon seated around a table, and the " rappings" were soon audible and abundant. "Take your hands from under the table ! " MademoiseUe Jenny caUed across to me in the tone and manner -of an indifferently bold archduchess. "What ? " I asked, not distinctly comprehending her. " Take your hands from under the table ! " she imperiously repeated ; and I now understood that she suspected me of causing, by some legerdemain, the puzzling concussions. I instantly clasped my hands over my head, and there kept them until the sitting closed, as it did very soon. I need hardly add that this made not the smaUest difference -with the "rap pings " ; but I was thoroughly and finaUy cured of any desfre to exhibit or commend them to strangers. Not long afterward, I witnessed what I strongly suspected to be a juggle or trick on the part of a " medium," which gave me a disrelish for the whole business, and I have seen very little of it since. I never saw a " spirit hand," though persons in whose veracity I have full confidence assure me that they have done so. (I do not say that they were or were not de luded or mistaken.) But I have sat with three others around a smaU table, with every one of our eight hands lying plainly, palpably, on that table, and heard rapid -writing with a pencU on paper, which, perfectly white, we had just pre-viously 238 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. placed under that table ; and have, the next minute, picked up that paper with a sensible, straightforward message of twenty to fifty words fairly written thereon. I do not say by whom, or by what, said message was vrritten ; yet I am quite confident that none of the persons present, who were -dsible to mortal eyes, -wrote it. And here let me deal with the hypothesis of jugglery, knee- joint ratthng, toe-cracking, &c. I have no doubt that pre tended " mediums " have often amazed their visitors by feats of jugglery, — indeed, I am confident that I have been pres ent when they did so. In so far as the hypothesis of spirit agency rests on the integrity Of the "mediums," I cannot deem it estabUshed. Most of them are persons of no especial moral elevation ; and I know that more than one of them has endeavored to simulate " raps " when the genuine could not be evoked. Let us assume, then, that the "raps" prove just nothing at aU beyond the bare fact that sounds have often been produced by some agency or impulse which we do not fuUy understand, and that aU the physical phenomena have been, or may be, simulated or paraUeled by such jugglers as Houdin, Blitz, the Fakir of Ava, &c. But the amazing sleight of hand of these accomplished performers is the result of pro tracted, laborious training, by predecessors nearly or quite as adroit and dexterous as themselves ; while the " mediums " are often children of tender years, who had no such training, have no special dexterity, and some of whom are known to be awkward and clumsy in thefr movements. The jugglery hy pothesis utterly faUs to account for occurrences which I have personaUy witnessed, to say nothing of others. Nor can I unreservedly accept the hypothesis which as cribes the so-caUed "spiritual" phenomena to a demoniac origin. That might account satisfactorUy for some of them, but not for aU. For instance : In the township of Wayne, Erie Co., Pa., near the house of my father and brother, there Uved, twelve or fifteen years ago, a farmer weU kno-wn to me, named King, who had many good traits, and one bad habit, — that of keeping a barrel of whiskey in his house, and dealing GLAMOUR. 239 out the viUanous fluid at so much per quart or pint to his thirsty neighbors. Ha-ving recently lost a beloved daughter, he had recourse to " spiritualism," (abominable term !) and received many messages from what purported to be his lost chUd, — one or more of which insisted that the aforesaid whiskey-barrel must be expeUed from his premises, and never reinstated. So said, so done, greatly to the beneflt of the neighborhood. Now, I feel confident that the DevU never sent nor dictated that message ; for, if he did, his character has been grossly beUed, and his biography ought to be re- -wTitten. The faUures of the " mediums " were more convincing to my mind than thefr successes. A juggler can do nearly as weU at one time as another ; but I have known the most emi nent " mediums " spend a long evening in trying to evoke the " spfritual phenomena," without a gleam of success. I have known this to occur when they were particularly anxious — and for ob-viously good reasons — to astound and convince those who were present and expectant ; yet not even the faintest " rap " could they scare up. Had they been jugglers, they could not have faUed so utterly, ignominiously. But, whUe the sterUe " sittings " contributed quite as much as the other sort to convince me that the " rappings " were not all imposture and fraud, they served decidedly to disin cline me to devote my time to what is caUed " investigation." To sit for two dreary, mortal hours in a darkened room, in a mixed company, waiting for some one's disembodied grand father or aunt to tip a table or rap on a door, is duU music at best ; but so to sit in vain is disgusting. I close -with a few general deductions from all I have seen or kno-wn of " spirit-rapping." I. Those who discharge promptly and faithfuUy aU their duties to those who "stUl live" in the fiesh can have Uttle time for poking and peering into the Ufe beyond the grave. Better attend to each world in its proper order. II. Those who claim, through the " mediums," to be Shake speare, MUton, Byron, &c., and try to prove it by -writing 240 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. poetry, invariably come to grief I cannot recaU .a Une of " spfritual " poetry that is not weak, ff not execrable, save that of Eev. Thomas L. Harris, who is a poet stiU in the flesh. After he dies, I predict that the poetry sent us as his wUl be much worse than he ever -wrote whUe in the body. Even Tupper, appaUing as is the prospect, -wUl be dribbling worse rhymes upon us after death than even he perpetrated whUe on earth. III. As a general rule, the so-caUed " spiritual communica tions " are vague, unreal, shado-wy, trivial They are not what we should expect our departed friends to say to us. I never could feel that the lost relative or friend who professed to be addressing me was actuaUy present. I do not doubt that foolish, trifling people remain so (measurably) after they have passed the dark river ; I perceive that tri-vial questions must necessarily in-vite* trivial answers ; but, after making. aU due allowance, I insist that the " spfritual " Uterature of the day, in so far as it purports to consist of communications or revelations from the future life, is more inane and trashy than it could be ff the sages and heroes, the saints and poets, of by-gone days were reaUy speaking to us through these pre tended revelations. IV. Not only is it true (as we should in any case presume) that nearly aU attempts of the so-caUed " mediums " to guide speculators as to events yet future have proved melancholy failures, but it is demonstrated that the so-called " spirits " are often ignorant of events which have already transpfred. They did not help fish up the broken Atlantic Cable, nor find Sir John FrankUn, nor dispel the mystery which stUl shrouds the fate of the crew and passengers of the doomed steamship President, — and so of a thousand instances wherein thefr presumed knowledge might have been of use to us darkly seeing mortals. AU that we have learned of them has added Uttle or nothing to our knowledge, unless it be in enabling us to answer with more confidence that old, momentous ques tion, " If a man die, shaU he Uve again ? " V. On the whole (though I say it -with regret) it seems to GLAMOUR. 241 me that the great body of the " Spiritualists " have not been rendered better men and women — better husbands, -wives, parents, chUdren — by their new faith. I think some have heen improved by it, — whUe many who were previously good are good stUl, — and some have moraUy deteriorated. I judge that laxer notions respecting Marriage, Divorce, Chas tity, and stern MoraUty generaUy, have advanced in the wake of " SpirituaUsm." And, while I am fully aware that reUgious mania so-caUed has usuaUy a purely material origin, so that revivals have often heen charged with making persons insane whose insanity took its hue from the topic of the hour, but owed its existence to purely physical causes, I stUl judge that the aggregate of both Insanity and Suicide has been increased by " SpfrituaUsm." VI. I do not know that these " communications " made through " mediums " proceed from those who are said to be thefr authors, nor from the spfrits of the departed at aU. Cer tain developments strongly indicate that they do ; others, that they do not. We know that they say they do, which is evi dence so far as it goes, and is not dfrectly contradicted or re butted. That some of them are the result of juggle, coUusion, or trick, I am confident ; that others are not, I decidedly be lieve. The only certain conclusion in the premises to whicli my mind has been led is forcibly set forth by Shakespeare in the words of the Danish prince : — " There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." VII. I find my " spfritual " friends nowise less bigoted, less intolerant, than the devotees at other shrines. They do not aUow me to see through my own eyes, but insist that I shaU see through thefrs. If my conclusion from certain data differs from thefrs, they -wUl not aUow my stupidity to account for our difference, but insist on attributing it to hypocrisy, or some other form of rascaUty. I cannot reconcUe this harsh judg ment with thefr professions of Uberality, their talk of philos ophy. But, ff I Speak at aU, I must report what I see and hear. 16 XXIX. LAKE SUPERIOR. — MmiNG. — CHICAGO. — THE PRAIRIES. ABOUT the year 1836, when the Territory of Michigan was crystaUizing into a State, there arose a dispute between her and Ohio conceming a small but important corner, which included the then -viUage — now city — of Toledo. Mihtary — or rather mUitia — demonstrations were made on bpth sides, wherein much whiskey was consumed, but no blood shed ; and at length the vastly preponderant weight of Ohio in the national councils prevaUed, and insured her the peace ful possession of the contested corner ; whUe Michigan was indifferently consoled by the preposterous addition to her natu ral area of a vast, wUd region lying north and northwest of Lake Michigan, since known as her " Upper Peninsula." This region, when it came to be surveyed and mapped for settle ment, proved rich in superficial indications of mineral wealth, mainly Copper and Iron ; and a small crowd of adventurers rashed thither in quest of suddenly acqufred' riches, in the Summer or FaU of 1844. The early closing of na-vigation on Lake Superior and the St. Mary's Eiver compeUed a part of these to remain on Keewenaw Point throughout the ensuing Winter ; and, being without advices from elsewhere later than the preceding August or September, the Whig portion of this crowd celebrated, on the 4th of March, 1845, Mr. Clay's pre sumed inauguration as President, — an inauguration v^hiphj. unhappily, faUed to come off, as they sanguinely beheved it would do, — nay, did, — because it should have done. When Spring opened, several of them came down, bringing won drous accounts of the riches of the Superior region in copper LAKE SUPERIOR. — MINING. 243 and sUver, if not also m gold, and organized in our city several companies for the development of the wealth thus laid open to human appropriation. An old backwoodsman, named Bailey, who had heard my name, — possibly, read my paper, ¦--had set apart for me some stock in a projected company, to be located on a copper-vein or outcrop of his discovery ; requestmg me to act in his behaff as a trastee or director of said company; to which I, in my yet complete ignorance of mining, acceded. For some three years thereafter, I acted accorduigly; coaxing several assessments from un-wiUing stock holders (who, in thefr primeval innocence, had expected to receive dividends from their stock instead of paying assess ments thereon), and applying the proceeds, as weU as I could, to the opening of our nune. At length, in the Spring of 1847, I made a business -visit to our property, — taking along the gold requfred to pay off our workmen, and buying at Detroit a yoke of oxen, a supply of hay and grain, a good stock of provisions, &c., &c., and taking them with me to their and my destination. I had never before been farther in that direction than De- teoit; and this joumey considerably enlarged my acquaint ance -with the northwest. Lake Huron was shrouded in fog and mist, and our steamboat traversed its entire length slowly and cautiously; thence feeUng our way up the St. Mary's only by dayUght, — the channel being too shaUow, rocky, and intricate for navigation by night. At the Sault Ste. Marie we found a smaU but smart young viUage, to whose assem bled inhabitants two of us made temperance addresses, which I think some of them needed ; and, when our goods had been wagoned across the portage, we took the only old propeUer which had, as yet, been got across and launched on Lake Superior, and started up the lake : but it soon came on to blow a fafr, fresh breeze, which was too much for our rickety craft ; and her captain (very properly) ran her behind Point Keewenaw, and lay there some thirty hours, whUe we pas sengers traversed the coast for a mUe or so, picking agates and other fancied, curious bits of fragmentary rock from the 244 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. enormous quantity of pebbles which flUed, almost to the ex clusion of sand, the narrow strip of debatable ground between land and water. Next day — the -wind having luUed — we rounded the Point, and ran do-wn its longer (northwest) coast to Eagle Harbor ; where, in default of piers, my oxen had to be pushed off the steamboat into the ice-cold water, and com peUed to swim ashore ; my goods being taken off in a smaU boat. That was the 15th of June ; and the shaUow water of the harbor was frozen over next morning for some distance from shore. There were possibly two hundred acres in aU then cleared of timber on Keewenaw Point, a dozen of them adjoining this harbor, which, but for that clearing and the two taverns located thereon, remained very much as when Indians alone possessed or approached it. During the bright, warm day that foUowed that night's hard frost I made my way through the dense woods, unbroken save by our rough road, to our location, some six iniles east of the harbor, and six hundred feet above it, where I paid off our men, and next day made, -with others, an excursion of ten or twelve mUes to the Bohemian and other kindred locations across the Point on Bay de Gris, and back again to our place in the afternoon, — a pedestrian journey of hardly more than twenty mUes in aU ; yet across such a succession of brooks, bogs, and other impedi ments, that I — unused these sixteen years to walking more than an hour per day — was utterly fagged out, and- feU my full length repeatedly in the course of the last two mUes. Thence I visited, in the course of the next three or fpur days, the locations farther down the point, then kno-wn as Copper FaUs, Pittsburg and Boston (CUff), National, Forsyth, &c., encountering — especially around Sand Bay — denser and more ferocious clouds of mosquitoes and gnats than ever hefore or since presented me their hUls, and insisted on immediate satisfaction. I remember a"n instance in which several of us fled half a mile from their haunts to a hut, which we fiUed with a thick and pungent smoke, with very Uttle abatement of their numbers or their appetite. The Pouit was not, m those days, calculated to attract a LAKE SUPERIOR. — MINING. 245 Sybarite, nor even a gourmand ; yet its white-fish and lake trout reUeved admirably the more usual and quite substantial fare of pork, bread, beans, and potatoes ; there were speckled' trout in its multitudinous brooks for those who had time to catch them ; whUe the prevaiUng forest of yeUow pine, maple, beach, &c., covered a soU generaUy weU adapted to potatoes, turnips, grass, &c., though not to the grains most acceptable for human food. Winter wheat or rye was generaUy smoth ered by the snows, which began to faU early in November, and kept coming tiU the aggregate faU often exceeded thirty feet, — the whole being settled meantime to a medium depth of six to seven feet. Sometimes, they said, a chopper, who i feU from the trunk he was cutting in two, seemed in danger of disappearing, and being smothered in earth's fleecy vesture. Indian com could rarely be matured: the nights, even in midsummer, being so sharp that seldom did a mosquito ven ture to pursue his human (or other) prey much after sunset. No copper of any account had yet heen obtained from any but the Pittsburg or Chff mine, nor was any of consequence shipped from the Point, save as aforesaid, whUe I was inter- ¦ ested there. Shareholders, who had raised their $ 10,000 to % 50,000 in fond expectation of early returns, found in time that every cent, and generaUy more, had been expended in constructing a rude pier whereon to land their suppUes, cutting a road thence to their location, building a few rude shanties, drawing up their tools, powder, edibles, &c., and beginning to scratch the earth; another, and stiU another assessment being requfred, — not to secure returns, but to sink a shaft on the vein far enough to determine that they had any ore or metal to mine. By this time, their patience, or their faith, or thefr means, had generaUy faUed, and they were ready to seU out for a song, or abandon the enterprise in despair and disgust. Such is, in essence, "the history of most mining enterprises on Lake Superior ; and I suspect it is not essen tiaUy different elsewhere. I presume there were not in 1859 so many deserted habitations throughout aU the rest of our country as in Cahfornia and the adjacent mining districts ; and 246 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. some of these were quite decent houses. AU I ever reaUzed by mining was a con-viction that digging Gold, or SUver, or Copper, or Iron, or — -best of aU — Coal, is a fafr business for those who bring to and invest in it the requisite capacity, knowledge, capital, experience, perseverance, and good luck, and that the rarely encountered " big strikes " are as one to a milUon. As a rule, there are many easier ways of gaining gold than digging it from the earth ; yet let aU dig who -wiU. The possibiUty of large and sudden gains gives to the business that element of chance or gaming which so fascinates the average mind ; yet, ff aU the gold-diggers on earth were to work faithfuUy throughout next year, and exchange thefr products respectively for wheat, I doubt that thefr recompense would average a peck each per day. And what is true of gold is nearly or quite so of copper, and of most other minerals as weU. I may here say that I made another joumey toLake Supe rior on the same errand the next year (1848), but considerably later in the season, or at the close of August, when encourag ing progress had been made since my pre-vious visit. I now tested an assertion which I had repeatedly heard, but never beheved, — that, exicept m certain shaUow bays, and even there only after a succession of hot, stiU days, — the water of that lake is too cold to bathe in. Gouig alone to the headland west of Eagle Harbor, on a bright Summer noon, when a fresh northern breeze was roUmg m a very fafr surf, I stripped and plunged in ; but was driven out as by a legion of infuriated hornets. The water was too cold to be endured ; and I never thereafter doubted the current assertion, that a hot day was never known on that Lake at a distance of a nule or more from land. On this second visit, I waited and watched a day at the mouth of Eagle Eiver, while our propeUer made a gaUant fight for dear hfe against a very moderate gale. She had faUed to get in ; if, indeed, it were safe to do so, — did not dare to go out boldly, ff she could, — but, with both anchors down and fuU steam up, lay head to the wuid, and did her best to hold CHICAGO. — THE PRAIRIES. 247 her ground and resist being drifted on the ragged rocks at length barely two or three hundred yards astern. She dragged her anchors steadUy, in spite of her best efforts, but slowly ; so that we, expectant passengers ashore, took observations on her from hour to hour, and predicted that she would or would not ride out the gale. She did it handsomely, however ; and, the next moming, her boat took us off, shipping a sea midway back to her that thoroughly drenched and nearly swamped us. Once on board, she weighed anchor and put out ; and, in a fe-w hours, I had looked my last (as yet) on the bold shores of the Father of Lakes, which stand forth green and fafr in toy memory evermore. My earher trip to the upper Lakes was concluded by a -visit, per steamboat, via Mackinac, Sheboygan, and MUwaukee, to Chicago, then a smart and growing viUage, where some thousands of us gathered from the East and from the West in a grand Eiver and Harbor Convention, which was organized on the 4th of July, 1847. Edward Bates, of St. Louis, — who had been in Congress twenty years before, and is stUl U-ving, more than twenty years afterward, — was President of that Convention, and made from the chafr a magnificent speech on our country's progress, genius, and destiny. Other able and good men were there, and many good speeches were made; hut Mr. Bates's alone commanded general admfration. I pre sume that the cause of Internal Improvement, with the sub- Sequent growth of Chicago, received a considerable impetus from that Convention. When it had closed its dehberations, Mr. John Y. Scammon, then a rising young la-wyer, since an eminent banker of Chi cago, took his carriage and pair, and drove -with me for three days over the prairies west of that city ; crossing Fox Eiver, at Geneva, proceeding to what is now Sycamore, and retuming by Elgin to the City of the Lakes. I had, eight years earUer, traversed eastem Michigan, and there made the acquaintance of what were caUed " wet prairies," by which I had not been fascinated. But the prairies of Illinois are of another order ; and, though by no means that dead, unbroken level which 248 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. many suppose them, but cut up by brook-beds, sloughs, and roads, which were merely wagon-tracks in a deep, black soU, wore a generally deUghtful aspect. Forests were less frequent than seemed desfrable; but "openings," or scattered trees, were never out of sight ; and the smaU and scanty settlements were usuaUy surrounded by promising flelds of wheat and Indian corn. I presume we did not see one human habitation where a traveUer over our route would now see fifty ; while the average value or cost of the rude cabins we passed would hardly exceed % 200, where that of the present houses would reach at least $ 2,000. Teamsters conveying grain to Chicago, or retuming with lumber, we frequently met ; yet inns were decidedly scarce; since few teamsters could afford to pay money for food or shelter, whUe the great mass stopped for rest or meals under almost any tree, tumed out thefr horses to graze, or fed them from their wagons, whUe they ate of the substantial, wholesome food they had brought from home. I was told that a load of wheat taken sixty mUes to Chicago in those days just about paid for a return load of fence-boards, lea-ving the farmer who made the exchange Uttle or nothing wherewith to pay tavern-bUls. Few of the early pioneers of lUinois took thither more than a fafr wagon-load of worldly gear and $ 100 ui money ; many lacked the S 100, and had but haff a load of household stuff in the wagon, the other haff being composed of wife and chUdren ; yet aU found some how enough to eat, and did not suffer intolerably from cold : and now those children enjoy comforts and may revel in lux uries which thefr parents scarcely aspfred to. Do they realize and fitly honor the self-forgetting courage and devotion to which they are so deeply indebted ? Milwaukee was then a smart but straggling country -vUlage, consisting of some three to four hundred new houses clus tered about a steamboat-landing at the mouth of a shaUow, crooked creek. Wisconsin had then less than One Hundred Thousand inhabitants, which the twenty subsequent years CHICAGO. — THE PRAIRIES. 249 have increased to nearly or quite One MUUon. Sheboygan was then relatively of far greater consequence and promise than now; but, going back thence a dozen mUes inland to visit my father's brother, Leonard, I was traversing the wil derness -within two nules from the steamboat-landing, and I traveUed under the shade of the primitive forest through most of the succeeding ten mUes. But the soU was generaUy good, and the timber exceUent, being largely composed of Hickory, Elm, and other valuable trees ; whUe the clearings, though new and smaU, were fuU of promise, not only in their thick set, velvet grass, and thefr springing grain, but in thefr wealth of rugged, active, coarsely clad, but intelUgent, -vigorous chU dren. Wisconsin has scarcely been surpassed by any State in her subsequent gro-wth in population, production, and wealth ; and I predict that the close of this century wiU see her the home of Three MiUions of people as energetic, indus trious, worthy, and happy, as any on earth. At that time, no mile of raifroad terminated in Chicago, and barely one hne (the Michigan Central) pointed directly at that young city. Even this one proposed to stop at New Buffalo (mouth of St. Joseph's Eiver), its passengers reaching thence its present proper terminus by steamboat in Summer, and by stage-coach in Winter. Of course, they soon saw reason to change thefr plans; and New Buffalo, deserted, became one of our many American victims of bUghted hopes. Yet, after years of desolation, her denizens have discovered that their district is admirably adapted to peach-culture ; the cold, northwest winds of later Autumn and Winter reaching them softened by passing over the adjacent lake, and so leav mg her fruit-buds unbUghted by their shriveUfrig breath. Landing here from Chicago, I took stage to Kalamazoo, or thereabout, where we met a just-completed section of the Michigan Central, on which I was brought to Detroit, and thence came homeward by steamboat to Buffalo, raifroad to Albany, and steamboat to this city. xxx. THE GREAT SENATORS. — THE COMPROMISE OP 1850. OUE great triumvirate — Clay, Webster, Calhoun — last appeared together in pubhc Ufe in the Senate of 1849 - 50 : the two former figuring conspicuously hi the de bates which preluded and resulted in what was termed the Compromise of that year, — Mr. Calhoun dying as they had fairly opened, and Messrs. Clay and Webster not long after thefr close. This chapter is, therefore, in some sort, my hum hle tribute to their genius and thefr just reno-wn. I best knew and loved Henry Clay: he was by nature genial, cordial, courteous, gracious, magnetic, -winning. When General Glascock, of Georgia, took his seat in Congress as a Eepresentative, a mutual friend asked, " General, may I intro duce you to Henry Clay?" "No, sir!" was the stem re sponse ; " I am his adversary, and choose not to subject my seff to his fascination." I think it would have been hard to constitute for three or four years a legislative body whereof Mr. Clay was a member, and not more than four sevenths were his pledged, implacable opponents, whereof he would. not have been the master-spirit, and the author and inspfrer of most of its measures, after the first or second year. . Mr. Webster was colder, graver, sterner, in his general bear ing ; though he could unbend and be sunny and bUthe in his intercourse -with those admitted to his intimacy. There were few gayer or more valued associates on a fishing or saUing party. His- mental cahbre was much the larger; I judge that he had read and studied more; though neither could boast much erudition, nor even intense appUcation. I beUeve each TEE GREAT SENATORS. 251 was about thirty years in Congress, where Mr. Clay identified his name with the origin or success of at least haff a dozen important measures to every one thus blended -with Mr. Web ster's. Though Webster's was far the more massive inteUect, Mr. Clay as a legislator evinced far the greater creative, con structive power. I once sat in the Senate Chamber when Mr. Douglas, who had just been transferred from the House, rose, to move forward a bUl in which he was interested. " We have no such practice in the Senate, sir," said Mr. Web ster, in his deep, solemn voice, fixing his eye on the mover, but -without rising from his seat. Mr. Douglas at once varied his motion, seeking to achieve his end in a somewhat different way. " That is not the -way we do business in the Senate, sfr," rejoined Mr. Webster, stUl more decisively and sternly. " The Little Giant " was a bold, ready man, not easUy over awed or disconcerted ; but, if he did not quiver under the eye and voice of Webster, then my eyesight deceived me, ^- and I was very near him. Mr. Calhoun was a taU, spare, earnest, e-vidently thoughtful man, with stiff, fron-gray hafr, which reminded you of Jack son's about the time of his accession to the Presidency. He was eminently a logician, — terse, -vigorous, relentless. He courted the society of clever, aspiring young men who inclined to faU into his -views, and exerted great influence over them.. As he had abandoned the poUtical faith which I distinguish and cherish as National while I was yet a school-boy, I never met him at aU intimately ; yet once, whUe I was con nected -with mining on Lake Superior, I caUed on him, as on other leading members of Congress, to explain the effect of the absurd pohcy then in vogue, of keeping mineral lands out of market, and attempting to coUect a percentage of the mineral as rent accruing to the Government. He received me courteously, and I took care to make my statement as compact and perspicuous as I could, showing him that, even in the Lead region, where the system had attained its fuU development, the Treasury did not receive enough rent to pay the salaries of the ofijcers employed in coUecting it. 252 ' RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. " Enough," said Mr. CaUioun ; " you are clearly right. I will vote to give away these lands, rather than perpetuate this vicious system." "We only ask, Mr. Calhoun," I rejoined, " that Congress fix on the lands whatever price it may deem just, and seU them at that price to those la-wfuUy in posses sion ; they faUing to purchase, then to whomsoever -wiU buy them." "That plan wUl have my hearty support," he re sponded ; and it did. When the question came at length to be taken, I beheve there was no vote in either House against seUing the mineral lands. Mr. Clay had faUed to be chosen President in 1844, in part because he tried to reconcUe to his support those whose -views on the Texas question confiicted -with his. General Taylor, on the other hand, had succeeded in 1848, whUe saying very Uttle as to the pending questions affecting Slavery, or even seeming to care that adverse opinions should he concUiated. There was an anecdote current in the canvass to this effect : A planter -wrote Old Zack, saying, " I have worked hard aU my Ufe, and the net product is a plantation with one hundred negroes, — slaves. Before I vote, I want to know how you stand on the Slavery question." " The General at once re sponded : " Sir, I too have worked faithfully these many years, and the net product remaining to me is a plantation -with three hundred negroes. Yours truly." The planter was satisfied. The National Convention which nominated General Taylor had laid on the table a resolve approving, if not demanding, the exclusion of Slavery from the Territories; and this prob ably lost us the votes of Ohio, lUinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa. On the other hand, Alabama, Mississippi and Arkansas aU voted, by smaU majorities, for Cass : Jefferson Da-vis, though a son-in-law of General Taylor, declining, on pohtical or Slavery grounds, to support hun. Had he been clearly under stood to be for or against the so-caUed WUmot Proviso, he would have both gained and lost votes ; but I judge that, with reference to success, his sUence was wisdom. THE GREAT SENATORS. 253 Being elected and inaugurated, he caUed to his cabinet Messrs. Clayton of Delaware, Crittenden of Kentucky, Ewing of Ohio, Meredith of Pennsylvania, G. W. Crawford of Geor gia, BaUard Preston of Vfrginia, Collamer of Vermont, and Eeverdy Johnson of Maryland, and proceeded to deal cau tiously with the grave questions impending. It was soon evident to keen-sighted observers, that the new Administration aimed to tide over the breakers just ahead by securing the newly acquired Territories practically to free labor, through a quiet discouragement of' the transfer of slaves thereto, and the speedy transformation of each Territory into a State. Dissension and di-vision on the WUmot Proviso were thus to be avoided by achieving expeditiously the end whereto that Pro-viso was but a means. Thus, Calffomia was rapidly meta morphosed into a free State even before she had been pro- •vided -with a regular Territorial organization ; whUe yet the Administration could fairly protest -with Macbeth, — " Thou canst not say / did it ! Never shake Those gory locks at me ! " The pro-Slavery interest soon felt that it was being under mined and cfrcumvented. In the elections for Congress, next after General Taylor's inauguration, the South, which had given him both a popular and an electoral majority, chose but twenty-nine Eepresentatives to support, -with sixty-two to oppose, his Administration. At the North, the new Administration was Ukewise dis trusted by the more zealous champions of Free SoU, though -with less reason. In the election of 1849, the Democrats of Vermont united with the AboUtionists in framing and sup porting a common State ticket, on an unequivocally Free-SoU platform, -with the watchword, " Free Democracy " ; and, as the coalescing parties had outnumbered the Whigs in the preceding vote for President, the prospect looked squaUy. I was invited by the 'Whigs to canvass thefr State, and did so ; beginning at Brattleborough in the southeast, passing up to Montpelier and across to Burlington, thence down by Eutland to Bennington. One anecdote of this trip is characteristic of the times, and wUl bear reviving : 254 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. As, wheh pre-viously asked by friends in the State what they should do for me, I had stipulated for a committee of thirteen to let me alone, and persuade others to do so, I en joyed unusual exemption from bother, and, after speaking one rainy afternoon at some town in Orange County (Eoyalton, as I recoUect), I took the cars, and was soon borne to Montpeher, where I was to speak the next day. The rain poured hea-vUy, and I made my way solus from the railway station to a hotel, where I obtained a room, and sat down in it to my soUtary reflections. I must here explain that two brothers, Ver monters, named respectively Charles G. and E. G. Eastman, then edited the Democratic State organs at Montpelier and at NashvUle respectively. The Vermont Eastman, being in league -with the Abohtionists, labored day by day to prove that the Taylor Administration was managing to secure the new Territories to Slavery; while the Tennessee Eastman, seeking capital for his party on the other tack, as strenuously insisted that that same Administration was doing its utmost to exclude Slavery from those same Territories. As The Tri bune exchanged -with both these candid journalists, I had recently taken a leading article from each, cut it into para graphs, copied flrst from one charging the Administration as aforesaid, and then, simply premising, "Now we wUl hear what t' other Eastman has to say on this point," I would quote the exact opposite from the Tennessee or the Vermont brother, as the case might be. So, having seated myself in my room in the hotel at Montpeher, which I had never before been near, and where I knew no one, I looked drear ily out at the furious rain for half an hour, and was about falling asleep in utter desperation, when my door opened, and a taU, sturdy mountaineer, unannounced, walked in. "Good afternoon, Mr. Greeley," was his cordial salutatiqn. " Good afternoon," I less cordiaUy responded ; " though I do not happen to know you." "Not know me?" he incredu lously asked : " why, I am t' other Eastman." When Congress met in December foUowing, and HoweU THE COMPROMISE OF 1850. 255 Cobb, [Dem.] of Georgia, had, after a long struggle,, been chosen Speaker,* because the distinctively Free-SoU members would not support Winthrop, the Whig candidate, General Taylor, in his Annual Message (afready pubUshed during the long straggle for Speaker), avowed that he desired and ex pected the early admission of both Calffomia and New Mex ico as States, under such constitutions as their people should see fit to frame, — which constitutions, it was afready notori ous, would forbid Slavery. Mr. Clay soon submitted f to the Senate his plan for a com prehensive settlement of aU the mooted questions regarding Slavery. It contemplated : 1. The prompt admission of CaU- fomia as a State, under her anti-Slavery Constitution ; 2. The organization of the remaining Territories, without al lusion to Slavery; 3. The hmitation of Texas to a defined Northern boundary, ignoring — or rather buying pff — her claim to nearly aU New Mexico ; 4. Paying her a sum (after^ ward fixed at $ 10,000,000) for consenting to the hmitation aforesaid ; 5. No aboUtion of Slavery in the District of Co lumbia ; 6. Exclusion by law of the traffic in slaves from said District ; 7. A denial of the right of any State to obstruct or embarrass the traffic in slaves between other States, or their removal from one to another. As the second of these propo sitions has an abiding significance, in view of the Nebraska biU afterward avowedly based thereon, I quote it verbatim : — " 2. Resolved, That as Slavery does not exist by law [in,] and is not likely to be introduced into, any of the territories acqufred by the United States from the republic of Mexico, it is inexpedient for Congress to provide by law either for its introduction into, or [its] exclusion from, any part of the said territory, and that appro priate territorial governments ought to be established by Congress in aU the said territories not assigned as within the boundaries of the proposed State of California, without the adoption of any re striction or condition on the subject of Slavery." * Under the plurality rule : Cobb, 102 ; "Winthrop, 99 ; scattering (mainly Free-Soil), 20. t Febmary 13, 1850. 256 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. The gist of this proposition, as I apprehend it, is, that Slavery had not then a legal existence in the newly acqufred Territories. In other words : Mr. Clay (in opposition to Mr. Calhoun and his foUowers, who maintained that the Federal Constitution necessarUy became the fundamental law of any region acquired by the United States, and thus legaUzed Slav ery in that region, and every part of it,) held, with the Free- Soil party, that Slavery must be established by positive law in any Territory, before it could be legal therein. I felt that we could afford to accept this as a basis of adjustment, espe ciaUy when we gained there-with the instant admission of Cahfornia as a Free State, and the extrusion of slaveholding Texas from nearly aU New Mexico, whereof she claimed every acre lyhig eastward of the Eio Grande del Norte. Mr. Clay's proffer seemed to me candid and fair to the North, so far as it related to the newly acquired territories. I do personaUy know that Mr. Clay himseff regarded it as a capitulation on the part of the South, wherein she merely stipulated for the honors of war. And it was instantly assaUed by Senators Jef ferson Davis and Henry S. Foote of Mississippi, James M. Mason of Virginia, WUUam E. King of Alabama, S. U. Do-wns of Louisiana, and A. P. Butler of South CaroUna, as proposing to the South a surrender at discretion. They aU repeUed the suggestion that Slavery could not legaUy exist in a Territory tiU expressly estabUshed there by law, affirming the opposite or Calhoun doctrine. Mr. Clay met them frankly and squarely ; replying to Mr. Jefferson Davis as follows : — " I am extremely sorry to hear the Senator from Mississippi say that he requfres, first, the extension of the Missouri Compromise line to the Pacific ; and, also, that he is not satisfied with that, but requfres, if I understand him correctly, a positive pro-vision for the admission of Slavery south of that line. And now, sir, coming from a Slave State, as I do, I owe it to myself, I owe it to the trath, I o-we it to the subject, to state that no earthly power could induce me to vote for a specific measure for the introduction of Slavery where it had not before existed, either south or north of that line. Coming, as I do, from a Slave State, it is my solemn. THE COMPROMISE OF 1860. 257 deliberate, and well-matured determination that no power — no earthly power — shall compel me to vote for the positive introduc tion of Slavery, either south or north of that line. Sir, while you reproach, and justly, too, our British ancestors for the introduction of this institution upon the continent of America, I am, for one, unwiUing that the posterity of the present inhabitants of California and New Mexico shaU reproach ms for doing just what we reproach Great Britain for doing to us. If the citizens of those Territories choose to establish Slavery, I am for admitting them with such provisions in thefr constitutions ; but then it will be their own work, and not oiurs ; and their posterity -will have to reproach them, and not us, for forming constitutions aUowing the institution of -Slavery to exist among them. These are my views, sir, and I choose to express them ; and I oare not how extensively and uni versaUy they are known. The honorable Senator from Virginia (Mr. Mason) has expressed his opinion that Slavery exists in these Territories ; and I have no doubt that opinion is sincerely and hon estly entertained by him ; and I would say, with equal sincerity and honesty, that I believe that Slavery nowhere exists within any portion of the territory acquired by us from Mexico. He holds a dfrectly contrary opinion to mine, as he has a perfect right to do ; and we wUl not quarrel about the difference of opinion." The debate thus inaugurated was prosecuted at great length. Mr. Webster, in the course of it, startUng the country by an elaborate speech,* wherein he took ground against what were termed Slavery agitation and agitators ; against the asserted right of legislatures to instruct senators ; against legislation to exclude Slavery from Federal Territories, &c., &c. In so doing he ^aid : — " Nq-w, as to California and New Mexico, I hold Slavery to be excluded from those Territories by a law even superior to that which admits and sanctions it in Texas, — I mean the law of Na ture, — of physical geography, — the law of the formation of the earth. That law settles forever, with a strength beyond aU terms of human enactment, that Slavery cannot exist in California or New Mexico. ... I will say further, that, if a resolution or a bill -were before us, to provide a Territorial goverament for New Mexico, ^ * March 7, 1850. 17 258 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. I would not vote to put any prohibition into it whatever. Suoh a prohibition would be idle as it respects ahy efiect it would have on the Territory ; and I would not take pains uselessly to reaffirm an ordinance of Nature, nor to reenact the wUl of God. I would put in no Wdmot Proviso for the mere purpose of a taunt or a reproach. I woidd put into it no evidence of the votes of a superior power, exercised for no purpose but to wound the pride of the citizens of the Southern States." I cannot here foUow the great debate through the weary months in which the Senators and Eepresentatives of Cali fornia awaited permission to take the seats to which they had been chosen. The compromise or adjustment proposed by Mr. Clay was assailed from either side, — by zealous anti- Slavery men hke Hale, Chase, and Seward ; by zealous, ag gressive ^ro-Slavery men hke Calhoun, Jeff. Da-vis, Mason, and Butler, — whUe it was sustained by the more moderate members of either great party. A grand committee of thfr- teen, whereof Mr. Clay was chairman, was raised on the subject, wherefrom the chairman reported * his plan, modi fied so as to be less objectionable to pro-Slavery men : the vital assertion that Slavery had then no legal existence in tl^e new territories being omitted. / In the progress of the debate, further modifications of the plan were made, — aU tending in the same dfrection ; and the sudden death of General Taylor,f aUowing the Presidency to devolve on Mr. FiUmore, powerfuUy aided the triumph of the Compromise, which had, a few days before, seemed all but hopeless. Ulti mately, bills admitting California, organizing New Mexico and Utah as Territories, fixing the northern boundary of Texas, and giving her $10,000,000 for consenting thereto, providing ¦ more effectually for the recovery of fugitive slaves, and pro hibiting the bringing of slaves into the Federal district for sale, were severaUy passed, — though -with very diverse support, — and became laws of the land : thus, it was fondly, but most mistakenly, calculated, putting an end to Slavery agitation, and ushering in a long era of fraternity and domestic peace. * May 18. t July 11. THE COMPROMISE OF 1850. 259 Meantime, Mr. Calhoun had died, March 31, 1850, at Wash ington, where Mr. Clay like-wise died, June 29, 1852. Mr. Webster survived his great compeer less than four months ; dying at his home in Marshfield, Mass., October 24th of that year. These three left no statesmen among us who were their equals in general abUity or in power to fix the attention of the country. We stiU read speeches in Congress, though generaUy quite satisfied with telegraphic summaries of their contents, but we no longer impatiently await, eagerly enjoy, and carefuUy treasure them, as we did those of the great departed. The question is often asked, "Were the traditional great men of the past really greater than thefr Uving successors ? " I can only answer that, whUe I presume the average inteUect of our day is hot inferior to that of the last generation, I judge that the master minds of different periods are attracted to different spheres of acti-vity, and are impeUed to different stages of development. Had Heniy Clay or Daniel Webster been bom and Uved fifty years earUer, he could not have faded to be distinguished and honored by those who knew him; but .he would probably have achieved distinction as a Eevolutionary soldier, or in some other sphere than that of legislation. " Is it not hard,!' I was once asked hy the Governor of an important Westem State, " that my salary should be far less than that of a raifroad president or chief engineer?" "I infer from it," I repUed, " that our age reaUzes more keenly its need of competent raUroad men than that of capable gov ernors of States." In this, as in many thuigs, the intensity of the demand creates or regiUates the supply. If we now lack great pohtical debaters, it is because they are not greatly required, or because talent is more in demand and better rewarded in some other field of inteUectual exertion. XXXI. LIBELS AND LIBEL-SUITS. EDITOEIAL Ufe has many cares, sundry enjoyments, with certain annoyances ; and prominent among these last are Ubel-suits. I can hardly remember a time when I was absolutely exempt from these infestations. In fact, as they seem to be a main reUance for support of certain attor neys, destitute alike of character and law, I suppose they must be borne for an indefinite period. The fact that these suits are far more common in our State than elsewhere cannot have escaped notice ; and I find the reason of that fact in a perversion of the law by our judges of thfrty to fifty years ago. The first notable instance of this perversion occurred on the trial of Eoot V. King, at Delhi, about 1826. General Erastus Eoot was a leading Democrat through the earUest third of this century, and was, in 1824, a zealous supporter of WUUam H. Crawford for President. As President of the Senate, he pre sided at the joint meeting of the two Houses, wherein electors of President were chosen ; when, to his and his friends' sore disappointment, a large number of Adams, and but few Craw ford men, received the requisite majority, — the friends of Adams and those of Clay having privately united on a common ticket. When the votes for this ticket began to be counted out, presaging a Cra-wford defeat. General Eoot at tempted to break up the joint meeting, and thus invaUdate the election. For this, and other such acts, he was severely handled by The New York American ; whose editor, Charles King, was thereupon sued by Eoot for Ubel, and — the case LIBELS AND LIBEL-SUITS. 261 being tried at Delhi, where Eoot resided and was lord-para mount — the jury, under the rulings of a Democratic judge, gave the plaintiff $1,400 damages. It was a most unjust verdict, based on a perversion of the law, which, ff sustained, left the press no substantial liberty to rebuke -wrong-doing or chastise offenders. And the perversion of justice thus effected naturaUy led to stUl further and worse aberrations. _ Ten or a dozen years afterward. Mi. J. Fenimore Cooper retumed from a long residence abroad, during which many of his novels had been written. A man of unquestioned talent, — almost genius, — he was aristocratic in feeling and arro gant in bearing, altogether combining in his manners what a Yankee once characterized as " -winning ways to make people hate him." Eetfring to his paternal acres near Coopersto-wn,_ N. Y, he was soon involved in a difficulty -with the neighbor ing -vUlagers, who had long been accustomed, in thefr boating excursions on the Lake (Otsego), to land and make themselves at home for an hour or two on a long, narrow promontory or "point," that ran do-wn from his grounds into the lake, and whom he had now dissuaded from so doing by legal force. The Whig newspaper of the viUage took up the case for the vUlagers, urging that their extrusion from " The Point," though legal, was churUsh, and impeUed by the spfrit of the dog in the manger ; whereupon Cooper sued the editor for Ubel, re covered a verdict; and collected it by taking the money — through a sherUf's officer — from the editor's trunk. By this time, several Whig joumaUsts had taken up the cudgels for^ the -vUlagers and thefr brother editor ; and, as Mr. Cooper had recently pubhshed two caustic, uncomplimentary, seff-com- placent works on his countrymen's ways and manners, entitled " Homeward Bound," and " Home as Found," some of these castigations took the form of reviews of those works. One or_ more of them appeared in The Courier and Enqufrer, edited. by James Watson Webb ; at least one other in The Commer cial Advertiser, edited by WUUam L. Stone; whUe several racy paragraphs, unflattering to Mr. Cooper, spiced the edi torial columns of The Albany Evening Journal, and were doubt- 262 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. less from the pen of its founder and then editor, Mr. Thurlow Weed. Cooper sued them aU; bringing several actions to trial at Fonda, the new county-seat of Montgomery County. He had no luck against Colonel Webb, because, presuming that gentleman moneyless, he prosecuted him criminaUy, and could never find a jury to send an editor to prison on his account. Colonel Webb was defended in chief by Ambrose L. Jordan, afterward Attorney-General of the State, an able and zealous advocate, who threw his whole soul into his cases, and who did by no means stand on the defensive. In one of his actions against Mr. Weed, he was more fortu nate. Weed had not given it proper attention; and, when the case was called for trial at Fonda, he was detained at home by sickness in his family, and no one appeared for bim ; so a verdict of $ 400 was entered up against him by default. He was on hand a few hours afterward, and tried to have the case reopened, but Cooper would not consent ; so Weed had to pay the $400 and costs. Deeming himseff aggrieved, he -wrote a letter to The Tribune, describing the whole per formance ; and on that letter Cooper sued me, as for another ^ibel. And here let me say, that Weed was forced to pay some $ 2,500 to Cooper,- and as costs in his various suits, most un justly. Weed was a profound admirer of Cooper's novels,— an extravagant one, in my judgment, — and was so fond of quoting them, that jokers gravely affirmed that he evidently had never read but three authors, — Shakespeare, Scott, and Cooper. (At a later day, they were obUged to add Dickens to the Ust.) The paragraphs that provoked Cooper's hbel- suits were fritended by Weed rather to admonish the Ameri can novelist that he was acting absurdly, suicidaUy, in quar reUing with his neighbors,. to preclude their landing on "The Point"; -with his countrymen hy his harsh, supercihous criticisms on thefr manners ; and with the Press by his in numerable libel-suits. Not a shred, a spice of malice, nor even of iU--wiU, impeUed the paragraphs which Cooper re sented so Utigiously. LIBELS AND LIBEL-SUITS. 263 The first -writ wherewith / was honored " By the Author of the ' Pioneers,' &c.," cited me to answer at BaUston, Sara toga County, on the first Tuesday (I believe) in December, 1842 ; and I obeyed it to the letter. I employed no lawyers, not reaUzuig that I needed any. In its turn, the case was caUed, and opened in due form by Eichard Cooper (nephew~° of Fenimore) for the plaintiff. No witnesses were caUed, for none were needed. I admitted the pubUcation, and accepted the responsibUity thereof : so the questions to be tried were these, " Was the plaintiff UbeUed by such pubUcation ? If so, to what amount was he damaged ? " When Eichard had concluded, I said aU that I deemed necessary for the defence ; and then Fenimore summed up his own cause in a longer and rather stronger speech than Eichard's, and the case was closed. So far, I felt quite at my ease ; but now the presiding judge (WiUard) rose, and made a harder, more elaborate, and disingenuous speech against me than either Eichard or Feni more had done ; making three against one, which I did not think quite fafr. He absolutely buUied the jury, on the pre^ sumption that they were inclined to give a verdict for the defendant, which he told them they were nowise at Uberty to do. I had never tUl that day seen one of them, and had never sought to effect any intimacy or understanding -with them ; so I must say that the judge's charge seemed to me as unfafr as possible. The jury retired at its close ; and, on baUoting, seven of them voted to make me pay $ 100, two voted for $ 500, one for $ 1,000, and two for.nothing at aU, — or very nearly so. They soon agreed to caU it $ 200, and make it their verdict ; which they did. When all the costs were paid, I was just $ 300 out of pocket by that lawsuit. I have done better and worse in other cases ; but, having been most ably and successfully defend-ed in several, maugre the proverb that, " He who pleads his own cause has a fool for a cUent," I am satisfied that, could I have found time, in every case wherein I was sued for libel, to attend in person, and simply, briefiy state the material facts to the jury, I should have had less to pay than I have done. There is always 264 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. danger that the real merits of your case wUl be buried out of sight under heaps of legal rubbish. But it is not possible for a business man to spend his whole Ufe in court-rooms, waiting for his case to be called ; and I have often been sued in dis tant counties, where I could scarcely attend at aU. I left Ballston in a sleigh directly upon the rendering of the verdict, caught a steamboat, I think, at Troy, and was at my desk in good season next morning ; so that, by 11 P. M., I had -written out and read in proof, besides other matter, my report of the trial, which fiUed eleven columns of the next morning's Tribune. I think that was the best single day's work I ever did. I intended that the report should be good- natured, — perhaps even humorous, — and some thought I succeeded ; but Fenimore seems not to have concurred in that opinion ; for he sued me upon the report as a new Ubel, — or, rather, as several libels. I was defended against this new suit by Hons. WiUiam H. Seward and A. B. Conger, so cleverly, that, though there were hearings on demurrer, and various expensive interlocutory proceedings, the case never came to trial Indeed, the Legislature had meantime overborne some of the more irrational rulings of our judges ; whUe our Judi ciary itself had undergone important changes through the pohtical revolution in our State, and the influence of our Con stitution of 1846 ; so that the Press of New York now enjoys a freedom which it did not in the last generation. I say the Press, — yet only the journals of one party were judiciaUy muzzled. Eather more than forty years ago, Mr. / Weed, then Uving at Eochester, was positively and generaUy i' charged, through the Democratic journals, with having shaved j off or puUed out the whiskers of a dead man, in order to j make the body pass for that of the long-missing and never- ! recovered WiUiam Morgan, of anti-Masonic fame. The charge was an utterly groundless calumny, ha-ving barely a shred of badinage to .paUiate its utterance. Mr. Weed sued two or three of his defamers ; but the courts were in the hands of his political adversaries, and he could never succeed in bringing his cases to trial. FinaUy, after they had been LIBELS AND LIBEL-SUITS. 265 kicked and cuffed about for ten or a dozen years, they were kicked out, as too ancient and fishUke to receive atten tion. This was probably the best disposition for him that could have been made of them. If he had tried them, and recov ered nominal verdicts, his enemies would have shouted over those verdicts as virtuaUy estabUshing the truth of tlieir charges ; whUe, ff he had been awarded exemplary damages, these would have been cited as measuring the damages to be given against him in each of the hundred Ubel-suits there after brought against him. This consideration was forcibly brought home to me when, years afterward, having been out rageously UbeUed -with regard to a sum of $ 1,000, which it was broadly intimated that a railroad or canal company in Iowa had given me for ser-vices rendered, or to be rendered, I ordered suits commenced against two of the most reckless UbeUers. But, when time had been aUowed for reflection, I perceived that I could afford neither to lose nor to -win these suits; that such verdicts as I ought to recover would be cited as measuring the damages that I ought to pay in aU future Ubel-suits brought against me ; so I gladly accepted such re tractions as my UbeUers saw flt to make, and discontinued my suits. Henceforth, that man must very badly want to be sued who provokes me to sue him for Ubel Passing m sUence several recent cases of interest wherein I was chosen defendant, — cases on which I could not dUate -without annoyance to persons yet Uving, — I close with a statement of points in difference, as I understand them, be tween sundry judges and certain editors touching the Law of Libel I have often heard it asserted from the Bench that editors claim impunity to Ubel, — which is not the truth. What I claim and insist on is just this: That the editor shall he protected hy tlie nature and exigencies of his calling to the same extent, and in the same degree, that other men are pro- 266 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. tected hy the exigencies, the requirements, of theie callings or positions respectively. For instance : A judge on the bench, a la-wyer at the har, may Ubel atrociously ; and I hold may be fairly held respon sible for such Ubel ; but the law -wiU not presume him a li- ' beUer from the mere fact that he speaks disparagingly of some person or persons. A householder applied to for the charac ter of his late servant may respond : " I tumed him off be cause I found him an eye-servant, a drunkard, and a thief"; yet the law wUl presume no maUce not specificaUy proven ; because it avers that, in gi-ving his ex-servant's character, that householder was acting in the line of his duty. Had he posted up those precise words in a pubUc place, the law would have presumed mahce, because no duty requfred such- posting. Now let us apply the principle above enimciated to the actual case in hand : Jefferson Jones posts up in a bar-room, Uvery-stable, or on the town-pump, these words : " Chfford Nokes was last night caught steahng a hog, and was com mitted by Justice Smith, to await indictment and trial." The law wiU presume that posting mahcious, and wUl deal harshly with Jones ff he should faU to prove it UteraUy true. And why ? Clearly, because no duty required him to make any such proclamation of his neighbor's aUeged fraUty, — because of the fair, natural presumption, that he was moved ¦ so to post by hate or malevolence. But that same paragraph might appear in the columns of any journal that habituaUy printed poUce inteUigence, -without justffying or rendering plausible a kindred presumption. It nught, indeed, be proved that the editor had inserted the item with mahcious intent to injure Nokes ; and then I say : " Punish the libeUer to the extent of the law." But I protest against presuming an editor a hbeUer, because, in the routine of his vocation, the hne of his duty, he prints information which may prove in accurate or whoUy erroneous, -without fairly exposing him to the presumption that he was impeUed to utter it by a ma levolent spfrit, a purpose to injure or degrade. Am I un derstood ? LIBELS AND LIBEL-SUITS. 267 Twice, in the course of my thirty-odd years of editorship, I have encountered human beings base enough to require me to correct a damaging statement, and, after I had done so to the extent of thefr desfre, to sue me upon that retracted statement as a hbel ! I think this proves more than the depravity of the persons impUcated, — that it indicates a glaring defect in the law or the ruUng under which such a manoeuvre is possible. If the law were honest, or merely decent, it would refuse to be made an accompUce of such vUlany. Ere many years, I hope to see aU the reputable journals of this city, ff not of the entfre State, unite in an association for mutual defence agauist vexatious and unreasonable Ubel- suits. They ought to do this; employing a capable and painstaking lawyer, to whom every suit for Ubel against any member of the association should at once be referred, with instractions to investigate it candidly, and decide whether its defence ought or ought not to devolve on the press generaUy. If not, let it be remitted to the counsel for the journal prose cuted; but, if the prosecution be clearly unreasonable and vexatious, — a lawyer's dodge to le-vy black mail, — then let no money or effort be spared to baffle and defeat the nefari ous attempt. Such a combination for mutual defence would arrest the prevailing habit of paying $50 or $100 to buy off the plaintiff's attorney as the cheapest way out of a bother, would soon greatly reduce the number of suits for hbel, and would result in a sulJstantial and permanent en largement of the Freedom of the Press. It should have been formed long ago. XXXII. EUROPE, — THE WORLD'S EXPOSITION. THE year 1851 was signaUzed by the flijst grand Exposi tion of the products of All Nations' Art and Industry. It was held in Hyde Park, London, once at the extreme west end of that metropolis, but long since enveloped by her steady, imperial growth in commerce, wealth, and population. Prince Albert, the Queen's husband, having been placed at the head of the enterprise, the Queen did her best to insure its success ; and her influence, exerted to the utmost, extended far beyond her Court and those who aspfre to bask in its beams. A portion of the Tory Aristocracy stood aloof, or only -visited the Exposition as careless sight-seers ; but the Eoyal FamUy, the Liberal Aristocracy, the Manufacturing, Commercial, and more inteUigent Laboring classes, were united and en thusiastic in their efforts to secure the success of the gi-and undertaking. I judge that the habitual frigidity of British bearing toward foreigners was never before so thoroughly put aside or overcome. " You foreigners," said Earl Gran-viUe at a great dinner given at Eichmond to the Foreign Commis sioners and Jurors, " complain that we EngUsh are icy and repulsive ; but you never give us a fair chance to be other wise. We try to be courteous and hospitable whenever we are afforded an opportunity. Don't we make heroic, though luckless, attempts to speak your several languages ? Don't we try in every way to make ourselves agreeable ? Give us a fair trial before you condemn us as exclusive and unsocial." In this spirit, the great mass of the educated, thrifty classes treated their many foreign visitors throughout that long EUROPE. — THE WORLD'S EXPOSITION. 269 Summer. I doubt that the hospitaUty which is evinced in entertainments and festivities was ever more widely displayed anywhere, or with more persistent generosity. And I doubt that another exhibition, so comprehensive, so instructive, has since been or ever wUl be presented, though several have been, and many doubtless -wiU be, so planned, so weeded, as to embody only articles of decided merit, as this did not. For, as aU nations were invited to send samples of thefr exportable products to this Exposition, aU had done so, without at aU considering the figure these wotdd cut when compared with the kindred products of other coimtries. Side by^ide with the subtlest and most elaborate devices of British and^'American locksmiths to guard the hoards of bankers and capitaUsts from spoUation, were the rude contrivances of Tunisian or Thibetan blacksmiths, clumsUy hammered out of poor fron, on a very rude anvU, and doing no credit to the workmanship, even after aU due aUowances had been made. The striking contrasts thus presented in almost every depart ment of the Exposition gave it a piquancy and zest which are henceforth unattainable ; for the contributors of sorry speci mens, ha-ving thus been made aware of their o-wn relative demerits, refuse thenceforth to appear as foUs for their bril liant rivals ; and any attempt to replace them by samples gathered from the ends of the earth, on purpose to be derided and ridiculed, must almost necessarUy prove a faUure. Hereafter, we shaU find in kindred expositions only the best products of the cleverest, most ingenious of the world's arti ficers ; while the worse, and even worst, by which thefr worth was so admirably set off and iUustrated m 1851, wUl remam in their coveted obh-vion. The Crystal Palace, whereui the Exhibition was held, was constracted whoUy of iron and glass, and was one of the noblest, most magnificent, most graceful edifices ever seen. Its grand avenue, traversing its centre from end to end, was studded -with some of the rarest and costhest articles ex hibited, including Powers's statue of " The Greek Slave," the Queen's matchless " Koh-i-Noor," or Mountain of Light, said 270 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. to be next to the largest diamond in existence, and hundreds more of the most admfrable products of Art and Nature. Several stately and gracious elms, which were among the chief ornaments of the Park, grew on the site chosen for the Palace, and were a chief obstacle to its concession, as this was supposed to involve thefr destruction; but the stately edifice was made to include and cover them, so that they put forth their ample foliage and stood green and graceful through out the Exhibition under its transparent roof, each of them " a thing of beauty " and a positive enhancement of the fairy spectacle on every side presented. Aladdin's fabled palace may have been richer in gold and gems; but ours far ex ceeded his in the extent and multipUcity of its de-vices for the sustenance, comfort, enjoyment of mankind, — its number less steam-driven spindles, looms, &c., would have far out worked aU . the genii or gnomes of the Arabian romance ; whUe the vast crowds of human beings, especiaUy of sump tuously, picturesquely. appareUed women, who thronged that grand avenue throughout day after day for weeks and months, had no rival even in the most gorgeous creations of Oriental fancy. Having left New York in the stanch American steamship Baltic, Capt. J. J. Comstock, on the llth of AprU, when a strong and cold northeaster had just set in, we took it with us across the Atlantic, rarely blest with a brief gUmpse of the watery sun durmg our rough passage of twelve days and some hours, encountering a severe gale on our first night out, and another as we reached soundings on the Irish coast ; and being surfeited with rain and head- winds during our entfre passage, I was sick unto death's door for most of the time, eating by an effort when I ate at aU, and as thoroughly miser able as I knew how to be ; so that the dirty, grimy little tug that at last approached to take us ashore at Liverpool seemed to me, though by no means white-winged, an angel of dehver- ance ; and my first meal on solid, weU-behaving earth wiU long be remembered with gratitude to the friends who pro- EUROPE. — THE WORLD'S EXPOSITION. 271 vided ^-nd shared it. I have since repeatedly braved the perils and miseries of the raging main, and have never found the latter so intolerable as on that first voyage ; yet the ocean and I remain but distant, unloving acquaintances, with no prospect of ever becoming friends. Beaching London just before the Exposition opened, I was accorded by the partiaUty of my countrymen who had pre ceded me (somewhat strengthened, I beUeve, by their jeal ousy of each other) the position of Chairman of one of the Juries, — each of the countries largely represented in the Exposition being aUowed one Chairman. My department (Class X.) included about three thousand lots (not merely three thousand articles), and was entitled, I beUeve, Hard ware ; but it embraced not only metals, but aU manner of devices for generating or economizing gas, for eliminating or diffusing heat, &c., &c. The duties thus devolved upon me were entirely beyond my capacity ; but my vice-Chafrman, Mr. WiUiam Bird, a leading British fron-master and London merchant, was as eminently quaUfied for those duties as I was deficient ; and between us the work was so done that no com plaint of its quahty ever reached me. We had several most competent coUeagues on our jury, amon§|ithem M. Spitaels, of Belgium, a director of the VieUe Montaigne Zinc Mines, and one of the -wisest and best men I ever knew. Eevisiting England four years thereafter, I called on my friend Bfrd, and he told me this anecdote : '- — " You may remember," he premised, " that I paid special attention to foreign fron throughout our ser-vice as jurors in the Exposition, and that I dwelt on the admfrable quahty of certain of the Austrian products which came within our pur- ¦view. WeU : two years thereafter, when Summer brought its usual dulness of trade, I thought I would run over and see how those products were made. So, providing myself with as good letters as I could command, I, in due time, waited on Lord Westmoreland, our Ambassador at Vienna. He received me courteously, but soon said : ' I perceive, Mr. Bird, that the letters you hand me from Lord Palmerston, Lord John Eus- 272 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. seU, &c., imply something more than ordinary civUities. What do you desire ? ' 'I seek an order from the Austrian Minister of Industry [or whatever the designation may be], authorizing me to visit aU the great iron-works in the Em pire.' ' Why, Mr. Bfrd,' rejoined the Ambassador, ' you can not be aware of the jealousy where-with British predominance in iron- working is here regarded, or you would as soon request me to ask the Minister to cede you Hungary. I cannot pre sent your request.' So (continued Mr. B.), I left the Ambas sador, thoroughly rebuffed, and returned to my carriage, in which I had left an Austrian friend, who had been a commisr sioner at our Exposition. ' What is the matter, Mr. Bfrd ? ' he at once inquired ; ' you seem to have met with a disap pointment.' I certainly had, as I proceeded to explain. ' But why not yourself ask the Minister for the pri-vUege you de sire ? ' ' Because he never heard of me.' ' There you are mistaken,' said the Austrian ; and, opening his official report on the London Exposition, he pointed therein to repeated and hearty acknowledgments of the highly important services rendered to the Austrian exhibitors hy Mr. Bird, of the tenth jury. He offered at once to introduce and commend me to the Minister, and I fladly assented. Ha-ving been introduced accordingly in the most flattering terms, the Minister soon asked, ' Mr. Bird, can I do nothing to make your visit agree able ? ' — when I indicated my -wish to -visit the iron-works of Austria. ' With the greatest pleasure,' he responded, and at once -wrote me the desired order, couched in most emphatic and sweeping terms. Thereupon, I left him, and spent my next month in a tour through the iron-producing districts of the empire, — everywhere received most hospitably, and shown aU that I asked or wished to see. Eeturning, at last, to Vienna, I made a parting caU on Lord Westmoreland ; and, in reply to his inquiry, informed him that I had spent my time, since my previous call, among the iron-worlcs of Ca rinthia, StjTia, &c. 'But how did you obtain the needful order ? ' he inquired. ' I asked the Minister for it in my own name, and he readily granted it.' 'Very weU, Mr. Bird,' EUROPE. — THE WORLD'S EXPOSITION. 273 rejoined the puzzled Ambassador, ' should I ever have any great favor to ask of the Austrian Government, I may be glad to avaU myseff of your influence.' " The councU of the Exposition was composed of the chair men of the several juries; its president was Lord Canning (son of the great Canning), who died Goverhor-General of India some ten years thereafter. I regarded him with deep interest for his father's sake, — that father ha-ving been Eng land's foremost man for years -within my recoUection. The son seemed a man of decided cleverness and geniahty, whUe his countenance denoted -wit, though I recoUect nothing said by him that confirmed my prepossession. Of the higher aris tocracy, I remember only the Duke of Argyle, — a smaU, shght, sandy-hafred person, gentle in manner, modest in bear ing, and nowise exacting the servile deference generaUy paid by personal merit to inherited rank in Great Britain. I am sure Lord Canning, who had evidently a keen sense of the ridiculous, must have been nauseated by the genuflexions and prostrations, — " If your lordship -wiU permit me to remark," "If I may presume to claim your lordship's attention for a moment," &c., &c. — where-with he was habituaUy addressed by men whose achievements in Science and its applications were elements at once of England's glory and of her pros perity and greatness. I may have seen a favorable sample of the British nobiUty, but those I met were simply and emi nently gentlemen, — and none more so than Arthur, Duke of Wellington, — the Duke, then more than eighty years old, who was one of the earUest and most frequent visitors to our American quarter, and one of the very first to proclaim — whUe the great London journals were jeering at the poverty and shEibbiness of our department — its eminent and remark able exceUence. He not merely -visited, he studied ahd inquired; and no more unpretending, fafr-minded seeker of practical information was among our visitors. He was one of those pri-vileged, with the jurors, to enter and examine during 18 274 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. the early morning hours, when the pubUc was excluded, and when the queen, with her attendants, spent hours there, day after day, — in part, doubtless, to satisfy a -legitimate interest, but in part, also, to commend and render popular the Exposi tion; so that, as my friend Charles Lane aptly remarked, " You could not exactly say whether she stood on this side of the counter or on that." I am sure, few labored more earnestly, more indefatigably than she did to make the enter prise a success, and no one with more decided efficiency. British seff-complacency and British faimess were both strikingly evinced in the conduct of the Exhibition. The chairman of the Agricultural jury was Mr. PhiUp Pusey, M. P. (brother of the clergyman of Tractarian fame), who inhabited and enjoyed a generous estate in Berkshfre, which had been hkewise inhabited and enjoyed by his ancestors for genera tions preceding the Norman conquest. Eepeatedly, he brought up to the council a request from his jury that they might be authorized to award prizes to the best, and the second-best, American, Belgium, French, &c., ploughs, — and so of other implements, — a request e-vidently prompted by apprehen sions that they would otherwise be constrained by the general superiority of British implements to award prizes to them only. " Mr. President," I urged in opposition, " we are asked to- destroy the practical value of our awards altogether. It wUl be idle for this body to award a prize to one American as better for a given purpose than another American plough, — we can settle that point at home. Nor do we wish you to award a prize to an American, as best adapted, say, to work ing stiff clay soUs, if there be a much better plough for that purpose sent here from some other country. We do not wish to be confirmed in our errors, but warned to forsake them. Let your prizes be awarded only to what is absolutely best, and we shaU then be enabled, ff other nations have better ploughs than ours, to adopt and profit by them." Others urged the same views more forcibly; and the Agricultural, hke aU other juries, was ultimately obliged to conform to the original programme. EUROPE. — THE WORLD'S EXPOSITION. 275 When the councU had met, late in July, for what was in tended to be its last sitting, Mr. Pusey said, " I am constrained to ask, on behaff of the Agricultural jury, that another meet ing of this body be held some fortnight hence. We have, this week, been testing reapers at Tiptree Hall (M. Mechi's), and one of the American machines (Mr. C. H. McCormick's) surprised us by the efficiency and the exceUence of its opera tion. But the day was rainy and the grain unripe ; so we do not feel sure that its triumph was not o-wing to those circum stances. We require another trial on a fair day, with ripe, dry grain ; and, should this machine then do as weU as it has already done under our eyes, we must ask for it the very highest award." The request was granted ; the trial repeated under the conditions requfred, -with a success fully equal to that pre-viously achieved ; and a Council Medal soUcited and awarded accordingly. I traveUed hastily, that Summer, through France, from Calais, by Paris, to Lyons and across Savoy and Mount Cenis, into Italy, — -visiting Turin, Genoa, Eome, Florence, Ferrara, Bologna, Padua, Venice, and Milan ; recrossing the Alps by the St. Gothard pass, and thence coming do-wn through Altorf and Lucerne to the Ehine at Basle ; and so down the great river to Cologne ; thence, across Belgium, by Aix-la-ChapeUe and Brassels, into Northern France, and back to London, by Paris, Dieppe, and New Haven. I soon after journeyed north ward through Newcastle-on-Tyne, York, and Berwick-on- Tweed, to Edinburgh; thence, by Glasgow, to Belfast and DubUn ; thence westward, through Athlone to Galway ; and, after returning to DubUn, through Wexford and Tipperary, so far southward as Limerick; retuming, through Wales, to Liverpool, and there taking the Baltic for home. The very few deductions from such hasty journeyings that I may haz ard wUl be submitted in future chapters. XXXIII. THE DISSOLUTION OF THB WHIG PARTY. DIEDEICH KNICKEEBOCKEE, the most sagacious and most popular historian of the Dutch era of our city and State, notes one grave error of the New Netherland magnates, and their pushing, meddling, encroaching Yankee neighbors, in that, having -wisely stopped fighting and betaken themselves instead to negotiation, they did not protract indefi nitely that amiable and hopeful procedure, but terminated it abraptly by a treaty ; over the interpreting of which thefr quarrel instantly broke out afresh, and .raged -with greater fury than before. Their blunder has been often repeated. The Compromise of 1850 had been carried through the XXXIst Congress, not long after President Taylor's death, mainly by virtue of the $ 10,000,000 given therein to Texas for the relinquishment of her preposterous claim to New Mexico. That donation raised the value of several miUions of outstanding Texas bonds from ten or fifteen cents on the dollar to par. A Western Governor told me, a few years afterward, that he administered on the estate of one of the Senators from his State who helped pass the Compromise measure, and who soon after died, and that among said Sena tor's assets he found nearly $ 30,000 of those Texan bonds, with no scratch of pen to indicate how he came by them, or how much he gave for them. Had he been .a Croesus, this would have been extraordinary ; as he was a politician and legislator of moderate means, it could be accounted for in but one way. THE DISSOLUTION OF THE WHIG PARTY. 277 The Compromise measures had been carried by the votes of aU the Northern Democrats hut a few decided opponents of the Slave Power, aU the Southern Whigs, with scarcely an exception, a minority of the Southem Democrats, and a de cided minority of the Northern Whigs, — a minority absolutely inconsiderable untU decidedly strengthened by Mr. FiUmore's accession to the Presidency. Having now the National Ad ministration on their side, the Compromisers endeavored to make devotion to their measure a touchstone of poUtical orthodoxy; and a manffesto was dra-wn up and signed by forty or fifty members of Congress, pledging themselves to support no man for any office who did not sustain the Com promise. A Whig State Convention met at Syracuse in the Autumn of 1850, and nominated a State Ticko^ headed by Washington Hunjb for Governor. Francis Granger was President of that Convention. Its resolves said notlung pro or con of the Com promise, but one of them approved the course of Governor Seward in the United States Senate (which he had entered on the day of President Taylor's inauguration) ; and this was vehemently resisted by the "Conservative" or Compromise minority of the delegates, who, headed by its President, va cated their seats on its adoption. In the contest which fol lowed. Hunt was barely chosen over Horatio Seymour ; but the Democrats carried thefr Lieutenant-Governor (Church), ¦with most, if not all, of thefr remaining State officers. It was clear that the " SUver Grays," (or Conservative Whigs,) had either refused to vote, or gone over to the Democracy ; though Governor Hunt was in fact one of themselves, and, after running once more for Governor, and being badly beaten by the " SUver Grays," he went openly over to them, and assidu ously sought, but never found, promotion at their hands- and those of the Democrats, with whom he had by this time be come completely affiliated. Connecticut was, in like maimer, barely carried over to the Democrats by the " Silver Grays " in the Spring of 1851, and Hon. Eoger S. Baldwin, who had opposed the Compromise in 278 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. the Senate, was supplanted by. Isaac Toucey. Thus the usuaUy doubtful or closely contested Free States were gener aUy carried by the Democrats, who elected United States Senators from nearly aU of them between 1850 and 1854 ; giving their party an overwhelming preponderance in the upper House for the six years prior to 1861. In the South, the opponents of the Compromise attempted to make head under the banner of State Eights. Mississippi having been represented in the Senate of 1850 by Jefferson Davis, who strongly opposed, and by Henry S. Foote, who as vehemently supported, the Compromise, that State divided into two new parties, termed " Union " and " State Eights " respectively, and nominated the two Senators as rival candi dates for Governor. A most spirited contest resulted in the poUing of an unprecedented vote, — nearly 60,000 in aU, — and the choice of Foote, " Union," by more than 1,000. ma jority. The residue of the Union Ticket was carried by a stUl larger average majority. In South CaroUna, the new parties were essentiaUy the same, but the names were difi'erent ; " Cooperation " — that is, a resolve to solicit and await the concurrence of other Slave States before initiating forcible resistance to the Compromise acts — being adopted as the watchword of the more moderate party. As their election did not come off tiU Mississippi and other Southern States had unequivocally decided against the " Chivafry," or " Fire-Eaters," these were beaten here also by a large majority, and the hope of dragging the South into an attitude of NuUification or Disunion on this issue shown to be utterly futUe. And now the two great parties held their several Presiden tial Conventions, — that of the Whigs assembling at Baltimore, about the 1st of June, 1852. Mr. Fillmore was supported for reelection by nearly aU the Southern, as General Scott was by the great body of the Northern, adherents of the drooping flag. The delegates friendly to either were 130 to 134 in THE DISSOLUTION OF THE WHIG PARTY. 279 number, whUe 30 to 36 preferred Mr. Webster to either of them. Mr. Webster had been the Ajax of Compronuse, had been chosen by Mr. FiUmore as his Secretary of State, and in that capacity had given character and dignity to the Adminis teation. There was reason, therefore, for Mr. Webster's san guine hope, that, when Mr. Fillmore's nomination was proved clearly hopeless, his name would be withdrawn, and his strength transferred to his iUustrious premier. This hope was doomed, however, to disappointment. Forty or fifty baUots were had -without result ; when the supporters of Webster graduaUy went over to Scott, who was thereupon nominated, with WiUiam A. Graham, of North CaroUna, for Vice-Presi dent. But the friends of Fillmore and Webster, though differing as to candidates, were a unit as to platform ; and they framed one which pledged the party unequivocaUy to the support and maintenance of the Compromises of 1850. General Scott made haste to plant himseff squarely on this platform, which was in undoubted accordance -with his own preposses sions. He thus ahenated thousands of Anti-Slavery 'Whigs, whose detestation of the new and stringent Fugitive Slave law was uncontroUable ; while the Conservative or " SUver Gray " Whigs, would not support him because the great body of Anti-Slavery Whigs did, and because they foresaw that his counseUors must necessarUy be chosen in good part from among these. The delegates to the Democratic National Convention were di-vided in thefr preferences for President, — General Cass and Mr. Buchanan being the leading favorites, but a good many votes being scattered upon others. Finally, Franklin Pierce, of New Hampshire, was brought forward, and nomi nated -with substantial unanimity. He had been a representa tive in, and finaUy Speaker of, the more popular branch of the Legislature of his State, a Eepresentative and Senator in Con gress, and then a volunteer and Brigadier-General in the Mexi can War, but had passed the last eight years mainly in retire ment. A pleasing canvasser, of popular address and manners. 280 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. he could not be said to have achieved eminence, whether in his civU or his military career ; indeed. General Cass, who had served -with him two or three years as feUow-Democrats in the Senate, had not made his acquaintance up to the hour of his nomination. Hon. WUUam E. Kmg, of Alabama, who had long been United States Senator from that State, was nominated -with him for Vice-President. The ensuing canvass was short, tolerably spirited, but one sided from the start. The Democrats, who were quietly ploughing -with the "SUver Gray" heifer throughout, knew they were backed to -win, — that there could be no mistake about it. The Whigs tried hard to stem the tide ; but the nomination of John P. Hale for President by the Abohtionists was a hea-vy side-blow, as he was sure to take thousands of votes which, but for the Compromise platform, would have been given for Scott. Maine and Calffomia in September, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana in October, gave majorities or decisive pluralities for the Democrats. The Whigs were thus prepared for defeat, but not for the overwhelming rout which overtook them, when, at the closing of the polls in November, it was found that they had carried precisely four States, — Massachusetts, Vermont, Kentucky, and Tennessee, — aU the rest having chosen Pierce electors, — New York by Some 25,000 plurahty ; Pennsylvania, Ohio, Virginia, &c., by majorities equaUy conclusive. True, the popular vote showed no such disparity as the electoral ; but the preponderance ex ceeded 200,000 in an aggregate poU of about Three MUUons. The Whig party had been ofteh beaten before ; this defeat proved it practicaUy defunct, and in an advanced stage of de composition. XXXIV. THE SLAVERY CONTROVERST. " T AM natv/rally anti-Slavery. K Slavery is not wrongs J. then nothing is wrong. I cannot remember when I did not so think and feel" So said Abraham Lincoln to Governor Bramlette, ex-Senator Dixon, and Editor Hodges, when they waited on him with Kentucky's remonstrance against the arming of Blacks to put do-wn the EebeUion, and against the Emancipation poUcy, too tardily adopted on the part of the Union. -= I heUeve Mr. Lincoln thus forcibly gave expression to what was the very general experience of American boys reared in the Free States forty to sixty years ago, while the traditions and the impulses of our Eevolutionary age were stiU vi-vid and pervading, — at least, of those trained by inteUigent Fed eral mothers. In the South, it may have been otherwise; though nearly aU the great Southrons of our country's . purer" days, from George Washington and Thomas Jefferson do-wn to Henry Clay, were at least theoretical emancipationists. As the fires of the Eevolution never burned so deeply, nor shonf so vividly, in the South as in the North, it is natural that they should there have sooner been stifled, ff not extinguished ; yet I was fifteen years old when the avowal of pro-Slavery sentiments by a Northem Eepresentative * in Congress caUed forth an instant and indignant rebuke from several eminent natives f and champions of the South. * Edward Everett of Massachusetts. t Churchill C. Cambreleng, of North Carolina (removed to New Tork) ; J. C. Mitchell, of Tennessee ; John Randolph, of Virginia. 282 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. I Though but a child of seven to ten years, I was an om- I nivorous reader throughout the progress of the great Missouri struggle, and intensely sympathized with the North in her I effort to prevent the admission of Missouri as a Slave State. [The defeat of that effort showed that it had been made too late, — that the North should have insisted on the exclusion of Slavery from at least her share of Louisiana immediately after its purchase from France, or when it came to be organ ized as a Territory (or Territories) of the Union. " Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined," is an axiom of the widest scope; and letting Slavery (or any other e-vU) creep into a vast region, and there quietly estabUsh and fortffy itseff, whUe that region is called a Territory, intending and expecting to extrude and exclude it when said region shaU present itseff for recognition and admission as a State, is a manffest futUity. The problem involved is neatly set forth in the hackneyed old ParUamentary epigram : — " I hear a lion in the lobby roar ; Say, Mr. Speaker, shall we shut the door. And keep him out ¦? or shall we let him in. And see if we can turn him out again ? " Mr. Jefferson, in his purer, nobler days, — before he became the leader and oracle of a great party which, in spite of his unconcealed prepossessions, gave him the votes for President of nearlj-jaU the essentiaUy Slave States, and thenceforth leaned more and more upon the Slave Power for support, so long as that Power had a substantial existence, — had pro posed, and nearly carried, in the Continental Congress of 1784, the absolute exclusion of Slavery from all the territory then belongmg to, or hkely to be acqufred by, the old Confedera tion. The Eevolutionary War was then barely ended; the British troops stUl held the city of New York ; and the acci dental absence of a member from New Jersey probably pre vented the adoption at that time of a poUcy which would have reahzed the hopes of our Eevolutionary heroes and sages, by quietly, graduaUy tending to and insuring the peaceful, bloodless extirpation of Human Bondage from our THE SLAVERY CONTROVERSY. 283 country. To have confined it, as Mr. Jefferson purposed and proposed, to the existing States which saw fit to maintain it, making thefr bounds a limit beyond which it could not pass, would not have been an expeditious nor heroic, but would have been a cheap, quiet, and certain mode of ridding the country of its most gigantic -wrong and peril. But Mr. Jeffer son was soon sent envoy to France, and the next Congress reduced his statesmanUke programme so as merely to exclude Slavery from aU the territory then possessed by the Confed eration; viz., the region lying between the Ohio and the Mississippi And when the vast, wUd country then known as Louisiana came to be acquired from France, though few years had passed, and Mr. Jefferson was then at the zenith of his power, no potent voice was raised in favor of consecrating at least its stUl vfrgin soU, or even the Northern half of it, to Free Labor forever. There is a sad pathos in the simple Scrip tural narration, " Another king arose, who knew not Joseph " ; but in these faster ages we do not need to await the transfor mation -wrought by death ; our kings forget, not merely their Josephs, but whatever was best and noblest of themselves, r- Mr. Jefferson having thus, in 1784, proposed, and all but carried, the exclusion of Slavery absolutely and forever from aU the territory contained within our National Boundaries, and not yet embraced within the jurisdiction of our thfrteen States, though much of it was stUl the. especial pr »)erty oL= North Carohna and Georgia, both Slave States ; Congress, in 1787, unanimously adopted Mr. Jefferson's prohibition, but confined its appUcation to such territory as had afready been_ ceded to, and was then possessed by, the Confederation. The next Congress was chosen and met under the Federal Con stitution; and this, without a dissenting voice, ratified and confirmed the prohibition, as afready made; but the Territories, soon thereafter cut off from North Carolina and Georgia, to be ultimately moulded into the States of Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi, were expressly shielded, in the acts or ordi nances whereby they were ceded, from the operation of the anti-Slavery proviso of 1787, and thus fastened to the car of Bondage. 284 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. And thenceforth no new National effort was made in the right dfrection untU the Missouri struggle, which resulted in our defeat on the main point, through the medium of a Com promise; the make-weight being a stipulation that Slavery should thenceforth be excluded from aU United States temi- tory north of the line of 36° 30' north latitude, — that is, the southern boundary of Missouri. In other words, it was agreed and stipulated that — Missouri being admitted as a Slave State - — aU our remaining territory, and consequently aU our States stUl in embryo, north of the southem boundary of that State, should be evermore free. "After a storm comes a calm." From 1821 to 1835, or from my tenth to my twenty-fourth year, the Northern people — busy, usuaUy prosperous, and pretty steadUy increasing in -numbers, wealth, and power - — very generaUy ignored the sub ject of Slavery. The convictions of that portion of them who may be said to have had any were not materiaUy changed ; but what use in parading a con-viction which can have no other effect than that of annoying your proud and powerful neighbor? True, Benjamin Lundy had afready begun the '"agitation for Slavery's overthrow, which WilUam Lloyd Gar rison and others, during this period, continued and methodized ; but tlie|tiandful of proclaimed, aggressive Abohtionists were as one to a thousand, even at the North ; while none were tolerated at the South. And, in fact, whatever of impunity they enjpye,d..thiiaighoutjhe_greater_pOTEron ofT;he IN ortfi -was accorded them rather through contempt fortKeirinsignificance than wUUngness tp let them be heard. Had it been imSigined~ that the permanence of Slavery was endangered by tli5F~ ~efforts,they would scarcely have escaped~witE thefr Uves hom any city or considerable village wherein tbpy atti^mpted to hold forth^-even -as it was, hootihgs, howlingSj blackguard revUings, rotten eggs, stoned -windows, &c., &c., were among the milder demonstrations of repugnance to which they were habituaUy subjected. THE SLAVERY CONTROVERSY. 285 And, while I could not withhold from these agitators a cer tain measure of sympathy for their great and good object, I was utterly unable to see how thefr efforts tended to the achievement of thefr end. Granted (most heartUy) that" Slavery ought to be aboUshed, how was that consummation to be effected by societies and meetings of men, women, and chUdren, who o-wned no slaves, and had no sort of control over, or even intimacy with, those who did ? Suppose the people of Vermont aU converted to AboUtion, how was that to bring about the overthrow of Slavery in Georgia ? I could not say nor see ; and therefore I was never_ a member of any distinctively AboUtion society, and very rarely foimd time to attend an AboUtion meeting. Conserva^ tive byjnstmct^by tradition^nd disindinedjio reject or leave undone the practical^oodjwithiiL reach, while straining _after 'tEe~ideal good that was clearly unattainable, I clung fondly ~To^tEe~~WEig~par^7ahd deprecated the AboUtion or Third Party movement in politics, as calculated fataUy to weaken the only great National organization which was hkely to op pose an effective resistance to the persistent exactions and_ aggressions of the Slave Power. Hence, I for years regarded ¦with complacency the Colonization movement, as looking to~ the establishment of a respectable, ff not formidable. Christian repubhc on the westem coast of Africa, and vaguely hoped that a day inight ultimately da-wn, wherein the rudely trans planted children of Africa might either be restored to her soil, or estabUshed, under a government and flag of their own, in j some tropical region of our o-wn continent. c^ Two events, of nearly simultaneous occurrence, materially modified these preconceptions. One was the irruption of certain Western filibusterers, of whom Sam Houston may be regarded as the leader and type, into the Mexican province of Texas, under the pretence of colonization and settlement, but with deliberate intent to -wrest that province, under the pretence of a revolution, from its rightful o-wners, and then annex it to the United States ; thus expanding the area and enhancing the power of American Slavery, — a programme \'-' ifl ^ ¦',' I 286 ' RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. which was thoroughly realized in the course of ten or twelve years. It is easy to sever the acts of this drama so as to ignore their continuity and interdependence ; but I, who read the exulting anticipations of the end from the beginning, having no motive for seff-delusion, never affected it. In my -view, the whole business was one of gigantic spoUation, — of naked viUany, — and its " being's end and aim " were the aggrandize ment of the Slave Power. The coordinate event was the mart-jo'dom of Ehjah P. Lovejoy, — a young Congregational minister, sent out from Maine to St. Louis as an evangehst in 1832, and soon im pelled to start in that city an Orthodox Protestant newspaper, wherein Slavery, like Intemperance and other social e-vils, was treated as an impediment to the spread and sway of vital godliness. Perhaps his aggressive Protestantism had some influence in arousing the resolute, menacing opposition which at length destroyed his establishment, and drove him from the city and the State.* At aU events, Mr. Lovejoy was urged, and in effect compeUed, to remove his establishment to Alton, Illinois ; where he fondly trusted a reUgious journal would be tolerated, even though it should occasionaUy expose and reprobate the iniquities necessarUy inherent in or flowing from man-selling and man-owning. Vain hope ! there is, there can be, no Free State in a nation which aUows its people to be bought and sold, held and treated, hke cattle. Soon, Mr. Lovejoy was ordered to "move on " ; and, faihng to do so, his press was a second time de stroyed by a mob. Again he resolved to renew and refit his establishment ; and was proceeding to do so, when, surrounded by a few friends, he stood to arms for the defence of his property and his right of utterance, at the -warehouse where his third press had just been landed from Cincinnati, and was shot dead I by one of the pro-SlaA^ery ruffians, who thus attest ed their devotion to the Union and to "Southern Eights." And no legal justice was ever meted out to his murderers, — » In May, 1836. t November 7, 1837. THE SLAVERY CONTROVERSY. 287 no restitution made to his bereaved famUy for his press and type, which constituted "the spoUs of -victory." He had dared, as a Cliristian minister, to argue the incompatibiUty of Slavery with the Golden Eule; and the mob had dealt bim therefor what the messages of President Jackson, of Gov ernor Marcy, &c., &c., set forth as his substantial deserts. -= If I had ever been one of those who sneeringly asked, "What have we of the North to do with Slavery ? " the murder of Lovejoy would have supplied me with a conclusive answer. A thousand fiagrant outrages had been, and were, committed upon the persons and property of men and women guUty of no crime but that of pubUcly condemning Slavery; but these were usuaUy the work of irresponsible mobs, acting under some sort of excitement ; but Lovejoy was deliberately, sys tematicaUy, hunted to his death, simply because he would not, in a nominaUy Free State, cease to bear testimony as a Christian minister and journalist to the essential iniquity of slaveholding. It was thenceforth plain to my apprehension, that Slavery and true Freedom could not coexist on the same soU. And this con-viction was deepened and strengthened by the progress and issue of the struggle which resulted in the Annexation of Texas and the consequent War upon Mexico. That Slavery, ha-ving thus extended her power in and over the Union, should not reap a further advantage, through the extension of her sway over the whole or any portion of the territory beyond Texas, most unrighteously -wrested from Mexico, was my earnest resolution. To break the dangerous hold which the Slave Power had afready gamed in New Mexico, through the preposterously impudent, but not there fore impotent, claim of Texas to the o-wnership of that counfry, through the committal of the Democratic party, if not of the Federal Govemment also, to the support of that claim, through the advance of General Taylor, by President Polk's express orders, to the Eio Grande, near Matamoras, and the consequent outbreak of actual hostiUties, was the cardinal point which I kept steadily in view whUe in Con gress, and which moved me to give a quaUfied support to 288 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. SO much of Mr. Cla/s original programme of Compromise as contemplated the admission of Cahfornia and the organization of the remaining acquisitions from Mexico. -, This general survey has seemed essential to a clear com prehension of the circumstances under which a new and more pervading excitement was aroused at the North by the shape ultimately given by Senator Douglas to his bUl for the organ ization of the new Territories of Kansas and Nebraska, — an excitement which recast the great parties, and gave a new phase to our National career. In poUtics, as in nature, great events may seem to result from inadequate causes, because a long series of preexisting causes are unnoted or ignored. The North gave a majority of its Electoral votes to Polk, against Clay, not because of the Texas issue, but in spite of it. The more inteUigent, considerate, conscientious Democrats did not approve of the proposed Annexation of Texas under existing circumstances ; but they were too intent on beating Mr. Clay to give much thought or weight to the Texas issue ; and, beside, they were able to convince themselves that there was Uttle difference as to Texas between Polk and Clay But, the struggle being over, and thefr ancient grudge satisfied, the celerity where with Annexation was effected — the election of Polk being triumphantly quoted as justifying and even requfring it — made a deep impression on their minds. They could not now effectuaUy breast the sweeping current; but they saw, re flected, and quietly bided thefr time. In the Democratic triumph of 1844 was the germ of future Democratic disasters and humiliations. XXXV. THE NEW ERA IN POLITICS. THE Presidential contest of 1852 had witnessed — ff I should not rather say attested — the practical dissolution of the Whig party, — dissolved not by popular aversion to its principles or its leaders, but by the ever-increasing and ulti mately absorbing importance acquired by questions to which those principles bore no dfrect relation. A majority of the voters of Pennsylvania, of Ohio, of Maryland, of North Caro lina, Kentucky, and several other States, stiU agreed -with the Whigs in favoring Protection to Home Industry, National Intemal Improvements, &c., &c. ; but other questions had as sumed greater prominence or imminence in the minds of many of them ; and these, by dividing and distracting those who had been Whigs, had not merely overthro-wn the former Whig ascendency, but precluded aU rational hope of its reestablish- ment. The veterans who had fought their best carnpaigns under the lead of Clay, Harrison, or Webster, might not re alize this, — might persist in holding conventions, framing platforms, nominating candidates, and even achie-ving local successes ; but the young, the ambitious, the unprejudiced, had afready perceived by instinct that the party which tri umphed in 1840 and in 1848 — which was barely, even if fairly, outnumbered in 1844 — was so paralyzed by divisions and defections founded on new or alien issues, that it could hardly be expected ever to carry the country again. And its vfrtual dissolution left the ground open and inviting for new combinations and developments. The first of these in the order of time was the " American," 19 290 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. famUiarly characterized as the " Know-Nothing," movement. It had its origin in this city; where a similar, but less vigorous, less formidable, organization had been effected in 1843 - 44, as also at an earher day. It now assumed the shape of a se cret Order, hostUe in profession to foreign domination, and in effect to the naturaUzation of immigrants untU after a resi dence in this country of twenty -one years, and more especiaUy to Eoman Catholic infiuence and ascendency. Hitherto, this movement had been confined to a few of our great cities and their vicinage, and had, after a brief career, subsided ; but now it pervaded most of our States, achie-ving temporary triumphs in Kentucky, Maryland, and Delaware, and stoutly battling for ascendency even in Virginia, as in nearly every Eastem State ; and for a brief season it seemed destined to sweep aU before it, and remodel our institutions into conformity -with its ideas. But its apparent strength was largely factitious, — men of diverse parties, of radicaUy incompatible -views and purposes, using its machinery to further their several ends, and discarding it whenever such use was precluded or defeated. The fact that almost every " Know-Nothing " was at heart a Whig or a Democrat, a champion or an opponent of Slavery, and felt a stronger, deeper interest in other issues than in those which affiliated him with the " Order," rendered its dis ruption and abandonment a - question, not of years, but of months. It claimed to have carried the Legislature of our State in 1854 ; but that Legislature reelected to the Senate WiUiam H. Seward, who had no sympathy -with any of its purposes ; it actuaUy chose the State officers elected in our State in 1855, though it poUed less than three eighths of the entire vote, — ranning its candidates in between those of the two adverse parties ; but its attempt to choose a President in 1856 resulted in disastrous rout ; the only State carried by it being Maryland, though Millard FiUmore was its candidate for President, with Andrew J. Donelson, the nephew and heir of General Jackson, for Vice-President. Thenceforth, it dwin dled rapidly, untU its members had been fuUy absorbed into one or the other of the great rival parties some four years thereafter. THE NEW ERA IN POLITICS. 291 The simultaneous — in fact, concurrent at the outset, but widely divergent — movement which has since so deeply in fluenced our national career had its origin in the attempt to organize the territories lying dfrectly west of the State of Missouri and Iowa, under the name of Nebraska. The lead ing facts in the premises are so -widely known, and have been so thoroughly discussed, that I may pass over them hurriedly ; yet they excited so powerful an influence over my own subse quent course that I cannot whoUy ignore them. Stephen Arnold Douglas, a Vermonter by birth, had made lUinois his home ; and, though his education was Umited, and his means moderate, aspired to fortune and power as a lawyer and pohtician. A Democratic candidate for Congress in 1838, in a district which included the northern two thirds of the area of the State, and now contains at least 1,500,000 inhabi tants, he was beaten 68 votes by his Whig competitor in a poU of 36,742, though the Democratic Governor had therein a decided majority. But Mr. Douglas evinced in the canvass quahties that endeared him to his party, by which he was soon made a judge, in a few years chosen a Eepresentative in Congress, and in due course transferred to the Senate, where he was placed on the Committee on Territories, and in time became its Chafrman. As such, he had already (at the short session of 1852 - 53) infroduced a bUl to organize the Territory of Nebraska, which Senator Atchison, of western Missouri, had opposed and obsteucted, — notoriously in the interest of Slavery, — the territory in question ha-ving been expressly, undeniably, consecrated to Free Labor by the Missouri Com promise of 1820. At the next long session of 1853 - 54, Mr. Douglas rein troduced his bUl to organize the territory in question; and now for the first time did he seek to deprecate the hostUity evinced through Mr. Atchison by an intimation that the Compromise of 1850 had superseded and annuUed the inter dict of 1820. Hereupon, Mr. Dixon, of Kentucky, inter posed a direct proposition that the interdict be repealed and canceUed. Mr. Douglas did not at once acquiesce, and The 292 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Union (the Democratic organ at Washington) pointedly de nounced the Dixon amendment ; but Mr. Douglas, after some hesitation, accepted it in principle, and interpolated it into his bUl, in terms which declared " the true intent and mean ing " thereof to be " neither to legislate Slavery into the ter ritory in question, nor to exclude it therefrom," but to leave the people thereof perfectly free to estabhsh or exclude " the peculiar institution," as to them should seem advisable. And President Pierce, though he at first resisted and protested, was ultimately induced to sustain this proposition, and to give a -written pledge (as I am weU assured) that he would do so to the end. Soon after the bill had taken this shape, and whUe the North was beginning to be aroused to resist it, I was travers ing Ohio ; and, visiting either Newark or Lancaster, I was there introduced to Hon. Henry Stanberry, who, years before, had been an eminent representative in Congress, but was now old and retfred from pubUc Ufe. "What do you think of this Nebraska bUl ? " he eagerly inqufred. " I think it bound to pass," was my response. " Ah ! I see you don't under stand it," he confidently rejoined : " Frank Pierce has had this project introduced, in order that he may veto it; and then nothing can prevent his reelection." I might have assured Mr. Stanberry that a Democratic President who should lead his party into such a quagmfre for his o-wn per sonal advantage woiUd not be long for this world; but he was much older than I, and I left him firm in his original faith. I do not propose to trace here the history of the Nebraska biU, which was at length so modified by its author as to pro vide for two distinct Territories, — that lying directly west ward of Missouri being designated Kansas, whUe the residue of that originaUy contemplated became Nebraska. In this shape, it passed the Senate by 35 Yeas to 13 Nays, and the House by 113 Yeas to 100 Nays, — nine of the latter from Slave States. And thereupon commenced a practical strug gle between Freedom and Slavery for the possession of Kan- THE NEW ERA IN POLITICS. 293 sas, which lasted down to her final admission as a Free State, after the Southern representatives had abandoned thefr seats tn Congress, in obedience to thefr States' respective Ordi nances of Secession. As I gave, from first to last, whatever of strength I pos sessed, and of effort that I was capable of making, to the work of arousing the people of the Free States to resist and baffle, step by step, the attempt to open to Slavery the region afready solemnly pledged to Free Labor, I desfre briefiy to set forth the grounds of that resistance whereon conservative Unionism and radical Anti-Slavery seemed to meet and coincide. Slavery, as a local institution, was primarUy the business of the States which saw fit to uphold it. We of the North, under our Federal Constitution as it then stood, had the same right to deprecate and oppose it that we had to oppose drunk enness in Canada, or polygamy in Turkey, — no less, no more. Only when it transcended the limits of those States, and chaUenged favor and support as a matter of National or gen eral concern, did it (in our view) expose itseff to our poUtical antagonism. Only when it sought to involve us in a com mon effort, a common responsibUity, with its upholders and champions, did it force us into an attitude of active, deter mined antagonism. This -view had been succinctly and for cibly set forth, with immediate reference to Texas, so early as February, 1838, by Daniel Webster, in a speech at Niblo's Garden, New York, and was held (I presume) by a large ma jority of those citizens of the Free States who supposed that conscience and moraUty have any business in the sphere of pohtics. Yet the rulers of opinion at the South seemed never to comprehend, nor even to consider it. In thefr view, whoever e-vinced repugnance to Slavery anywhere, under any circum stances, was an Abohtionist, and an enemy of thefr section, — a wanton aggressor upon their rights. What they in effect required of us, an?!"' what those whom they heeded and trusted at the North accorded them, was partnership in the 294 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. extension and fortification of Slavery and the Slave Power. "Tme, we hold and work the slaves," they vfrtuaUy said; " but as much for your profit as for our own. You buy our crops, and seU us whatever we need or fancy in return. You own the vessels that fetch and carry for us ; you supply our fabrics, and make a part of them : help us to diffuse our in stitution over more territory, and we -wiU gTow more cotton and buy more goods, to your satisfaction and profit : Why not ? " The answer given to this question by her Northern factors, servitors, poUtical aUies, the South heard and rejoiced in : the very different response made by the conscience of the North, she did not, because she would not, hear and com prehend. The passage of the Nebraska BiU was a death-blow to Northern quietism and cOmplacency, mistaMngly deeming themselves conservatism. To aU who had fondly dreamed or bUndly hoped that the Slavery question would somehow set tle itseff, it cried, " Sleep no more ! " in thunder-tones that would not die unheeded. Concession and complacency were plainly doomed to subserve none other than the most tran sient purposes. Every new surrender on the part of the North was seen to provoke a new exaction in the name of the South. Louisiana, Missouri, Texas, Kansas, — the more that was conceded, the more was stiff required. As, in the ascent of a mountain, " Hills peep over hills, and Alps on Alps arise," SO a long vista of future exactions and concessions was opened by this latest and fuUest triumph of aggressive Slav ery. Systematic, determined resistance was now recognized as imperative duty. That resistance could only be rendered effective through a distinct, compact poUtical organization. That organization was therefore resolved on, spontaneously and simultaneously, by a miUion Northern firesides. It was earUest effected in the West, but had pervaded nearly every Free State before the close of 1854, andjiad assumed almost everywhere a common designation, — that of the Eepubhcan party. XXXVI. MT FARM. I SHOULD have been a farmer. All my riper tastes in cUne to that blessed caUing whereby the human famUy and its humbler auxUiaries are fed. Its quiet, its segregation from strffe, and brawls, and heated rivalries, attract and de hght me. I hate to eam my bread in any caUing which"! compUcates my prosperity in some sort with others' adversity, | — my success -with others' defeat. The farmer's floors may^ groan -with the weight of his crops, yet no one else deems himseff the poorer therefor. He may grow a hundred bush els of corn or forty of wheat to every arable acre, -without arousing jealousy or inciting to detraction. I am content with my lot, and grateful for the generosity wherewith my labors have been rewarded; and yet I say that, were I now to begin my hfe anew, I would choose to eam my bread by cultivating the soil. Blessed is he whose day's exertion ends with the evening t-wilight, and who can sleep unbrokenly and -without anxiety tUl the dawn awakes him, -with energies renewed and senses brightened, to fresh activity and that fulness of health and vigor which are vouchsafed to those only who spend most of their waking hours in the free, pure air and renovating sunshine of the open country. I would have been a farmer, had any science of farming been kno-wn to those among whom my earlier boyhood was passed. We New-Englanders supposed ourselves, even then, an educated, intelUgent people, and, relatively considered, were so : there was no person among us, over twelve years 296 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. old, who had not enjoyed the pri-vileges of common schools, and learned therein to read, -write, and cipher ; we aU read books and newspapers, and / read nearly aU of both that were to be found in our neighborhood ; yet I cannot remember that I had ever seen a periodical devoted to farming, up to the day wherein, in my sixteenth year, I abandoned the farin for the printery. A book treating of Agriculture, or seeking to set forth the rationale of its processes, the natural laws on which they are based, I certainly had not seen. Nay, more : during the ten or twelve years in which I attended school, more or less, I never saw a treatise on Chemistry, Geology, or Botany, in a school-room. I hardly saw one anj^where. That true Agriculture is a grand, ennobhng science, based pn other sciences, and its pursuit a hberal, elevating profession, was not even hinted, much less inculcated, in any essay, speech, or sermon, any book, pamphlet, or periodical, so far as I then knew. Fanning, as understood and practised by those among whom I grew up, was a work for oxen ; and for me the hfe of an ox had no charms. Most of those I knew seemed to tiU the earth mainly because they could not help it ; and I felt that / could help it. So I shook from my bro- gans the dust of the potato-patch, and stepped out in quest of employment better suited to an intelUgent, moral being. It was a quarter of a century after this before I felt able to buy or make the farm whereon to abide the coming of decay and death. I had been some twenty years a resident of the city, and fifteen the head of a household. Six chUdren had been born to me, and four of them had died, — as I am confident some of them would not so prematurely have done, . had they been born and reared in the country. I had earned and bought a smaU but satisfactory house in the very heart of the city ; but who, if he has any choice, prefers to grow old and die at No. 239, unknown to, and un- cared for by, the denizens of Nos. 237 and 241 ? For my family's sake, if not for my own, a country home was re quired : so I looked about and found one. The choice was substantially directed by my wife, who MY FARM. 297 said she insisted on but three requisites, — 1. A peerless spring of pure, soft, Uving water ; 2. A cascade or brawUhg brook ; 3. Woods largely composed of evergreens. These may seem hght matters ; yet I was some time in finding them grouped on the same smaU plat, -within reasonable distance from the city I did find them, however; and those who object to my taste in choosing for my home a rocky, wooded hiUside, sloping to the north of west, -with a bog at its foot, cannot judge me fairly, unless they consider the above requfre- ments. My land was previously the rugged, mainly wooded, out skfrt of two adjacent farms, whereof my babbling brook formed the boundary. Nine miles above White Plains, and thirty-five N. N. E. of our City'HaU, the Harlem Eaifroad, when nearly abreast of the -viUage of Sing-Sing, and six miles east of it, just after entering the to-wnship of Newcastle, crosses a quite small, though pretty constant, miU-stream, named by the Indians Chappaqua, which is said to have meant faUing or babbling water, and which, here running to the southeast, soon takes a southwesterly tum, recrosses under the railroad, and finds its way into the Hudson, through the SawmUl or Nepperhan creek, at Yonkers. A highway, leading westward to Sing- Sing, crosses the raUroad, just north of the upper crossing of the brook, and gives us, some twenty rods from the north west corner of my farm, a station and a post-office, which, with our modest viUage of twenty or thirty houses, take their name from our mUl-stream. Chappaqua is not a very hquid trisyUable, but there is comfort in the fact that it is neither Chnton, nor Washington, nor Middleto-wn, nor any of the trite appeUations which have been so often reapphed, that haff the letters intended for one of them are Ukely to bring up at some other. (How can a rational creature be so thoughtless as to date his letter merely "Greenfield," or "Jack son," or " Springfield," and imagine that the stranger he ad dresses can possibly guess whither to mail the answer ?) 298 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. My brook has its source in wooded, granite hUls, on the east southeast, and comes tinkUng or brawhng thence to be lost in the Chappaqua, a few rods south of the road to Pleas- ant-viUe, which forms my southwestern boundary. As to springs, there are not less than a dozen, which no drouth exhausts, breaking out along the foot of my hiU, or at the base of a higher ridge which forms its crest. My woods are the pride of the farm, which -without them would never have been my farm. They cover about twenty- five of the seventy-five acres which compose it ; and I say to them, -with Oriental courtesy, and more than Oriental sincerity, " May your shadow never be less ! " For the ground they cover is in good part an irregular, sidehng granite ledge, or portions of a ledge, thinly covered by a granitic, graveUy soU, which could not be made to grow anything but wood to the profit of the grower; whereas, it grows wood better than a rich lUinois or Kansas prairie often condescends to do. Its trees are mainly Hemlock and Eed Cedar (my evergreens). White and Eed Oak, Whitewood, Chestnut, White and Blue Beech, Dogwood, White Ash, Sugar and Soft Maple, Elm, Hickory, TuUp, Butternut, Black, YeUow, and White Bfrch. There were just two trees that I could not name, after twenty years' absorp tion in the city ; one of them is kno-wn as Pepperidge, the other as YeUow Poplar. There were a good many -wUd Black Cherries ; but these I have nearly exterminated, as they bred caterpUlai-s to infest my Apple-trees. Of shrubs, there are many that I cannot name. Witch Hazel, Bunch WUlow, Choke Cherry, Hazel, Sassafras, and Sumac, are among those that I peadily recognized. Swamp Alder infested the springy, rocky, boggy ground at the foot of one of my hiUs, tiU I extfr- pated it, and the Dogwood is marked for speedy destruction. It beautifies — nay, glorifies — the woods whUe in blossom for a week or so early in May ; but it is of no account as timber, whUe it sows its seed everjrwhere, and tends to monopohze a good deal more ground than it wiU pay for. My first care, on getting possession of my farm, was to shut cattle out of the greater part of the woods, where they MY FARM. ¦¦ - 299 had been free to roam and ravage throughout the two prece ding centuries that this region had felt the presence of civi Uzed man. Pasturing woods is one of the most glaring -vices of our semi-barbarian agriculture. Cattle browse the tender twigs of dehcate, valuable young trees, while they leave the coarse and worthless unscathed. I have, to-day, ten times as many of the Sugar Maple, White Ash, etc., coming on in my woods as there were when I bought and shut the cattle out of them. I have no blind horror of cutting trees. Any fafrly gro-wn forest can always spare trees, and he benefited by their re moval But I protect most earnestly against the reckless waste involved in cutting off and burning over our forests. In regions which are all woods, ground must of course be cleared for cultivation ; but many a farmer goes on slashing and burning long after he should halt and begin to be sa-ving of his timber. Many of our dairymen are beginning to say, " Down -with the rest of our woods ! we can buy aU the coal we need for fuel, -with haff the butter and cheese we can make on our lands now covered with wood." Friends, that is a sad miscalculation. With one fourth of your land in wood, judiciously covering the crests of your ridges, the sides of your ra-vines, your farms wiU grow more grass than ff whoUy denuded and laid bare to the scorching sun. Pro tracted, desolating drouths, bleak, scathing -winds, and the faUure of deUcate fruits Uke the Peach and finer Pears, are part of the penalty we pay for depri-ving our fields and gar dens of the genial, hospitable protection of forests. Of free-planting, other than for fruit, I have as yet done httle. A row of Eock Maples along the highways that skirt my farm, and a clump of evergreens just north of my garden, are nearly all I have to show. Any one can grow Sugar Maples who -wUl try. To prove it, I need only say that I have lost but two in over a hundred, and these by accident, though my trees mainly came from Eochester, were opened on a warm, sunny day, and left thus -with their roots exposed tUl thoroughly dry. I came upon the planter just then. 300 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. a,nd told him he had kUled the trees ; but I was mistaken. I would, however, advise no one to try the experiment of drying the roots of trees whUe transplanting them; but, ff he will be so careless, he may better take the risk on the Sugar Maple than on any other tree within my knowledge. As there is a stout hUl just south of my farm, my lower ^ land is overshadowed by hUls in the two wrong directions, and so inclines to be cold. Just north of where my brook dances out of the glen which it has wom do-wn the face of My Clump of Evergreens. the hUl is my garden, -with a shght elevation or ridge just north of it. This low ridge I have planted -with evergreens, as a shel ter or -wind-break for the garden. Part of them are Hemlocks and Eed Cedars, transplanted from the woods just at hand ; perhaps as many are Norway and otlier Pines, -with Balsam and other Ffrs, obtained from nurseries. These latter ha-ve MY FARM. 301 the more luxuriant growth, but aU have done weU ; and the copse or clump — possibly forty rods in length by three or four in -width — is (at least in Winter) the pleasantest object seen on the farm. The Uttle greenhouse which nestles beneath it is flanked by strawberry beds, a few grape--vines, and room for early vegetables, which, sloping gently southward, enjoy an average temperature several degrees higher than they would if the evergreens were away ; and the acre or so of level garden farther south is also, but less considerably, warmed and shel tered by this belt of evergreens, whicli not only verifies Shel ley's Apothegm, that "A thing of beauty is a joy forever," but is a positive reenforcement to the productive capacity of the farm. _^ I hope this narration -wUl induce some — I wish it inight \ xyr' induce many — to plant trees, and especiaUy evergreens. \ Not merely as ornamental drapery to dweUings, but as moUi- fiers of the harshness of our capricious climate, they have a value as yet too narrowly appreciated. A few choice trees, just old enough to transplant, cost but a trifle ; and whoever plants a dozen such judiciously, and shields them from in jury, has pro-vided a source of healthful enjoyment, not only for his o-wn Ufetime, but for that of generations yet to be. But we need tree-planting on a broader scale than this. Wherever a ledge or giant rock impedes thorough tiUage, there should be a tree, if not trees. Men of means and of thrift should buy up sterUe tracts that are offered for sale at low rates, and promptly cover them -with White Oak, Hickory, White Pine, Lopust, Chestnut, &c. They can no otherwise so safely and profitably invest their means for the benefit of their chUdren, while benefiting also future generations. Tim ber grows steadUy dearer and dearer ; streams become desolat ing torrents at intervals, and beds of dry sand and pebbles for weeks in Summer and FaU, because our hiUs have been too generaUy stripped and denuded of trees. Let us unitedly cease to do e-vU and leam to do weU in relation to trees. XXXVII. MY- FARMING. THOSE who have read my account of my farm -wUl have judged that it is not weU calculated to enrich its o-wner by large, easily produced crops, and that it was bought in full view of this fact. I wanted a place near a raifroad station, and not too far from the city; my -wife wanted pure air, agreeable scenery, reasonable seclusion, but, above aU, a choice, never-failing spring, a cascade, and evergreen woods, as I have afready stated. Having found these on the thirty- odd acres which comprised our original purchase, we were not so unreasonable as to expect to secure also the fertUity and faciUty of a dry, gently roUing Westem prairie, or of a rich intervale of the Connecticut or Hudson. We knew that our upland was in good part hard, steep, and rocky, and that its productive capacity — never remarkable — had been largely reduced by two centuries of persistent and often excessive pasturing. Sheep may thus be fed a thousand years, yet re turn to the soil nearly as much as they take from it ; not so with milch cows, when their mUk is sent away to some city, and nothing retumed therefor that enriches the fields whence that milk, in the shape of grass or hay, was dra-wn. And so, measurably, of Fruit : whereas Apples have long been a lead ing staple of our region, — Newcastle having formerly boasted more Apple-trees than any to-wnship of its size in America. But an Apple-tree cannot forever draw on the bank of Nature without having its drafts protested, if nothing is ever depos ited there to its credit ; and caterpiUars have so long been aUowed to strip most of our trees unresisted, that many have MY FARMING. 303 grown prematurely old and moss-covered. One year with another, Newcastle does not grow half so many Apples as her trees caU for ; and she never -will tiU she feeds her trees bet ter and fights their enemies with more persistent' resolution than she has done. I have seen five thousand of those trees, in the course of a brief morning ride in June, with more caterpiUars than remaining leaves per tree; and very httle refiection can be needed to show that trees so neglected for a few years wiU have outUved thefr usefulness. The woods are my special department. Whenever I can save a Saturday for the farm, I try to give a good part of it to my patch of forest. The axe is the healthiest imple ment that man ever handled, and is especially so for habitual -writers and other sedentary workers, whose shoulders it throws back, expanding their chests, and opening their -lungs. If every youth and man, from fifteen to fifty years old, could -wield an axe two hours per day, dyspepsia would vanish from the earth, and rheumatism become decidedly scarce. I am a poor chopper ; yet the axe is my doctor and dehght. Its use gives the mind just enough occupation to prevent its falUng into revery or absorbing trains of thought, whUe every muscle in the body receives sufficient, yet not exhausting, exercise. I -wish aU our boys would leam to love the axe. I began by cutting out the Witch Hazels, and other trash not worth keeping, and trimming up my trees, especially the Hemlocks, which grow limbs clear to the ground, and throw them out horizontaUy to such a distance that several rods of ground are sometimes monopohzed by a single tree. Many of these lower hmbs die in the course of time, but do not fall off-; on the contrary, they harden and sharpen into spikes, which threaten your face and eyes as if they were bayonets. These I have graduaUy cut away and transformed into fuel. Many of my Hemlocks I have trimmed to a height of at least fifty feet ; and I mean to serve many others just so, if I can ever find time before old age compels me to stop climbing. But the Hemlock so bristles throughout -with hmbs that it 304 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. can easily be chmbed by a hale man tiU he is seventy ; and, working -with a hatchet or Ught axe, you commence trimmfrtg at the top, — that is, as high as you choose to trim, — and, without difficulty, cut aU smooth as you work your way down. Limbs to the ground may be graceful in the edge of your wood ; but your tree -wUl not make timber nearly so fast as if trimmed, and you cannot afford it so much space as it claims in the heart of your patch of forest. If I linger proudly among my trees, consider that here most of my farm-work has been done, and here my profit has been reahzed, in the shape of health and -vigor. When I am asked the usual question, " How has your farming paid ? " I can truthfuUy answer that my part of it has paid splendidly, be ing aU income and no outgo, — and who can show a better balance-sheet than that ? Seriously — I beheve there is money to be made by judi cious tree-planting and forest-culture, now that raUroads have so greatly cheapened the cost of transportation. If any man has or can buy a tract of woodland, or land too poor or broken to be profitably tiUed, let him shut out cattle, and steadily plant choice trees whUe cutting out poorer ; let him cut every tree that stops gro-wing and begins to decay, or shed its hmbs ; let him not hesitate to thin as weU as trim up ; let him cut out Eed Oak, for instance, and sow the acorns of White ; let him, when haff a dozen or more sprouts start from a single stump, cut away aU but two or three, and by and by cut again ; and I am confident that he may thus grow timber twice as rapidly as where it is neglected, and grow trees far more valuable than those that come by chance. Nay: if near a city, he can make a thousand doUars far more easUy, though less quickly, by growing Timber than by gro-wing Grain. The land I ultimately bought included part of aij old or chard, which I estimated "worth a httle more than the fire wood that might be made of it ; but there I was mistaken. Old Apple-trees, never grafted, or grafted with indifferent / '' ' N oo o tsK H MY FARMING. 305 fruit, and which have been suffered to grow out of proper shape to a height of forty or fifty feet, so that caterpiUars flourish in thefr tops -with impunity, are simply nuisances. If you buy or inherit such, cut them down remorselessly the moment you can obtain fruit for your own use from others. On the land I first purchased was a young orchard of two acres, mainly Eussets, — smaU fruit, but not in-viting to worins, whUe it keeps splendidly, — in fact, hardly becomes eatable tUl AprU or May. The Eusset yields bounteously and pretty constantly ; so that, if I were planting for profit in this region, I should give this sort the preference. I should carefuUy avoid the common error (which I, when greener, committed) of planting many sorts together ; indeed, I would prefer to have but one sort in an orchard, for the convenience of gathering and marketing. , My young orchards are just fairly beginning to bear. The ground was not ploughed so deeply as it should be, — in fact, the ground on which Apple-trees are to be set should be trenched three feet deep, — but it has been weU fertUized ; and I hope for good crops in the years close at hand. In the httle deU or glen through which my brook emerges from the wood whereui it has brawled down the hiU, to dance across a gentle slope to the swamp below, is the spring, — pure as crystal, never-faUing, cold as you could wish it for drink in the hottest day, and so thoroughly shaded and shel tered that, I am confident, it was never warm and never frozen over. Many springs on my farm are exceUent, but this is peerless. It determined the location of my house, which stands on a Uttle plateau or bench of level ground half way do-wn the hiU, some twenty rods north of, and forty feet higher than, itseff. I never saw a sweeter spot than was the httle plat of grass which my house has supplanted, with taU woods aU around, and a thrifty gro-wth of young hem locks starting thickly just west and south of it. I do not now regard this as a judicious location : it is too much shaded shut in; it is too damp for health in a wet time; it 20 306 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. tempts the chimney to smoke, especiaUy when the atmos phere is so hea-vy that the wind beats do-wn over the wooded hiU that rises directly on the north and east ; but the hottest day is cool here ; dust is unkno-wn ; and no ramble from any highway disturbs meditation or piques curiosity. My house is not much, — hastUy erected, smaU, sUght, and wooden, it has at length been almost deserted for one recently purchased and refitted on the edge of the viUage, just where my private road emerges from the farm, on its way to the station ; but the cottage in the woods is stiU my house, where my books remain, where I mean to garner my treasures, and wherein I propose to be " at home " to my friends at stated seasons, and " not at home " to any one when I address myseff to work, and especiaUy to the consummation of a yet unafred Uterary project. But these are dreams, which opportunity may never be afforded to reaUze. As yet, I am a horse in a bark-mUl, and tread his monotonous round; never finding time to do to-day what can possibly be postponed to the morrow. The woodless portion of my upland has been patiently im proved by digging, blasting, and picking out rock and stone, by running under-drains where they seemed to be needed, by ploughing deeper than it was ever ploughed before, though not yet nearly deep enough, and by persistent fertUizing -with composted swamp muck, hme, salt, gypsum, bone-dust, and artificial, as weU as mineral, manures, until it is to-day in very fair condition, or only needs deepening six to twelve inches more to make it so. Afready, it produces almost unfaihngly good crops of Indian Corn, Oats, Turnips, and especiaUy of Grass. I have repeatedly gro-wn fair crops of Wheat, especiaUy of Spring, and never decidedly faUed but once. Most of our lands that have long been devoted to the production of mUk are in special need of phosphates, which are most readUy suppUed in the shape of ground bones, — the finer the better. With land in proper condition. Wheat is as sure a crop in Southern New York as in Wisconsin or Minnesota. Boots have generaUy done weU with me on ground properly pre pared ; but the Potato is an exception ; and I doubt that it MY FARMING. 307 wiU hereafter produce so plenteously on our seaboard as on the breezy slopes of the Green Mountains, the CatskiUs, or of our high inland counties Uke Madison or Steuben. My swamp (whereof successive purchases have increased the area to fuUy twenty acres) has been my chief difficulty. OriginaUy, a muddy, oozy fen, thickly dotted with " hassocks " or "tussocks " of coarse bog-grass, I have cut these and (tired of awaiting thefr natural decay) bumed them to fertiUzing ashes for my upland ; have seamed the entire fiat with under- drains ; have cut down the httle runnel that permeated its centre, and- the open ditch that for some distance ran paraUel to it on the east, coUecting the waters of a dozen springs, obhged to join it ere it was lost in my brook, that comes brawling do-wn my hiUside, and have spared no effort, gradged no cost, to render it completely arable. But the faU is so sUght, not only on my o-wn land, bht for nearly a mile below it, that my success is still partial and unsatisfactory. Though I have been aUowed to straighten, as weU as deepen, the brook on my neighbors' land, below me, I am stUl fiooded at intervals -with back-water, which chokes my drains and threatens to inundate my fattest acres. If I Uve, I shaU surely triumph in the end ; and .1 am now profiting by the engineering of Mr. James GaU, whose experience in the Cen tral (New York) and Prospect (Brooklyn) Parks is of decided value. But a good outlet, or faU, is so essential to easy suc cess in draining, that every one who shall hereafter attempt to drain a swamp ought to begin -with this, and be sure of at least two feet faU from his lowest point at flood-time in Spring before he cuts his first drain. Of aU unprofitable work, burying tiles where water -wiU run sometimes one -way, sometimes the other, until they choke -with mud and become utterly useless, is most discouraging. But thorough under- draining is the basis of aU lasting improvement in farm or garden culture ; and we should either drain our swamps thoroughly; or provide for flooding them in Winter and lay them do-wn to cranberries. I do not doubt that this latter is in many cases the wiser disposition, except where the 308 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. vicinity of a city or viUage forbids it, from due regard to others' health. But my swamp is close by a hamlet which is soon to be quite a vUlage : so it must and shaU be dramed ; and, that thoroughly done, it wUl be cheap at five hundred doUars per acre, since it needs Uttle hut draining to assimUate it in fertiUty to a patch of Western prairie. If I Uve, it shaU yet come to. My bam is a fair success. I placed it on the sheff of my hUl, nearest to the upper (east) side of my place, because a barn-yard is a manufactory of hea-vy fertUizers from materials of lesser weight ; and it is easier to draw these do-wn hUl than up. I buUt its waUs whoUy of stones gathered or blasted from the adjacent slope, to the extent of four or five thousand tons, and laid in a box -with a thin mortar of (Uttle) lime and (much) sand, fiUing aU the interstices and binding the whole into a sohd mass, tiU my waUs are nearly one soUd rock. MY FARMING. 309 whUe the roof is of Vermont slate. I drive into three stories, — a basement for manures, a stable for animals, and a story above this for hay — whUe grain is pitched into the loft or " scaffold " above, from whose floor the roof rises steep to a height of sixteen to eighteen feet. There should have been more -windows for Ught and air ; but my bam is convenient, while impervious to frost, and I am confident that cattle are -wintered in it at a fourth less cost than when they shiver in board shanties, with cracks between the boards that wdl admit your hand. No part of our rural economy is more wasteful than the habitual exposure- of our animals to pelting, chilling storms, and to intense cold. Building -with concrete is stiU a novelty, and was far more so ten years ago, when I built my barn. I could now buUd better and cheaper ; but I am glad that I need not. I calculate that this barn -wiU be abidingly useful long after I shaU have been utterly forgotten ; and that, had I chosen to have my name lettered on its front, it would have remained there to honor me as a builder, long after it had ceased to have any other signifi cance. "You -wdU be sick of Uving in the country -within two years," I was confidently told when I bought; "and your place -wiU be advertised for sale." " Then the sheriff's name -wUl be at the foot of the advertisement," I responded. The mere fact that / am not yet sick of it proves nothing, since I only try to spend Saturdays upon it, and am often unable to do even that ; but my -wife, who spends most of each year there, and has done so ever since it was bought, is equaUy constant in her devotion ; and the bare idea of exchanging our place for any other has never yet suggested itseff to either of us. With a first-rate stone or brick house to shut out the cold, I doubt if either of us would, of choice, hve elsewhere, even in Winter. For, while the young may love to wander, and may feel that they enjoy the fragrance of others' flowers, the stately grace of their woods, I think we aU, as we grow old, love to feel and know that some spot of earth is pecu- 310 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Uarly our own, — ours to possess and to enjoy, — ours to improve and to transmit to our children. As we reahze the steady march of years in the thinning of our blanched locks, the deepening of our -wrinkles, we more and more incUne to shun travel and crowds and novelties, and concentrate our affections on the few who are infolded by " that dear hut, our home." " But what of the profits of your farming ? You have said nothing of them" I often hear. WeU : it is not yet time to speak of them, — in fact, they are, as yet, unspeakably smaU. Thus far, I have been making a farm, rather than working one ; and the process is not yet complete. The first Apple- trees of my planting, are just beginning to bear ; my best land, having been recently bought, and as yet imperfectly drained, is stUl unproductive. Nor do I expect that farming — or anything else — -wiU pay -without better oversight than I have yet been able to accord it. "Do you not perceive," said one near to me, "that your man there does not more than haff work ? " " Certainly," I replied ; " I am quite aware of it. Were he disposed to be efficient, he would work his o-wn land, not mine." You can scarcely hire any work weU done, to which you cannot give personal attention. Publishing newspapers by proxy would be stiU more ruinous than farming. But I close -with a confident assertion that good farming yrasLpay — yes, does pay — right here by New York, — pay generaUy, and pay weU. Of course, he who lacks capital must work to disadvantage in this as in everything else ; and a little capital wUl go further in the Far West than on the crowded seaboard ; but I feel certain that even / could make money by farming in Westchester County, ff I could give my time and mind to it ; and that a good farmer, with adequate means, can, in foUowing his vocation, do as well near this city as a reasonable man could expect, or wisely desire. & XXXVIII. "SEWARD, WEED, AND GREELEY." AS I had first engaged conspicuously in pohtical strife at the in-vitation of Mr. Thurlow Weed, and had thus been brought,, very soon afterward, into famUiar and confidential relations with his next friend, Mr. WilUam H. Seward, I was measurably identified with, ff not thoroughly devoted to, their mutual fortunes, for the next fifteen or sixteen years. While editing The Jeffersonian in Albany, I -wrote and reported (im perfectly) legislative proceedings for Mr. Weed's paper. The Albany Evening Journal; and, though I had no part in nominating Mr. Seward for Governor in 1838, 1 did whatever I could to help elect him ; and so at his reelection in 1840. (He had previously been State Senator, elected in 1830 ; but had been badly defeated by WUUam L. Marcy, when first a candidate for Governor, in 1834.) When, after four years of obscuration, the Whig star was again in the ascendant, in 1846 - 48, 1 was a zealous, if not very effective, advocate of his election to the United States Senate. Apa,rt from pohtics, I Uked the man, though not blind to his faults. His natural instincts were humane and progres sive. He hated Slavery and aU its belongings, though a seeming necessity constrained him to -write, in 1838, to this intensely pro-Slavery city, a pro-Slavery letter, which was at war with his real, or at least with his subsequent, con-victions. Though of Democratic parentage, he had been an Adams man, an Anti-Mason, and was now thoroughly a Whig. The policy of more extensive and vigorous Internal Improvement had no more zealous champion. By nature, genial and averse to 312 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. pomp, ceremony, and formahty, few pubUc men of his early prune were better calculated to attract and fascinate young men of his own party, and holding views accordant on most points with his. Yet he had faults, which his accession to power soon dis played in bold rehef His natural tendencies were toward a government not merely paternal, but prodigal, — one which, in its multiform endeavors to make every one prosperous, ff not rich, was very hkely to whehn aU in general embarrass ment, if not in general bankruptcy. Few Govemors have favored, few Senators voted for, more unwisely lavish expen ditures than he. Above the suspicion of voting money into his own pocket, he has a rooted disUke to opposing a project or bUl whereby any of his attached friends are to profit. And, conceited as we aU are, I think most men exceed him in the art of concealing from others their overweening faith in their o-wn sagacity and discernment. Mr. Thurlow Weed was of coarser mould and fibre, — taU, robust, dark-featured, shrewd, resolute, and not over-scrupu lous, — keen-sighted, though not far-seeing. Writing slowly and with difficulty, he was for twenty years the most senten tious and pungent -writer of editorial paragraphs on the Ameri can press. In pecuniary matters, he was generous to a fault whUe poor ; he is said to be less so since he became rich ; but I am no longer in a position to know. I cannot doubt, however, that if he had never seen Wall Street or Washington, had never heard of the Stock Board, and had hved in some yet undiscovered country, where legislation is never bought nor sold, his life would have been more blameless, useful, and happy I was sitting beside him in his editorial room soon after Governor Seward's election, when he opened a letter from a brother 'Whig, which ran substantially thus : — " Dear Weed : I -want to be a Bank Commissioner. You know how to fix it. Do so, and draw on me for whatever sum you may see fit. Yours traly." "SEWARD, WEED, AND GREELEY." 313' In an instant, his face became pretematuraUy black with mingled rage and mortification. " My God ! " said he, " I knew that my pohtical adversaries thought me a scoundrel, but I never tUl now supposed that my friends did." He at once responded to the overtm-e to this effect : — " SiE : I have received your letter, and shall lay it before the Governor elect, with whom it wiU doubtless have the influence it deserves. Yours.'' Though generaUy in hearty accord, these fast friends were not entfrely so. Seward, born in comfortable circumstances, and educated a gentleman, had none of the " Poor White " prejudice against Blacks ; while it was otherwise with Weed, whose origin and training had been different. My New Eng land birth and Federal antecedents saved me from sharing this infirmity, to which the poverty and obscurity of my boy hood might else have exposed me. I was early brought into coUision with both my seniors on the subject of a Eegistry Law. Every Whig who had been active in the political contests of this city was instinctively and intensely a champion of a registration of legal voters; knowing well, by sad experience, that, in its absence, enormous frauds to our damage are the rale, and honest and legal voting the exception. So, in the first legislature of our State that was Whig aU over, a bUl was introduced, with my very hearty assent and active support, which provided for a registration of voters here ; and it had made such headway before it at tracted the serious attention of Messrs. Seward and Weed, that aU thefr great infiuence could not prevent the Whig members supporting and passing it. Yet the measure was so intensely deprecated by them, as tending to aUenate the un distinguished, poor, and especiaUy those of foreign birth, from our side, by teaching them to regard the Whigs as hostile to their rights, that the purpose of vetoing it was fuUy formed and confidentially avowed; and, though it was at length abandoned, and the bUl signed, Mr. Weed assured me that the Governor would have preferred to lose his right hand. 314 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. On one important question, Mr. Weed and I were antipodes. Believing that a currency in part of paper, kept at par with specie, and current in every part of our country, was indis pensable, I was a zealous advocate of a National Bank; which he as heartUy detested, beheving that its supporters would always be identified in the popular mind with aristocracy, monopoly, exclusive privUege, &c. He attempted, more than once, to overbear my convictions on this point, or at least preclude thefr utterance, but was at length brought appar ently to comprehend that this was a point on which we must agree to differ. The pohtical canvass of 1854 in our State was unlike any other ever kno-wn. The advocacy and passage of the Ne braska BiU had disorganized and seriously weakened the Democrats ; the 'Whig party had wasted to a shadow, yet an august, imposing, venerable shade ; the question of Liquor Prohibition, grown suddenly prominent by reason of its suc cess in Maine, was rapidly effacing, or at leAst overriding, party lines ; whUe the American, or " Know-Nothing " move ment had not only a considerahle, though Ul-defined, genuine strength, but had attracted crowds of nominal adherents, intent on diverse special ends. Though the State had been two or three years under Democratic rule by large majorities, no one could safely guess how this year's election would re sult. I I was a member of the first anti-Nebraska or Eepubhcan State Convention, which met at Saratoga Springs in Septem ber ; but Messrs. Weed and Seward for a whUe stood aloof from the movement, preferring to be stUl regarded as Whigs. We made no nominations at that time, but provided for a nominating convention at a later day ; meantime, the Whigs held theirs, and nominated Myron H. Clark for Govemor, -with Henry J. Eaymond for Lieutenant. The Eepubhcans and the Prohibitionists severally held conventions thereafter, and adopted these candidates, finding them all they could ask. The Democrats had been rent afresh by their old feud Lt.-Gov. Raymond . . . 157,166 Ludlow iSoJi) . 128,833 Scroggs (Am.) . . 121,037 Ford {Hard} . . 52,074 "SEWARD, WEED, AND GREELEY." 315 respecting Slavery in the Territories : the " Softs " running the incumbent, Horatio Seymour; the "Hards," Greene C. Bronson, for Governor. The "American" candidate was Daniel UUmann When the vote was canvassed, it was found thus di-vided : — Giro. Clark 156,804 Seymour .... 156,495 Ullmann {Am.) . . . 122,282 Bronson 33,851 The Whigs had both branches of the Legislature by large majorities, and they had Uke majorities for every candidate on their State ticket but their Governor, who was barely elected. And, though the "Americans" claimed many of the members elect, and with reason, we, who had been labor ing to secure the return of Governor Seward to the Senate, knew that we had succeeded, — that many of the votes con fidently counted on by his adversaries were sure for him. There were some members who actuaUy voted against hun, who would have voted for him had their votes been needed. When aU was beyond contingency, I -wrote Governor Seward a private letter, intended for his eye alone ; but the pointed and misleading aUusions to it by certain of the Gov ernor's devoted foUowers, after his failure to be nominated for President at Chicago in 1860, impeUed me to demand it for pubUcation, and to print it. It is, verbatim, as foUows : — HORACE GREELEY TO WILLIAM H. SEWARD. New York, Saturday Evening, November 11, 1854. Go-VERNOR Skwaed : The Election is over, and its results suf ficiently ascertained. It seems to me a fitting time to announce to you the dissolution of the political firm of Seward, Weed, and Greeley, by the withdrawal of the junior partner, — said with drawal to take effect on the morning after the first Tuesday in February next. And, as it may seem a great presumption in me to assume that any such firm exists, especially since the public was advised, rather more than a year ago, by an editorial rescript in The Evening Journal formaUy reading me out of the Whig party, that I was esteemed no longer either useful or ornamental in the 316 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. concern, you will, I am sure, indulge me in some reminiscences which seem- to befit the occasion. I was a poor young printer and Editor of a Literary Journal, — a very active and bitter 'Whig in a smaU way, but not seeking to be known out of my own Ward Committee, — when, after the great Political Ee-vulsion of 1837, I was one day caUed to the City Hotel, where two strangers introduced themselves as Thurlow Weed and Lewis Benedict, of Albany. They told me that a cheap Campaign Paper of a peculiar stamp at Albany had been resolved on, and that I had been selected to edit it. The announcement might weU be deemed flattering by one who had never even sought the notice of the great, and who was not known as a partisan writer ; and I eagerly embraced their proposal They asked me to fix my salary for the year ; I named $ 1,000, which they agreed to ; and I did the work required, to the best of my ability. It was work that made no figm-e, and created no sensation ; but I loved it, and I did it well. 'When it was done, you were Govemor, dispensing offices worth $ 3,000 to % 20,000 per year to your friends and compatriots, and I returned to my garret and my crust, and my desperate battle with pecuniary obligations heaped upon me by bad partners in business and the disastrous events of 1837. I believe it did not then occur to me that some one of these abun dant places might have been offered to me without injustice ; I now think it should have occurred to you. If it did occur to me, I was not the man to ask you for it ; I think that should not have been necessary. I only remember that no friend at Albany in quired as to my pecuniary circumstances ; that your friend (but not mine), Robert C. Wetmore, was one of the chief dispensers of your patronage here ; and that such devoted compatriots as A. H. WeUs and John Hooks were lifted by you out of pauperism into independence, as I am glad I was not ; and yet an inquiry from you as to my needs and means at that day woidd have been timely, and held ever in grateful remembrance: In the Harrison campaign of 18-iO, I was again designated to edit a campaign paper. I published it as weU, and ought to have made something by it, in spite of its extremely low price ; my ex treme poverty was the main reason why I did not. It compeUed me to hfre press- work, maUing, &o., done by the job, and high charges for extra work nearly ate me up. At the close, I was still "SEWARD, WEED, AND GREELEY." 317 without property and in debt ; but this paper had rather improved my position. Now came the great scramble of the swell mob of coon min strels and cider-suckers at Washington, — I not being counted in. Several regiments of them went on from this city ; but no one of the whole crowd — though I say it who should not — had done so much toward General Hairison's nomination and election as yours •respectfuUy. I asked nothing, expected nothing ; but you, Govemor Seward, ought to have asked that I be postmaster of New York. Your asking would have been in vain ; but it would have been an act of grace neither wasted nor undeserved. I soon after started The Tribune, because I was urged to do so by certain of your friends, and because such a paper was needed here. I was promised certain pecuniary aid in so doing ; it might have been given me without cost or risk to any one. All I ever had was a loan by piecemeal of $ 1,000 from James CoggeshaU, God bless his honored memory ! I did not ask for this ; and I think it is the one sole case in which I ever received a pecuniary favor from a political associate. I am very thankful that he did not die tUl it was fully repaid. And here let me honor one grateful recoUection. 'When the Whig party under your rule had offices to give,, my name was never thought of; but when, in 1842-43, we were hopelessly out of power, I was honored with the party nomination for State Printer. When we came again to have a State Printer to elect as weU as nominate, the place went to Weed, as it ought. Yet it is worth something to know that there was once a time when it was not deemed too great a sacrifice to recognize me as belonging to your household. If a new office had not since been created on pur pose to give its valuable patronage to H. J. Raymond, and enable St. John to show -forth his Times as the organ of the Whig State Administration, I should have been stUl more grateful. In 1848, your star again rose, and my warmest hopes were realized in your election to the Senate. I was no longer needy, and had no more claim than desire to be recognized by General Taylor. I think I had some claim to forbearance from you. What I received thereupon was a most humiliating lecture in the shape of a decision in the libel-case of Redfield and Pringle, and an obligation to publish it in my own and the other journal of our 318 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. supposed firm. I thought, and stdl think, this lecture needlessly cruel and mortifying. The plaintifis, after using my columns to the extent of their needs or desires, stopped -writing, and caUed on me for the name of thefr assaUant. I profiered it to them, — a thoroughly responsible name. They refused to accept it, unless it should prove to be one of the four or five first men in Bata-na ! — when they had kno-wn from the first who it was, and that it was neither of them. They would not accept that which they had demanded ; they sued me instead for money ; and money you were at liberty to give them to your heart's content. I do not think you were at hberty to humUiate me in the eyes of my own and your* public as you did. I think you exalted .your own judicial sternness and fearlessness unduly at my expense. I think you had a better occasion for the display of these qualities wheh Webb threw himself untimely upon you for a pardon which he had done aU a man could do to demerit. (His paper is paying you for it now.) I have publicly set forth my view of your and our duty -with respect to Fusion, Nebraska and party designations. I wUl not repeat any of that. I have referred also to Weed's reading me out of the 'Whig party, — inscriin&ijfiing in th^^asin_some other things, that of. doing to,-day what more politic persons wiU not be readv to do till to-morrow. ..._...rf^.—.— ^^ 'IIMMHililH 11.. nil . Let me speak ot the late canvass. I was once sent to Con gress for ninety days, merely to enable Jim Brooks to secure a seat therein for four years. I think I never hinted to any human being that I would have liked to be put forward for any place. But James W. "White (you hardly know how good and true a man he is) started my name for Congress, and Brooks's packed dele gation thought I could help him through, so I was put on behind him. But this last Spring, after the Nebraska question had created a new state of things at the North, one or two personal friends, of no political consideration, suggested my name as a candidate for Governor, and I did not discourage them. Soon, the persons who were afterward mainly instrumental in nominat ing Clark came about me, and asked if I could secure the Know- * If I am not mistaken, this judgment is the only speech, letter, or docu ment, addressed to the public, in which you ever recognized my existence. I hope I may not go down to posterity as embalmed therein. "SEWARD, WEED, AND GREELEY." 319 Nothing vote. I told them I neither coidd nor would touch it, — on the contrary, I loathed and repeUed it. Thereupon, they tumed upon Clairk. I said nothing, did nothing. A hundred people asked me who should be run for Governor. I sometimes indicated Patter son ; I never hinted at my own name. But by and by Weed came down and called me to him, to tell me why he coidd not support me for Governor. (I had never asked nor counted on his support.) I am sure Weed did not mean to humiliate me, but he did it. The upshot ofhis discourse (very cautiously stated) was this : If I were a candidate for Govemor, I should beat not myself only, but you. Perhaps that was true. But, as I had in no manner solicited his or your support, I thought this might have been said to my fi-iends, rather than to me. I suspect it is true that I could not have been elected Govemor as a "Whig. But had he and you been .^.favorable, there would have been a party in the State, ere this, which cpidd and would have elected me to any post, without in juring myself or endangering your reelection. It was in vain that I urged that I had in no manner asked a nomination At length, I was nettled by his language — weU intended, but very cutting, as addressed by him to me — to say, in substance, " WeU, then, make Patterson Govemor, and try my name for Lieutenant. To lose this place is a matter of no im portance, and we can see whether I am reahy so odious." I should have hated to serve as Lieutenant-Governor, but I should have gloried in running for the post. I want to have my enemies ah upon me at once, — I am tired of fighting them piece meal And, although I should have been beaten in the canvass, I know that my mnning would have helped the ticket and helped my paper. It was thought best to let the matter take another course. No other name could have been put upon the ticket so bitterly humbling to me as that which was selected. The nomination was given to Raymond, — the fight left to me. And, Govemor Seward, / have made it, though it be conceited in me to say so. "What little fight there has been, I have stirred up. Even Weed has not been (I speak of his paper) hearty in this contest, while the jo-ur- nal of the Whig Lieutenant-Governor has taken care of its own 320 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. interests and let the canvass take care of itself, as it early declared it would do. That journal has (because of its milk-and-water course) some twenty thousand subscribers in this city and its sub urbs ; and of these twenty thousand, I venture to say, more voted for Ullmann and Scroggs than for Clark and Raymond ; The Tribune (also because of its character) has but eight thousand subscribers within the same radius ; and, I venture to say that, of its habitual readers, nine tenths voted for Clark and Raymond, very few for UUmann and Scroggs. I had to bear the brunt of the contest, and take a terrible responsibility, in order to prevent the Whigs uniting upon James W. Barker, in order to defeat Fernando Wood. Had Barker been elected here, neither you nor I could, walk these streets without being hooted, and Know-Nothingism would have swept like a prairie-fire. I stopped Barker's election at the cost of incurring the deadliest enmity of the defeated gang, and I have been rebuked for it by the Lieutenant-Governor's paper. At the critical moment, he came out against John "Wheeler in favor of Charles H. MarshaU (who would have been your deadliest enemy in the House) ; and even your Colonel-General's paper, which was even with me in insisting that "Wheeler should be returned, wheeled about at the last moment, and went- in for MarshaU, - — The Tribune alone clinging to W^heeler to the last. I rejoice that they who turned so suddenly were not able to turn aU their readers. Governor Seward, I know that some of your most cherished friends think me a great obstacle to your advancement, — that John Schoolcraft, for one, insists that you and Weed shaU not be identified with me. I tmst, after a tune, you wiU not be. I trast I shaU never be found in opposition to you ; I have no further wish but to glide out of the newspaper world as quietly and as speedily as possible, join my family in Europe, and, if possible, stay there quite a time, — long enough to cool my fevered brain and renovate my overtasked energies. AU I ask is that we shaU be counted even on the moming after the first Tuesday in Febru ary, as aforesaid, and that I may thereafter take such course as seems best, without reference to the past. You have done me acts of valued kindness in the line of your profession, — let me close with the assurance that these wiU ever be gratefully remembered by Yours, ^ HOKA.CE Greelbt. Hon. Wm. H. Sbwakd, Present. "SEWARD, WEED, AND GREELEY." 321 Seeing nothing in this letter that requires explanation, I simply add that my personal relations with Governor Seward were whoUy unchanged by it. We met frequently and cor diaUy after it was -written, and we very freely conferred and cooperated during the long straggle in Congress for Kansas and Free Labor. He understood as weU as I did that my position with regard to him, though more independent than it had been, was no-wise hostile, and that I was as ready to support his advancement as that of any other statesman, whenever my judgment should teU me that the public good required it. I was not his adversary, hut my o-wn and my country's freeman. In the Spring of 1859, Governor Seward crossed the At lantic ; -visiting Egypt, traversing Syria and other portions of Asia Minor, as well as much of Europe. Soon after his re turn, he came one evening to my seat in Dr. Chapin's church, — as he had repeatedly done during former -visits to our city, — and I now recaU this as the last occasion on which we ever met. The Scripture lesson of the evening was the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs, which recounts the merits and proclaims the honors of the -vfrtuous woman ; enumerat ing, among the latter, that " Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land." " Two months ago," thereupon observed Governor Seward, " I was fraveUing in Syria, with a Turkish firman and other docu ments, which proclaimed me, I infer,, a person of some conse quence ; since the head functionary of a village where I halted and presented my papers received me with the greatest distinction, and, as a final proof of his regard, invited me to sit -with him in the gate, as, flanked by the elders, he heard complaints and defences, and rendered judgment thereon." So unchanging are the essential habits and usages of the Asiatics, that foreign conquest — Egyptian, Assyrian, Persian, Greek, Eoman, Saracen, Crusader, and Osmanli — had, along with more than thirty centuries, rolled thefr effacing surges over that region, yet here are the chiefs of the respective villages or tribes judging the people as of old, surrounded 21 322 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and counseUed by the elders; and any eminent stranger is in-vited, as a mark of honor, to sit -with them, as he was in (or before) the reign of Solomon. Eoss Browne found but one man doing anything in Syria ; and he was faUing off a house. It is weU to be usefully busy ; yet quiet and tenacious contentment with " The good old ways, — all ways, when old, are good," is not devoid of recommendation, and even advantage. I have often, during these later years, been unable to agree with Governor Seward, — have sometimes quite pointedly dissented from his views of great pubUc questions. It is not probable that we shaU ever again be as near to each other as we have been. That his ends have ever been pafriotic, I wUl not doubt ; that his means have sometimes been mistaken, I think his warmest friends must admit. That he once aspired to the Presidency is a trath, but no reproach ; able, -wise, and good men have done so, -without impeachment of thefr pa triotism or abatement of thefr usefulness. StUl, one who has, / aU but clutched the gUttering prize, yet faUed to secure it,, always thereafter seems to have suffered from the aspiration or the failure, — possibly from both. Great, inteUectuaUy, as Daniel Webster was, he would have heen morally greater, and every way more useful and honored, had he sternly re sponded " Get thee behind me, Satan ! " to every suggestion that he might yet attain the Presidency. I hope Mr. Seward wiU outUve, ff he has not afready outUved, his ambition, and wiU find leisure and incitement to -write- of what he has seen and kno-wn during his all but a half-century of devotion to pubUq affairs. Doubtless, he could clear up points which now seem obscure and puzzling ; and I wUl hope he would succeed in showing that, even when most denounced and execrated, he was, however mistaken, faithful in heart and purpose to Justice, to Freedom, and the inaUenable Eights of Man. (.-. XXXIX. EUROPE REVISITED. — PARIS. — SWITZERLAND. IN the Autumn of 1854, my -wffe took passage, with our two surviving chUdren, for Europe, under a pledge that I should foUow and rejoin her the ensuing Spring. As those chUdren were less than six and four years old respectively, I did not beUeve she had the courage to start on such a jour ney without me to a continent whereon she had scarcely an acquaintance ; but when I at length said to her, " If you are reaUy going, I must engage your passage," she replied, " En gage it, then " ; and I did so. She went accordingly, and spent the ensuing Winter quietly in London ; where I joined her late in AprU ensuing. In a few days, I ran over in ad vance to Paris, where I hfred a Uttle cottage just outside of the then western barrier I'Etoile or octroi gate, which sepa rates the Avenue Champs Elysees from the street outside, which leads to the Bois de Bolougne, to Passy, and to NeuUly. Here my wffe soon rejoined me -with our children, two female friends, and the husband of one of them; and here we remained tiU late inTJtme, visiting the second World's Expo sition, the Lou-vre, the Garden of Plants, the InvaUdes, Notre Dame, the Field of Mars, the Madeleine, P^re-la-Chaise, &c., &c., and making (or renewing) a very few French with many American acquaintances. The Spring was remarkably cold, backward, cloudy, and rainy, — very unlike our preconcep tions of " sunny France," and our enjoyment of Paris did not fulfil our expectations ; yet the six weeks thus spent are fixed in my memory as the nearest approach to leisure I have known during the last thirty- years. For, though still occu- 324 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. pied, and even busy, throughout nearly every day, I was less so than in any former six weeks since I first landed in New York. I spent much time in the Exposition, trying to com prehend it ; but I was not a juror, as I had heen in London four years pre-viously, and I did not feel required to study this Exposition so persistently, so systematicaUy, as I had studied the former. Besides, it did not impress me so favor ably nor interest me so deeply as that did. The edifice was of stone; hence, far more massive, gloomy, crypt-Uke, than the -Hyde Park marvel ; and the French seemed to me infe rior in the skiU required for lucid arrangement and classifica tion. This judgment may have heen the dictate of prejudice or ignorance; I only speak as I felt, and record an abiding impression. Two hours of impulsive wandering and gazing in the Paris Exposition fatigued me more than four hours' steady work as a juror in its London precursor ; and I leamed immeasurably more from that of '51 than I did from that of '55. In fact, the only point on which my httle aU of knowl edge seems to have been permanently enlarged by the latter is that I think I obtained here some faint, rude conception of the pecuUarities and merits of the school of art termed " pre-Eaphaelite," — I cannot say how aptly. I was deeply, though not altogether favorably, impressed by the works of J. E. MiUais, Holman Hunt, and other apostles of this school, whose works here first arrested my attention ; and I now re call a picture of " The Dead Ophelia " (by MiUais, ff I rightly remember), which evinced a pains-taking fideUty, and made a -vivid, though unpleasant, impression. I trust that this school has not yet attained its fulness of development, or at least had not in 1855 ; if it had, the grand achievements of Ea- phael, of Titian, and of MuriUo are in little danger of being eclipsed or superseded by those of its disciples or devotees. StiU, the fact remains, that, of the many pictures exhibited in the Fine Arts division of the Paris Exposition, I remember none beside so distinctly, so vi-vidly, as those of the British pre-EaphaeUtes, so caUed, though several of the French painters of our day e-vince decided merit. EUROPE REVISITED. — PARIS. — SWITZERLAND. 325 Paris is the Paradise of thoughtless boys with fuU pock ets ; but I, ff ever thoughtless, had ceased to be a boy some time ere I first greeted the "gay, bright, airy city of the Seine." I presume I could now enjoy a week of the careless, sunny Ufe of her mob of genteel idlers ; but a month of it would sate and bore me. To rise reluctantly to a late break fast ; trifle away the day, from noon to 5 P. M., in riding and sight-seeing ; dine elaborately ; and thenceforward spend the evening at theatre, opera, or party, is a routine that soon teUs on one who is indurated in the habit of making the most of every working-hour. I envy no man his happiness ; I envy least of aU the pleasure-seeker, who chases his nimble, co quettish butterfly, year in, year out, along the Boulevards and around the " Places " of the giddy metropoUs of France. And here let me turn aside to say that the very common aspiration of our young men to spend a year or more in for eign travel seems to me inconsiderate and mistaken. No one is fit to fravel in foreign lands tUl he has made himseff pretty thoroughly acquainted with his own ; and the youth who — ignorant of History, of Art, of Languages, and very slenderly versed even in Natural Science — fancies that he can pay his way while traversing Europe by writing for the Press, evinces inordinate, preposterous presumption. If I seem, in saying this, to condemn myseff, so be it; but remember I was more than forty years old, and had had a fuU dozen years' famU-- iarity with public affafrs, before I set my face toward the Old World ; yet, even thus, I doubt not that my letters abounded in blunders and gaucheries which a riper knowledge, a better preparation, for foreign travel, would have taught me to avoid. As it was, I -wrote for a circle of readers of whom. many were glad to look- through my eyes because they were mine, — that is, because, having read my -writings for years, they were in terested in knowing how Europe would impress me, and what I should find there to admire or to condemn. Had not this been the case, — had I addressed readers to whom I was un- 326 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. kno-wn or indifferent, — I could not have deemed my letters worth thefr attention, nor Ukely to attract it. I say, then, most earnestly, to every youth anxious to go abroad, traverse Europe, and pay his way by -writing for some journal, " Tarry at Jericho tUl your beard be grown." I never knew but one of your class — Bayard Taylor — who achieved a real success in thus travelUng ; and he left home a good type-setter, with some knowledge of modern languages; so that he stopped and worked at his trade whenever his funds ran short ; yet, even thus, he did not whoUy pay his way during the two years he devoted to his deUghtful " Views Afoot." I know it ; for I employed and paid him aU that his letters were fairly worth, though not nearly so much as his letters now righteously command. He practised a systematic and careful economy ; yet he went away with money, and re turned -with the clothes on his back, and (I judge) very httle more. My young friend, if you think yourseff better qualified than he was, go ahead, and " do " Europe ! but don't ask me to further your scheme ; for I hold that you may far better stay at home, apply yourseff to some useful branch of produc tive industry, help pay our National Debt, and accumulate a httle independence whereon, by and by, to travel (ff you -choose) as a gentleman, and not -with but a sheet of paper between you and starvation. It is bad to be ragged and hun gry at home ; it is infinitely worse to be destitute in a foreign country, where every one feels that you have no moral right to subtract from his means or add to his burdens. Even ff wiUing to be a beggar and a -vagabond, be content to burden your country, and go not abroad to disgrace her ! The bor rowing Yankee is a nuisance anywhere ; but he is a frightful, hideous pest in those portions of Europe most frequented by Americans. If I were to spend a year at leisure in the Old World, I think I should give a month of it to London, another to the residue of the British Isles, a third to France, a fourth to Ger many, a month to Eome, another to the realm of Victor Em manuel, or what the Pope terms " the suh-Alpme kingdom," EUROPE REVISITED.— PARIS. — SWITZERLAND. 327 and the remaining haff of the year to S-witzerland, — not po htical, but geographical, S-witzerland, which includes Savoy and the Tyrol. I would cross the ocean in June, land at Havre or Antwerp, make my way directly to the Alps, and there remain untU driven do-wn their southward sloping vales by the coining on of Winter. Then I would descend to MUan, pass eastward to Venice, and back, by Bologna and Florence, to Eome ; hieing therefrom to Naples to greet the advent of Spring ; steaming thence to MarseUles, and crossing France by Lyons and Paris, to finish my tour in Great Britain and Ireland. I crossed 'the Alps twice in my former visit to Europe ; first by Mont Cenis, from Lyons to Turin ; retuming, via MUan, across the pass of St. Gothard to Lucerne and Basle. The long June day in which I traversed, by dUigence, Savoy, from the frontier (alas ! the frontier no longer) of France to the crest of Mont Cenis, is one of the brightest that hves in my memory ; next to that stands that wherein I left MUan at 5 A. M., traveUed fifteen mUes by raU to Monza, and thence skirted by diUgence Lake Como, crossed into the vaUey of the Ticino, which we wound steadUy up to the Uttle -viUage or hamlet of Airolo, at the foot of the pass of St. Gothard, very near the upper limit of cultivation. Besting here for the night, and crossing the summit of the pass about noon, we rattled do-wn to the Lake of Altorf, whereon a tiny steam boat conveyed us to Luceme before nightfaU. Though the plains of Italy glowed beneath a July sun, and the Vine, the Maize, and the Chestnut clung tenaciously to the yaUey of the Ticino, stiU they were successively constrained, by the increasing cold, to abandon it. We found httle besides Oats, Potatoes, and Grass growing around Airolo ; and these for sook us a little. further up ; so that, at the summit of the pass, a chUl storm was pUing new snow upon the stiU formidable drffts of the preceding Winter (perchance of a thousand Win ters), and the tumhUng, roaring brooks were frequently seen emerging from beneath ice of ample thickness and sohdity. 328 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. On my later visit to Europe, I left Paris -with my famUy in June ; traveUed by raU to Dijon, capital of the kingdom of Burgundy that was, — the palace of whose kings is now a mu seum of deeply interesting reUcs of that monarchy, — and, after spending a bright day there, we took dihgence at 9 P. M., were toihng up the Jura next forenoon, and were soon rattling down their southeastern slope, whence we reached Geneva before night. Passing thence up the vaUey of the Arve to Chamonix, we spent five days there in deeply interested ob servation of the adjacent peaks and glaciers. I gave one day to a visit to Montanvert and the Mer de Glace (Sea of Ice), across which cattle are annuaUy driven — a practical path being first made by cutting ice and filling crevices — to a sunny southern slope (" the Garden "), 9,000 feet above tide- level, on an adjacent mountain, where they are pastured tiU snow faUs and Ues, and then driven back to the vaUey whence they came. The ice of the- Mer de Glace is so frequently seamed with deep cracks and cre-vices as to afford most unsafe footing for novices in Alpine pedestrianism ; and I, for one, -was glad to turn about, when I had gone but haff-way across it, and regain the solid ground I had eagerly left. You climb thence nearly a thousand feet to the perch kno-wn as Montan vert, whence a good view is had, in clear- weather, of several lofty peaks, Mont Blanc included ; and, when I had thence made my way do-wn to Chamonix (you ascend on horse or mule back, but descend slowly on foot), I was as weary as any one need -wish to be. During my absence on this trip, my wffe had undertaken to -visit, -with our children, the Glacier de Boissons, which seems scarcely a mUe distant from the hotels at Chamonix, and easily accessible ; but she had failed to reach it, lost her way, and been obliged to hire a peasant-woman to pilot her, and carry our fagged-out younger child, back to our hotel. I laughed at this misadventure when we met, and volunteered to lead the party next morning straight up to the glacier aforesaid, so that they might put their hands on it ; but, on trying it, I faded miserably. So many deep ravines and steep EUROPE REVISITED. — PARIS. — SWITZERLAND. 329 moraines were found to bar our way, where aU seemed smooth and level from our hotel, and the actual was so much greater than the apparent distance, that I gave up, after an hour's rugged clambering, and contented myself with asserting that I could reach the glacier by myseff, — as I stUi presume I could, though I never tried. Either of the great glaciers is so laige that it dwarfs everything around it ; hehttUng obstacles and distances to an extent elsewhere incredible. The Glacier des Bois is said to measure over fifty mUes from the giant snow-drift wherein it originates, fiUing an in dentation or guUy leading down the east side of Mont Blanc, to the very bed of the Arve in the Chamonix vaUey. Indeed, the Mer de Glace itseff may be considered a branch, if not the principal source, of the Uttle river, and is approached by fol io-wing up the bed of the stream for a couple of miles or so above the -vUlage, then stepping from one to another of the giant boulders, brought down by the glacier from the icy region above, and which here fiU the spacious bed of the stream. I spent a forenoon here, watching the gradual dis solution of the ice by the warm breath of the vaUey, and noting how moraine are made. A moraine is a ridge or bank of earth and stones, averaging four to eight feet high, and perhaps ten to twenty in width at the base, which is uniformly found bordering a glacier on either side, with one far larger — oftener two or more — at its lower exfremity. It is so unfaUingly separated by distances of ten to twenty feet from the glacier, that the green observer finds it difficult to comprehend that it is naturaUy formed of the points and fragments of rock broken off by the giant masses of ice in their imperceptible, yet constant, progress — at the average rate of six feet or so per day — from the snow-drifts cradled between the higher peaks to the deep vaUeys, green with grass, and crimson with Alpine flowers. But steady observation detects a constant wearing away, in warm weather, of the lower part of the glacier facing the vaUey, and a consequent formation of cavities and channels therein, whereby the stones are loosened and aUowed to pre- 330 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. cipitate themselves. But, whUe the water falls dfrectly do-wn- ward, the stones faU outward, or, striking a lower slope of ice, are so deflected from the perpendicular that they rest at last at some distance outward from the base of the glacier. Hence moraines. We were in Chamonix, I beheve, from the 20th to the 25th of June, — too early by a month. Snow feU repeatedly, though lightly ; rain frequently and heavily ; the mountain- tops were usuaUy shrouded in cloud and fog ; and we only caught a clear view of the summit of Mont Blanc on the moming of our departure. Swamp Alder (a large shrub with us) here attaining the size of a considerable tree, so that it is frequently spht into fence-rails; and stretches of meadow, carpeted and blazing with the deep scarlet of innumerable flowers, — are among my recoUections of that lofty, high- waUed vaUey, so deeply embosomed in the Alps, and so rich in everything that renders the vicinage of mountains attractive to civUized man. Eeturning to Geneva, we took steamboat on Lake Leman to Lausanne, whence we journeyed by dUigence to Berne, and were to start thence at 4 one morning for Interlachen and the Bernese Oberland ; but the sudden illness of a child forbade ; and we retumed to Lausanne, — a lovely Uttle city, nested half-^way up the side of a long, steep, verdant hiU, which -would elsewhere be deemed a mountain, — where I left my famUy in a rented cottage, and hastened back, by Neufchatel, Basle, and Strasburg, to Paris, where business urgently re qufred my presence ; leaving France two or three weeks later for London, Liverpool, and home. I embarked at Liverpool under a deep impression that something had gone wrong with my famUy (which retumed in the Autumn to Paris, thence repafred to Germany, and spent the ensuing Winter at Dres den; returning, via England, to New York the foUo-wing Summer). On reaching home, I learned that my mother had. died on- the day of my departure from Liverpool Though EUROPE REVISITED. — PARIS. — SWITZERLAND. 331 but sixty-eight years old, she had long been wom out in mind and body by hard work and rugged cares, and had rarely spoken or evinced a clear perception of what was going on around her for many months before her death. As this was my last passage of the Atlantic, I may barely say that, of aU my experiences of protracted physical discom fort, sea-sickness is decidedly the most vivid and enduring. Though not now so easUy prostrated as when I first traversed, per steamboat, a corner of Lake Erie, over forty years ago, I am never tossed on ocean bUlows without intense misery ; and, whUe my first sea-passage was decidedly my worst, owing to the tempestuous weather which prevaUed throughout, yet my very latest reminiscence of the " stormy main " — that of my passage from AspinwaU, via Key West, to this city in September, 1859 — is just the reverse of "a joy forever." The Caribbean Sea is not often furrowed so deeply as the Atlantic ; but its coral reefs, its weeping skies, its high tem perature, -with the crowds which usuaUy throng its Cahfornia steamers, make it a terror to the land-lubbers from whom Neptune exacts tribute so persistently and distressingly as from me, to whom an ocean voyage is never an enjoyment, is seldom less than a torture. What science and mammoth ships may do for us, I wUl not predict ; but he who shaU teach us to vanquish sea-sickness wiU deserve to be honored and crowned as one of the greatest benefactors of the human race. XL. TWO DAYS IN JAIL. THEEE are many ways of studying human nature ; many diverse Ughts wherein this motley world is or may be contemplated; I judge that one of the most instructive ghmpses of it is that which we obtain through grated win dows. I forget, this moment, who characterizes the poet of beggary and ruffianism, Crabbe, as " Nature's sternest painter, but the best " ; yet I am quite sure that one of the most wholesome and prof itable, though least pleasant, experiences of my Ufe, is that afforded by my confinement for forty-eight hours (-with a good prospect of permanence) in the spacious debtors' prison in Paris, No. 70 Ene de Chchy, known to misfortune as " the Maison Chchy," and more famUiarly to its inmates as "CUchy"- merely. It happened thus : — In the years 1852 - 53, an association of mainly wealthy and pubhc-spirited New-Yorkers undertook to imitate, ff not rival, the first great Exposition of the World's Indusfry at London in 1851. So they subscribed capital, obtained a charter from the State, and a plot of vacant ground from the city, employed architects and buUders, and at length con stracted on Eeservoir Square (Sixth Avenue and Fortieth to Forty-second Streets), by far the most symmetrical and spa cious edifice which our country has yet seen. The materials employed were almost whoUy iron and glass, as in the case of its London prototype ; but, though the British was a superb stracture, ours was stiU more graceful and unposing. I doubt that many are yet born who wUl see New York graced by a TWO DAYS IN JAIL. 333 finer building than was her Crystal Palace, untU destroyed by fire in 1858. Yet the Exhibition was doomed to faUure from the start. It was located much too far up town, — as much out of the way as it would to-day be at Harlem or Hoboken, — it was but haff finished, and nowise ready, when opened, — and it steadily dragged, after the first few days, untU, at the close of the season, it was found that the million or more of capital stock was aU sunk, and the haff-mUUon of bonds a very du bious investment. _. A desperate effort was made to retrieve its faUen fortunes next Spring ; and I, with others, was then induced to take a hand in it as a dfrector and (in a smaU way) bondholder. Mr. P. T. Barnum was our most active, efficient leader in this desperate effort at resurrection. There were several more directors who did thefr very best ; but the year (1854) was one of pecuniary pressure and re-vulsion, which combined with other influences to render success impossible. I gave much hard work and a Uttle money to the attempt, while Mr. Bar num gave much more, but to no purpose ; we barely paid our hea-vy current expenses ; and the Exposition closed with the season, nearly as bankrupt as when we undertook to resusci tate it. I went to Europe the next Spring (1855) without a suspi cion that I should there be held accountable for our inability to -wrest -victory from defeat ; yet, about 4 p. M. of the 2d day of June, after I had retumed from a day's observation in the French " Palace of Industry," I was waited on at my little cottage by four French strangers, who soon gave me to under stand that they were oflficers of the law, bearing a writ issued by Judge de BeUeyme, of the Court of Premier Instance, at the suit of one M. Lechesne, a Parisian sculptor, who swore that he had contributed to our New York Exhibition a statue (in plaster) which had there been broken, or mutUated ; for which he claimed of me, as a director, " represbntant et soli- dafre," of the Exhibition, " douze mille francs," or $ 2,500 in gold. When we had, by the help of my courier, arrived at 334 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. some approach to a mutual understanding, one element of which was my refusal to pay M. Lechesne $ 2,500, or any sum whatever, they said that I must enter thefr carriage and ac company them forthwith to the Judge, some three miles away; which, attended by my courier, I did. We had to caU for Lechesne and his la-wyer by the way, which consumed nearly an hour, — they being in no hurry ; and, when we had told the Judge our respective stories, I proposed to go to the American Legation and persuade Don Piatt, Esq., Secretary of Legation, to guarantee my appearance for trial when wanted. The Judge pronounced this suflficient; so we set forth on another long ride to the Legation ; where not only Judge Piatt, but another friend, Maunsel B. Field, Esq., offered himseff as security for my appearance at court ; but now Lechesne and his la-wyer refused, on the ground of Mr. Piatt's exemption from arrest on civU process, to take him as security, or (in fact) to take anything but the cash they were intent on. High words passed, and a scuflfie was imminent, when I in sisted on being driven at once to prison, — my guardians having affected a fear that I would escape them. Crossing the Avenue Champs Elys^e, densely thronged at that hour (6 p. M.), our carriage came into violent collision -with another, and was disabled ; when a very superfluous display of -vigi lance and pistols was made by my keepers, who could not be persuaded that I was intent on sticking to them Uke a hrother. At last, a httle before 7 P. M., we reached our destination, and I was admitted, through several gigantic iron doors, -with gloomy crypts between them,- to the office of the prison, where I was told that I must stay tUl 9^ P. M., because the Judge had aUowed me so long to procure bail Here my guardians left me in safe-keeping, while I ordered a fragal dinner, in stead of the sumptuous pubhc one at the Trois Freres, given hy Mr. M. B. Field, which I had been invited, and had fully expected, to attend ; and I sent my courier home to quiet the apprehensions of my family, who as yet knew only that some strangers had called for me, and that I had gone off -with them. Very soon. Judge Mason (John Y.), our Ambassador, calledi TWO DAYS IN JAIL. 335 and was admitted to see me, though it was now too late by the regulations. I explained the matter to him, assured him that I wanted nothing but a good la-wyer, and insisted on -vie-wing the whole matter in a more cheerful Ught than it wore in his eyes. " But your wffe wUl surely be distressed by it," he urged ; " she being an utter stranger here, -with two young chUdren." "No," I repUed; "a trifle inight annoy her ; but this matter looks serious, and it wiU only calm and sfrengthen her. I have sent our courier to assure her that it is aU right, and request her to keep away from this, and go on with her visiting and sight-seeing, as though nothing had happened." " I have heard you called a phUosopher, and I now see that you deserve the distinction," was the Judge's rejoinder, as, at my request, he left me. Haff an hoiu had scarcely passed, gi-ving me barely time to eat my dinner, when my wffe was ushered in, accompanied by Mrs. Piatt and our Uttle son, whose eyes were distended •with grave wonder at the fron barriers through which he had reached me. " Good woman," I observed to Mrs. Greeley, " I have been bragging to Judge Mason how quietly you would take this mischance; but here you are in jaU at nightfaU, when -visitors are not aUowed, as though you were addicted. to hysterics." " But consider," she urged in mitigation, " that I first heard qf your position from Francis [our courier], who comes flying home to assure me that there is nothing serious, to urge me not to he frightened, when he is trembling aU over with anxiety and terror. Hardly had he left the room, when Mrs. Piatt comes in equal haste to beg me to fear nothing, — that aU is but a trifle, — and she is quite as agitated and panic- sfricken as Francis. Neither of them seems to understand the matter ; so I thought I must come to you for an explana tion." This I gave ; when they departed ; and I was at last aUowed to go up to my lodging, which I find thus described in my letter thence to The Tribune : — "By 10 o'clock, each of us lodgers had retired to our several apartments (each eight feet by five), and an obliging functionary came around and locked out all rascally intruders. I don't think 336 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. I ever before slept in a place so perfectly secure. At 6 this moming, this extra protection was withdrawn, and each of us was thenceforth requfred to keep watch over his own valuables. We uniformly keep good hours here in Clichy, which is a virtue that not many large hotels in Paris can boast of " The bedroom appointments are not of a high order, as is reasonable, since we are only charged for them four sous (cents) per night, — washing extra. The sheets are rather of a hickory sort, but mine were given to me clean ; the bed is indifi'erent, but I have slept on worse ; the window lacks a curtain or blind, but in its stead there are four strong upright iron bars, which are a per fect safeguard against getting up in the night, and faUing or pitch ing out, so as to break your neck, as any one who feU thence would certainly do. (I am in the fifth or highest story.) Perhaps one of my predecessors was a somnambulist. I have two chairs, two little tables (probably one of them extra, through some mistake), and a cupboard which may once have been clean. The pint wash bowl, half-pint pitcher, &c., I have ordered, and am to pay extra for. I am a little ashamed to own that my repose has been in different ; but then I never do sleep weU in a strange place." As it was Saturday evening when I was taken to jaU, I could not expect a release before Monday ; in fact, the lawyers who were applied to in my behaff had aU gone out of to-wn, and could not be found tUl that day. I rose on Sunday mom ing in a less placid frame of mind than I had cherished over night, and devoted a good part of the day to concocting an account of the matter meant to be satirical, and to " chaff" mankind in general by contrasting the ways of Chchy -with those of the outside world, to the dispraise of the latter. Here is a specimen : — " I say nothing of ' Liberty,' save to caution outsiders in France to be equally modest ; but ' Equality ' and ' Fraternity ' I have found here more thoroughly than elsewhere in Europe. Still, we have not realized the social miUennium, even in Clichy. Some of us were wont to gain our living by the hardest and most meagrely rewarded labor ; others to live idly and sumptuously on the eam ings of others. Of course, these vices of an irrational and decaying social state are not instantly eradicated by our abrupt transfer to TWO DAYS IN JAIL. 337 this mansion. Some of us can cook ; while others only know how to eat, and so requfre assistance in the preparation of our food, as none is cooked or even provided for us, and our intercourse with the outer world is subject to limitations. Those of us who lived generously aforetime, and are in for gentlemanly sums, are very apt to have money ; while the luckless chaps who were sent here for owing a beggarly hundred francs or so, and have no fixed income beyond the single franc per day which each creditor must pay, or his debtor is tumed loose, are very glad to eam money by doing us acts of kindness. One of these attached himself to me immedi ately on my induction into my apartment, and proceeded to make my bed, bring me a pitcher of water and wash-bowl, matches, lights, &o., for which I expect to pay him, — these articles being reckoned superfluities in Clichy. But no such aristocratic distinc tion as master — no such degrading appeUation as servant — is tolerated in this community : this phUanthropic fellow-boarder is known to aU here as my 'auxUiary.' Where has the stupid world outside known how to drape the hard realities of life with fig-leaf so graceful as this ? " So of ah titular distinctions. We pretend that we have abjured titles of honor in America ; and the consequence is that every one has a title, — either ' Honorable,' or ' General,' or ' Colonel,' or ' Reverend,' or, at the very least, ' Esquire.' But here in Clichy aU such empty and absurd prefixes or suffixes are absolutely un known ; eveu names. Christian or family, are discarded as useless, antiquated lumber. Every lodger is known by the number of his apartment only, which no one thinks of designating a cell Mine is 139 : so, whenever a friend calls, he gives two cents to a 'com- missionafre,' who comes in from the outer regions to the great hall sacred to our common use, and begins caUing out cent-trente-neuf (phonetically ' son-tran-nuf ') at the top of his voice, and goes on, yelling as he climbs, in the hope of finding or calling me short of ascending to my fifth-story sanctuary. To nine-tenths of my com rades in adversity I am known only as ' son-tran-nuf' My auxili ary is No. 54 ; so I, when I need his aid, go singing ' sankon-cat,' after the same fashion. Equality being thus rigidly preserved, maugre some diversities of fortune, the jealousies, rivalries, and heart-burnings, which keep the mass of mankind in a ferment, are here absolutely unknown. I never before talked with so many 22 338 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. people intimate with each other without hearing something said or insinuated to one another's prejudice ; here, there is nothing of the sort. Some folks outside are fitted with reputations which they would hardly consider flattering, — some laws and usages get the blessing they so richly deserve, — but among ourselves is naught but harmony and good-wUl. How would the Hotel de ViUe, or even the TuUeries, hke to compare notes with us on this head 1 " A Yankee prisoner, who had seen me in New York, recog nized me as I came do-wn stairs on Sunday morning, and, blazoned his inference that I was in jaU by some mistake, — so I was soon surrounded by sympathizing. feUow jaU-birds, several of whom were no more justly Uable to imprisonment than I was. In a little whUe, M. Vattemare, weU known in his day as the projector of systematic international exchanges of books and documents, ha-ving heard of my luck at Mr. Field's dinner the evening previous, made his way in, with proffers of service, which I turned to account by obtaining, through him, from some great Ubrary, copies of the Ee-vised Statutes and Session Laws of New York, which clearly demon strated my legal irresponsibUity to M. Lechesne for his damaged statue. Soon, other friends began to pour in, with offers of money and service ; but I could not afford to be bailed out nor bought out, as fifty others would thereby be tempted to repeat M. Lechesne's experiment upon me, — so I was compeUed to send them away, with my grateful acknowledgments. Among my visitors was M. Hector Bossange, the weU- known pubUsher, who had been accustomed to caU at my rooms each Sunday, as he did on tius one, and was soon asked by my wife, " Have you seen Mr. Greeley ? " " Seen hun !" he perplexedly responded, " I do not understand you; have I not caUed to see him ? " " Then you have not heard that he is in prison ? " " In prison ? " he wUdly inquired ; " what can that mean ? " "I do not weU understand it myself," she rephed; "but it has some connection with our New York Crystal Palace." " 0, it is money,— is it ? " joyfuUy rejoined M. Bossange ; " then we wiU soon have him out,— I feared it was politics J " He knew that I was a furious anti-Imperiahst, TWO DAYS IN JAIL. 339 and feared that I had rashly involved myself in some plot that exposed me to arrest as an apostle of sedition, — an enemy of " Order." Our remaining visitors having been barred out when the clock struck 4 p. m., we two Americans, with two Englishmen, a Frenchman, and an ItaUan, sent out our order, and had our dinner in the ceU of one of us, who, being an old settler, had an apartment somewhat more roomy and less exalted than mine. Each brought to the common " spread " whatever he had of table-ware or pocket-cutlery; and the aggregate, though there were stiU deficiencies, answered the purpose. The din ner cost fifty cents per head, of which a part went as toU to some officer or turnkey, and there was stiU a good margin of profit to the restaurateur. StUl, there was wine for those who would drink it ; but stronger hquors are not allowed in Clichy, in spite of the assurance, so often heard, that prohibitory legislation is unkno-wn in France. A flask of cut-throat-look ing brandy had, however, been smuggled in for one of our party ; and this was handed around and sipped as though it were nectar. Men love to cfrcumvent the laws for the grati fication of thefr appetites ; and yet I judge that not one gill of spirits is drank in CUchy, where quarts were poured down whUe every one was free to order and drink so long as he could pay. I presume I had had more calls that day than any other prisoner, though Sunday is speciaUy devoted to visits ; and, though grateful for the kindness and zeal for my release evinced by several of my friends, I was thoroughly weary when the lingerers were in-vited to take their departure, and the doors clanged heavily behind them. I could then appre ciate the politeness with which M. Ou-vrard, Napoleon's great army-contractor, after he had faUen into embarrassments and been lodged in CUchy by his inexorable creditors, was accus tomed, when visitors caUed, to send to the grating his faithful valet, who, with the politest bow and shrug whereof he was master, would say, " I am sorry, sir, — very sorry ; but my master, M. Ou-vrard, is out." This was not even the " white 340 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. lie " often instigated by good society ; since the visitor could not fail to understand that the great bankrupt could be out in none other than that conventional, metaphorical sense which implies merely preoccupation, or unwUlingness to be button holed and bored. No prisoner in CUchy is obliged to see a visitor unless of his o-wn choice ; and, as one is frequently caUed do-wn to the grating to have a fresh -writ served on him, thereby magnify- ¦ ing the obstacles to his liberation, the rule that a -visitor must make a minute of his errand on his card, and send it up, before an interview is accorded, is one founded in reason, and very generaUy and properly adhered to. Yet a fellow-prisoner, who received notice that he was caUed for at the grate, went recklessly down on the day after my incarceration, only to greet a tip-staff, and be served -with a fresh -writ. " Sir," said the beguiled and indignant boarder at this city hermitage, " if you ever serve me such a trick again, you wUl go out of here haff kiUed." Some official underling was violently sus pected of lending himself to this stratagem ; and great was the indignation excited thereby throughout our community ; but the victim had only himself to blame, for not standing on his reserved rights, and respecting the usages and immunities of our sanctuary. I was puzzled, but not offended, at a question piit me the moment I had fairly- entered the prison: "Have you ever been confined here before?" I respectfuUy, but positively, rephed in the negative, — that.this was my first experience of the kind. I soon learned, however, that the question was a prescribed and necessary one, — that, if I had ever before been imprisoned on this allegation of debt, or on any other, and this had been lodged against me, I was not liable to a fresh detention thereon, hut must at once be discharged. The rule is a good one ; and, though I was unable tlien to profit by it, it may serve me another time. My general conclusion, from aU I observed and heard in CUchy, imports that imprisonment for debt was never a bar to improvidence, nor a curb to prodigahty ; that, in so far as TWO DAYS IN JAIL. 341 it ever aided or hastened the coUection of honest debts, it -wrenched five dollars from sympathizing relatives and friends for every one exacted from the debtors themselves ; and that it -Was, and could not fail to be, fruitful only in oppression and extortion, — much oftener enforcing the payment of unjust claims than of just ones. Let whoever wUl sneer at human progress and uneasy, meddling phUanthropy, I am grateful \ that I have Uved in the age which gave the death-blow to Slavery and to Imprisonment for Debt. To get into prison is a feat easy of achievement by almost any one ; it is quite other-wise with getting out. You cannot fuUy reaUze how rigid stone waUs and iron doors are tUl they stand between you and sunshine, impeding locomotion, and forbid ding any but the most hmited change of place. The restless anxiety of prisoners for release, no matter how hght their cares, how ample their apartments, how generous thefr fare, can never be appreciated by one who has not had a massive key turned upon him, and found himself oh the -wrong side of an impregnable waU. Doubtless, we hear much nonsense where of " Liberty " is the burden ; but, if you are sceptical as to the essential worth of Freedom, just allow yourseff to be locked up for a while, with no clear prospect of hberation at any specified or definite time. Though I was but forty-eight hours in Chchy, time dragged heavily on my hands, after the friends who, in generous profusion, -visited me on Sunday had been barred and locked out, and I was left for a second night to my feUow jaU-birds and my gloomy refiections. " I can't get out " was the melancholy plaint of Sterne's starUng ; and I had occasion to beheve that so many detainers or claims simi lar to Lechesne's would, on Monday, be lodged against me, as to render doubtful my release for weeks, ff not for months. It was late on Monday moming before my active friends outside could procure me the help I needed ; but, when they did, I had, through M. Vattemare's valued aid, the books I requfred, and had my references and citations aU ready for 342 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. service. With these in hand, my lawyers went before Judge de BeUeyme to procure my release ; but M. Vattemare had been there already, as weU as to M. de Langle, the judge of a stiU higher court, to testify that the Americans were gener aUy indignant at my incarceration, and were threatening to leave Paris in a body if I were not promptly Uberated. Even M. James EothschUd, I was told, had made an indignant speech about it at a dinner on Saturday evening ; saying to his friends : " We are most of us directors in the Exposition now in progress here, and of course hable to be arrested and imprisoned in any foreign country we may -visit, on a com plaint that some one has had articles damaged or lost here, if Mr. Greeley may be so held in this action." These representations impelled M. de BeUeyme to say, in perfect truth, that he had not ordered my imprisonment, — on the contrary, he had directed the plaintiff and his lawyer to take Mr. Don Piatt's guaranty that I should be on hand, when wanted, to respond to this action. So when, at the instance of my la-wyers, M. Lechesne and his attorney were caUed to confront them before the Judge on Monday, and were asked by him how they came to take me to Clichy, under the circumstances, they could only stammer out that. they had refiected that Mr. Piatt was not subject to imprison ment in Uke case, — therefore, his guaranty was no security. This, of course, did not satisfy the Judge, who ordered my release on the instant ; so hy 4 p. m. aU formaUties were concluded, and my lawyers appeared with the documents required to turn me into the street. Meantime, I had had so many visitors, who sent up good-looldng cards, and wore honest faces, that I had manffestly risen in the estimation of my jailers, who had begun to treat me with ample considera tion. The neighboring servants, who were intimate with ours, had witnessed my departure with the of&cers, and knew, of course, that this was an arrest, but pretended to our servants not to understand it. One after another of them would caU on our employ6es to ask, " Why, where is Mr. Greeley ? " " He has TWO DAYS IN JAIL. 343 gone over, to London on a Uttle business," was the prompt reply, " and -wiU be back in a day or two." This was accepted with many a sly wink and gentle shrug ; the inquisitors hav ing obviously united in the conclusion that I was a swindler, who had robbed some bank or vault, and fied from my own country to enjoy the fraits of my depredations. When, how ever, I came quietly home in a cab about the time indicated by our servants, they greatly exulted over the hoped-for, rather than expected, d^rwuement, while their good-natured friends were correspondingly disconcerted by the failure of their cal culations. On our part, we resumed at once our round of -visiting and sight-seeing, as though nothing had happened ; but my httle son's flying hafr and radiant face, as he rashed -do-wn stairs to greet my return, wiU not soon be forgotten. He had been told that it was aU right, when he found and left me in prison, and had tried hard to beUeve it ; but my retum, unattended and unguarded, he knew to be right. I had a tedious legal squabble thereafter, — for my Ubera tion did not, of course, abate M. Lechesne's suit against me, — and had to send to New York for documents and affidavits ; meantime going to Switzerland -with my famUy, as I have afready related, — and I was signaUy aided in my defence by Hon. EUhu B. Washbume, of Illinois, who happened to be in Paris at the time ; but, as there was really no case against me, I was at length enabled to demonstrate that fact to the satisfaction of the functionary who had been deputed to hear and report on the suit to the Tribunal of Commerce, before which I had been cited by Lechesne, — a proceeding whoUy iUegal, my lawyers asserted, as neither party to the action was a merchant. My counsel -wished to demur to the jurisdiction, saying that the Tribunal was not a court of law, and always decided for a Frenchman against a foreigner, no matter how unjustly. At length, however, when my docu ments arrived from New York, they could hold off no longer, hut went before the officer in question, where my opponents 344 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. were most reluctant to meet them, asking for time to send to America for documents also ! We understood that this was only a pretext to avoid a judgment for costs, — they did not really want to send to America, and did not send. AVe let them off on that excuse, however, and I came away, — leav ing the suit stone dead. I rejoice that imprisonment for debt was recently aboUshed in France, — I trust forever. I doubt that it ever made one debtor even outwardly honest; I am sure it often compeUed the relatives and friends of prodigals to pay debts which should never have been contracted. It is -wrong — it is immoral — to trast those who do not deserve credit, — it is doubly -wrong to impose the payment of such debts upon some fragal uncle or brother of the debtor, in pity for that debtor's weeping wife and children. " Let every tub stand on its own bottom " is a sound rule, which imprisonment for debt tends strongly to subvert. Men are trusted who should not he, on the calcula tion, " I can get my pay out of his relatives by putting him into jail" ; hence tavern-scores and merchants' accounts where cash down would have precluded extravagance and dissipa tion. The ci-vihzed world is not yet prepared for the repeal of aU laws designed to enforce the coUection of simple debts (not trusts) ; but this reform must come in due time, when mankind wiU wonder why it could so long have been re sisted. False credit — credit to those who do not deserve, and wiU be rather harmed than helped by it — is the bane of our civiUzation. Every second man you meet is struggling -with debts which he should never have contracted. We need a legal reform, which wUl greatly diminish our current facUi ties for running into debt. XLI "THE BANKS CONGRESS." — THE LONG CONTEST FOR SPEAKER. I HAD often, since the establishment of The Tribune, ran do-wn to Washington for a very few days ; but never, save when for ninety days a member of the House, had I been tempted to protract my stay there; and my associates had repeatedly regretted that I could not be induced to spend more time at the pohtical metropolis. Eeflecting on this, and on the probabUities of a long and doubtful struggle for the Speakership of the XXXIVth Congress, I resolved, while staying in Paris in the Summer of 1855, that I would visit Washington before the opening of that Congress, and remain there untU requested by my associates in business to return to New York, — a resolve of which I gave them due notice. "When the roU of the new House was first caUed, at noon on Monday, December 3, I was looking on from' a reporter's desk; and I remained in observation for many weeks thereafter. That House was, constituted as no other has ever yet been. No party had a majority of its members, whUe two separate organizations seemed to have. The "Americans" had chosen a majority ; so had the " Eepubhcans," or opponents of the policy embodied m the Nebraska BiU ; but the lines of these two organizations ran into and crossed each other. We Ee pubhcans who were anti-" Know-Nothing " were perfectly ¦wUUng to support an anti-Nebraska " American " for Speaker ; but nearly all the Southern " Americans " would support no candidate who was m principle a EepubUcan. Thus, there 346 RECOLLECSIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. was in fact no majority of any party, and a long, bitter, ex citing struggle for the organization was inevitable. The Democrats held a caucus, as usual, and nominated WiUiam A. Eichardson, of Illinois, for Speaker; but they could give him, at the utmost, but 80 votes, and actuaUy did give him, on the first baUot, but 74. The Southern " Ameri cans" mainly supported Humphrey MarshaU, of Kentucky, who had 30 votes on the first baUot ; but they were ready to vote for any Northem "Know-Nothing" who was not in principle a Eepublican, and Henry M. FuUer, of Pennsylva nia, had 17 votes, mainly from the South. The Eepubhcans and anti-Nebraska "Americans" had held no caucus and made no nominations ; but they cast, on the first baUot, 53 votes for Lewis D. CampbeU of Ohio, 21 for Nathaniel P. Banks of Massachusetts, 7 for Alexander C. M. Pennington of New Jersey, and there were 23 scattering votes, mainly thefrs. Four baUots were taken that day, with no material variation from the foregoing result ; when the House adjoumed. The next day, five baUots were taken, — Mr. Eichardson's vote being increased (by a fresh arrival) to 75, Mr. Banks's to 31, and Mr. FuUer's (at the expense of Humphrey Marshall's) to 21 ; when the House again adjourned. The next day, Mr. CampbeU's vote was run up to 81, at Mr. Banks's expense ; but he thenceforth began to faU off; and on Friday, having just received 75 votes, he formaUy decUned ; stating that he -was satisfied that he could not be elected without either repu diating his weU-known American and anti-Nebraska princi ples, or making pledges regarding the formation of Commit tees that would justly expose him to public contempt. Mr. Banks now received 41 votes; thence steadily and rapidly increasing, untU, on the thirty-seventh ballot, he had 107; stiU lacking six more to elect him ; Eichardson having 76 and FuUer 28, with 13 scattering, mainly Southern "Americans." Thenceforth, the straggle went on, with no change but that caused by occasional absences of members of either party, generaUy paired, but relieved by fitful debates on party ques tions, — sometimes lasting through a day or more, untU, on "BANKS CONGRESS." — CONTEST FOR SPEAKER. 347 the 22d, Mr. Stanton, of Ohio, first moved that a plurality vote (the highest) should thereafter suffice to elect; which was promptly laid on the table, by 114 Yeas to 107 Nays, — the latter being the Eepubhcans or Banks men, outvoted by the combined strength of aU the other parties. This motion was repeatedly renewed hy Eepubhcans, with no better suc cess ; and the House once voted not to adjourn tiU a Speaker should be chosen ; but, after a tedious and excited night ses sion, this resolve was rescinded, and the debating, with occa sional haUotings, continued. On the 27th, so many members, mainly Southern, had gone home to spend Christmas, that Mr. Banks needed a change of hut 3 votes to elect him, — he having 100 to 105 for aU others. On several of the succeed ing ballots during the hoUdays, Mr. Banks lacked but 3 and then 4 votes of a majority ; but, as the absent members returned, the prospect of an election receded. At length, on the 21st of January, Mr. Albert Bust (since a Eebel Briga dier) of Arkansas moved the foUo-wing : — " Whereas, One hundred and eighteen ineffectual efforts to elect a Speaker, in which the votes have been divided among Mr. Banks, Mr. Richardson, Mr. Fuller, and Mr. Pennington, must have made it manifest to those gentlemen and this Congress that neither of them is the choice of a majority of the members of this House for its presiding officer, and that a longer persistence on the part of their respective friends in urging thefr names for this ofiice wdl only delay the organization of this House, and thereby pre vent immediate legislation, when the common interests of the whole country requfre it : Therefore, " Resolved, That it is the sense of this House that Messrs. Banks, Richardson, Fuller, and Pennington, by withdrawing theh names, and forbidding their use as candidates for the Speakership, would remove certain and insurmountable obstacles to its organization, aud that the pubhc interests would be greatly promoted by their doing so." Hereupon, Messrs. FuUer and Pennington promptly gave notice that they were no longer candidates for Speaker. Mr. Eust, finding impediments to their present consideration. 348 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. withdrew his preamble and resolve, giving notice that he would reoffer them on the morrow. I Ustened to his proposition with intense indignation. It was based on an assumption notoriously false, — namely, that the organization of the House was impeded by personal aspi rations and rivafries, — when all knew that the conflict was one of principles, and that Eust himseff was invincibly hostUe to Banks only because Banks represented resistance to the further diffusion of Slavery. And Mr. Banks's sup porters, with his hearty concurrence, had once and again offered to let a plurahty choose, so that his and their oppo nents would he compeUed to concentrate thefr strength or submit to a defeat. So far as the Eepubhcans were con cerned, they had long stood ready and eager to close the con test in the only practicable way ; and it was a wrong and an insult for the antagonist parties, who could not unite on a candidate, to combine their forces for the purpose of driving from the field the chosen candidate of the Eepubhcans. This dictating by one side who should or should not be sup ported by the other seemed to me a gross outrage ; and I so characterized it in my despatches and lettera to The Tribune. Mr. Eust renewed his proposition on the 23d ; when the House refused to order the. main question upon it, and it went over under the rule to the next day ; when, on motion of Mr. Pringle, of New York, it was laid on the table by 100 to 99. I believe it was on this day that, just after the House had adjourned, and while all in attendance were retuming to their respective lodgings, I was accosted by a stout, athletic man whom I did not then know, but afterward ascertained to be Eust, with the abrupt question, "Would you resent an insult ? " " That depends on circumstances " was my answer. The words were scarcely spoken when a powerful blow, that I neither saw nor anticipated, temporarily stunned and stag gered me ; but I brought up against the wooden raUing of the walk down through the public grounds, from the Capitol to.the Avenue. Dozens of aU parties were, around, hut no "BANKS CONGRESS." — CONTEST FOR SPEAKER. 349 one interposed ; and Eust, whirUng on his heel, proceeded on his way. Soon recovering my consciousness, I followed ; and, just before reaching my (National) hotel, overtook Eust and his party, who were probably awaiting me. He tumed, with three or four friends flanking him, and again assaulted me ; this time with a heavy cane, -which he broke over my arni, — raised to guard my head, as I was trying to close with him. My arm was badly swelled by the blow, as my head was by its predecessor, but I neither feU nor recoUed; and Eust, soon whfrling again, went on his way, while I repaired to my room in the hotel, which I was obliged to keep for some days thereafter. The only excuse or pretext for this assault was afforded by my strictures in The Tribune on his baffled at tempt to coerce his political opponents into voting for some one else than the man of their choice for Speaker. I cannot now remember that I Was ever seriously assaulted suice my boyhood except by Eust as aforesaid. Writing the plainest and squarest Anglo-Saxon I know, and often speak ing of pohtical opponents, their works, ways, and words, in terms that could by no tolerable stretch of courtesy be deemed flattering, — terms, doubtless, sometimes misjudging and un deserved, — I suppose I ought to deem myseff fortunate in having so seldom been subjected to personal violence. Still, ff Bust's assaults were intended to convince me that his proposition was fair and manly, they certainly failed to sub serve their purpose. Some weeks after these assaults, I was waited on at the Capitol by the Marshal of the District, who wished me to go before the Grand Jury as a witness against Eust. This I de clined to do, unless compeUed by due process of law ; for, I urged, there were fuUy a score who witnessed either assault, aU under circumstances more favorable to observation than mine ; and, if these did not see fit to testify, why call on me ? I did not choose to figure as an informer or complainant. I decidedly preferred not to have the -wrath of the law placated by a fine of $ 25 or $ 50. So nothing was ever done in the premises. I do not even remember that Eust was ever pre- 350 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. sented by his admirers with a cane, as Mr. Brooks of South Carohna was with several by those who exulted over his far more savage and damaging attack, a few weeks later, on Sen ator Sumner, — a crime for whieh a Washington court fined the Hon. culprit $ 300. If there happens to be any one who decides that Bust's proposal did not justify my strictures (which, I assume, were severe), I ask him to pass judgment on one that was sub mitted, directly after Bust's was disposed of, by Hon. Charles James Faulkner of Virginia, afterward President Buchanan's Minister Plenipotentiary to London. It is as foUows : — "Resolved, That the persistent adherence of the Republican party to the Hon. Nathaniel P. Banks as its candidate for the office of Speaker, after the repeated manifestations by the majority of the members of this House that he does not possess their con fidence for that situation, exhibits a determination to sacrifice the public interests of the country, to the triumphs of a personal and sectional party ; and that the further continuance of his name before this body, as the candidate of his party for the office of Speaker, justly attaches to his supporters the responsibUity for a failure to organize this House." I do not beheve in the Eust style of argumentation ; yet I cannot see how such propositions as the above could be ap propriately met by any other. And still the balloting for Speaker went fitfully on, alter nated -with debates. President Pierce having sent in his Annual Message on the 25th, though the House was in no condition to receive it, — Mr. Banks now generally lacking six or seven votes of being chosen, — while all manner of back-stairs intrigues were fo mented by the twenty or thirty nominal Eepubhcans of whom each fancied that he wotdd stand a good chance for the Speakership if Banks were withdrawn ; and one or two serious but unsuccessful attempts having been made to con centrate the entire anti-EepubUcan vote on Hon. James L. Orr (Dem.), of South Carolina ; at length, on the 1st of Feb ruary, a motion by Hon. John Hickman, of Pennsylvania, to "BANKS CONGRESS." — CONTEST FOR SPEAKER. 351 adopt a plurahty rule, was defeated by the close vote of 108 Yeas td 110 Nays ; so that it was evident an election was not far off. Next day, Mr. Samuel A. Smith (Dem.), of Tennes see, renewed the proposition hi this shape : — "Resolved, That the House wiU proceed immediately to the election of a Speaker viva voce. If, after the roU shall have been caUed three times, no member shall have received a majority of all the votes cast, the roU shaU again be called, and the member who shall then receive the largest number of votes, provided it shaU be a majority of a quorum, shaU be declared duly elected Speaker of the House of Representatives of the XXXIVth Con gress." A motion to lay this proposition on the table was promptly voted down, — 114 to 104, — and the resolution then adopted, under the Previous Question, — Yeas, 113; Nays, 104. The Democrats who supported it -were Messrs. Barclay of Penn sylvania, Clingman of North Carolina, Herbert of California, KeUy of New York, Andrew OUver of New York, S. A. Smith of Tennessee, and John WiUiams of New York. Several at tempts to rescind the above rule were successively made and voted down; and then the House, rejecting aU motions to adjourn, proceeded to vote under it, with the foUowing result : — ISOthballot. ISlat. 132d. 13M. Nathaniel P. Banks, of Massachusetts . 102 102 102 103 "William Aiken, of South Carolina . . 93 93 92 100 Henry M. Fuller, of Pennsylvania . U 13 13 6 Scattering, 6 6 6 5 The House thereupon, on motion of Mr. CUngman of North Carohna, resolved, by 155 to 40, that Mr. Banks had been duly elected Speaker; and the long struggle was over. It is memor able as the very first in our National history wherein Northern resistance to Slavery Extension ever won in a fair, stand-up contest, without compromise or equivocation. Nin,e weeks had been spent — I think, not unprofitably — in producing this result ; and there were not over seventy-five decided Eepub hcans in the House of 234 members in which it was achieved. Day after day, those who stUl insisted on holding on to Banks 352 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. had been inveighed against as perilling the cause for their favorite ; when, in fact, had Banks been -dropped, it would have been found impossible to concentrate so many votes on any one else, as were nearly (or quite) a hundred times cast for him. The readiness of his friends, at aU times, to adopt the plurality rule, and abide the result, shielded them from aU just reproach as wantonly protracting the contest. If ap propriations were needed, it became the supporters of the Ad ministration to let the House be organized under that rule, so that the pubhc need might be satisfied. The long contest had proved the " American " organization a myth, a fog-bank, an iUuSion ; and the Bi^-bom Eepubhcan party, consoUdated and united hy this struggle, mustered heartily and formidably at its first National Convention, which assembled at Pitts burg, Pa., on the 22d of that month. Mr. Banks, though then in his second term, proved an excellent Speaker, ^ prompt, vigorous, decided, and just. Though a majority remained politicaUy hostUe to him, and the waves of party passion ran very high, I believe but one of the many decisions made by him as Speaker was over ruled ; and the House, on calmer consideration, reconsidered its overrahng vote. Abler men may have filled that difficult post ; but no man, I judge, ever gave himseff more unreserv edly to the discharge of its arduous duties. I have heard that Mr. Banks was a schoolmaster in his youth, and his manner in the chair often countenanced the tradition. If he had a fault, it was that of overdoing, impeUed by absorbing. anxiety to keep in order a body essentiaUy turbulent, and incUned to resent and baffle any attempt to draw the reins too tightly. The temptations to an opposite course are very strong, and presiding officers far oftener err on the side of laxity than on that of rigor. XLII. FREMONT. — BUCHANAN. — DOUGLAS. THE popular elections of 1854-55 had made manifest the fact that the Opposition, if united on one ticket, was strong enough to oust the Democratic party from power at Washington ; the long and arduous straggle for Speaker had sho-wn that such combination could only be effected with great difficulty, ff at aU. The " American " party was first in the field, — selecting as its candidates Millard FiUmore, of New York, for President, with Andrew J. Donelson (nephew and namesake of " Old Hickory "), of Tennessee, for Vice- President, — men of decided personal strength, but impossible candidates for the Eepubhcans, because radicaUy hostile to their cardinal principle. The Democrats next held thefr Con vention, and nominated James Buchanan, of Pennsylvania, for President, with John C. Breckinridge, of Kentucky, for Vice- President. President Pierce and Senator Douglas were Mr. Bu chanan's competitors, and were wisely defeated, — each ofthem being conspicuously identified with the Nebraska biU ; whUe Mr. Buchanan, ha-ving been, throughout President Pierce's term. Envoy to Great Britain, had escaped all compUcation in the popular mind with that measure. And, as Pennsylvania was the probable pivot of the contest, it was manifestly wise to present a Pennsylvanian for the first office. The Eepubhcans, meeting last, nominated Colonel John C. Fremont, of Cahfor nia, for President, with William L. Dayton, of New Jersey, for "(''ice-President. They were strongly urged to present John McLean, of Ohio, then a Justice of the Supreme Court, for the first office, with the assurance that he could secure the 23 354 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. bulk of the " American " vote, — at least in the Free States, — and thus probably carry Pennsylvania and Indiana. This assurance seemed to rest on no certain or tangible data, and was overraled, — a mistake (if such it were) for which I ac cept my full share of responsibiUty. I felt that Colonel Fre mont's adventurous, dashing career had given him popularity, with our young men especially,; and I had no faith in the practicabiUty of our winning many votes from those " Ameri cans " who were not heartUy Eepubhcans. Our canvass was very animated, and our hopes, for a season, quite sanguine, especiaUy after Maine had gone for us in Sep tember, by 25,000 plurahty ; but the October elections gave us a cold chiU, — Pennsylvania choosing the Democratic State officers, by 3,000 majority, over the vote of the com bined Opposition, with 15 of the 25 representatives in Con gress, and a majority in the Legislature. Indiana hkewise went against the combined Opposition, by an average majority of more than 6,000 ; and when it transpfred that the " Ameri can" leaders, rejecting aU offers to ran combined tickets, per sisted in running distinctive FUlmore tickets for Electors in each of these (as in most other) States, it was clear that we were doomed to defeat, — all the States that we could stUl rationally hope to carry casting less than haff the Electoral votes. Yet we fought on with much resolution, though -with Uttle hope ; giving Fremont and Dayton the six New England States, by clear majorities; New York, by 80,000 plurality; and Ohio, by nearly 17,000 ; while Michigan, Iowa, and Wis consin went decidedly for us, as IlUnois would have done had- there been no third ticket. Pennsylvania and Indiana each gave Mr. Buchanan a bare majority over the two opposing tickets. Mr. Fillmore received the 8 electoral votes of Mary land only ; Colonel Fremont had 114 votes, — those of eleven Free States ; while Mr. Buchanan was elected by 112 votes from fourteen Slave States, and 62 from five Free States, — 174 in all, or a clear majority. The aggregate popular vote stood: Buchanan, 1,838,232; Fremont, 1,341,514 ; FUlmore, 874,707. Buchanan's inauguration (March 4, 1857) was FREMONT. — BUCHANAN. — DOUGLAS. 355 swiftly followed hy the since famous Dred Scott decision of the Supreme Court, which denied the right of Congress to prohibit slaveholding in the Territories of the Union, and proclaimed it the notion of our Eevolutionary fathers that Blacks have no rights that Whites are bound to respect. Mr. Buchanan foreshadowed this decision in his Inaugural, gave it his hearty indorsement, and commended it to general ap proval. Kansas had begun to be settled in 1854, directly after the passage of the Nebraska bUl, and had inevitably become an arena of strife and violence. Colonies were sent thither from the Free States expressly to mould her to the uses of Free La bor ; while weaker colonies were sent thither from the South, to bind her to the car of Slavery. These would have been of small account had they not been largely supplemented by the incursions of Missourians, who, thoroughly armed, swarmed across the unmarked border whenever an election was impending ; camping in the vicinity of most of the poUs, whereof they took unceremonious possession, and voting tUl they were sure that no more votes were needed ; when they decamped, and returned to their Missouri homes. As the Free-State settlers refused to be thus subjugated, there were soon two Territorial legislatures, with sheriffs and courts to match ; and these inevitably led to colUsions of authorities and of forces, resulting in general insecurity and turmoil, with occasional sacrifices of property and of life. Congress had tried ¦ to end these disorders ; but no plan could be agreed upon by the two Houses, and nothing was effected. At length, in the Summer of 1857, the pro-Slavery minority, powerfuUy aided by the " Border Euffians," elected a Convention, framed a Pro- Slavery Constitution, adopted it after their fashion, and sent it to Congress for approval and ratification. It was known as the " Lecompton " Constitution, from the place where it was fabricated. Mr. Buchanan at first hesitated to indorse or be compUcated with this procedure ; so that there was trouble hi the camp ; 356 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and it was currently reported that his less scrupulous Secre tary of the Treasury, — HoweU Cobb, of Georgia, — being asked by a visitor what was the matter, carelessly rephed, " 0, not much ; only Old Buck is opposing the Administra tion." Senator Douglas, on the one hand, at first seemed inchned to the side of the Missourians, whose cause he had upheld with signal abiUty and energy in the preceding Con gress ; but he soon demonstrated in favor of genuine " Popular Sovereignty," in Kansas, which was his more natural and con sistent position. Eeports of this change had preceded his appearance in Washington as a member of the XXXVth Con gress ; so that, on his caUing to pay his respects to the Presi dent, an animated and spicy coUoquy on the ruling topic was at once commenced by his host. " Mr. Douglas," said the President, " how are we to aUay the contention and trouble created by this strife over the Lecompton Constitution?" " Why, Mr. President," rephed his guest, " I do not see how you should have any trouble in the premises. The Constitu tion says, 'Congress shaU make aU needful rules and regula tions respecting the Territories,' &c., but I cannot recall any clause which requires the President to make any.". Thus the conversation ran on, until the President, waxing warm, saw fit to warn his visitor that his present course would, if per sisted tn, soon carry him out of the Democratic party. " Mr. Senator," he inquired, " do you clearly apprehend the goal to which you are now tending ? " " Yes, sir," promptly responded the Little Giant ; " I have taken a through ticket, and checked aU my baggage." Further discussion being obviously useless, Mr. Douglas soon left the White House, and I beUeve he did not visit it again during Mr. Buchanan's administration. The XXXVth Congress, which had been mainly chosen simultaneously with Mr. Buchanan, or nearly so, was decid edly Democratic, and stUl more strongly pro-Slavery, — the Senate impregnably so, by about two to one, — and yet, so flagrant were the enormities of the Lecompton measure, and so FREMONT. — BUCHANAN. — DOUGLAS. 357 conspicuous the abUity and the energy of Mr. Douglas, who led the resistance to it, and threw his whole soul into the work, that the attempt to make Kansas a Slave State under the Lecompton Constitution (which her people were forbidden to change to the -detriment of Slavery for several years to come) was fafrly beaten ; being vitally amended in the House by a vote of 120 to 112, after it had passed the Senate by 35 to 23. The Senate at first refused to concur by 34 to 22 ; whereupon a conference was had, and an equivocal compromise measure thereby de-vised and carried through both Houses by nearly a party vote. But, as this measure gave the people of Kansas a chance indirectly to vote upon and reject the Lecompton scheme, such a vote was thereupon had, and the scheme re jected by an overwhelming majority. Kansas thus remained a Territory untU after the secession from Congress of most of the Southern Senators, early in 1861, when she was admitted as a Free State, with the hearty assent of three fourths of her inhabitants. Mr. Douglas's second term as Senator expired with the Congress in which he made his gaUant and successful struggle against what I deemed a great and perilous wrong, — a wrong- so palpable that the eminent Senator Hammond, of South Carolina, who supported it at every step, afterward publicly declared that the Lecompton biU should at once have been kicked out of Congress as a fraud. It seemed to me that not only magnanimity, but pohcy, dictated to the Eepubhcans of Illinois that they should promptly and heartily tender their support to Mr. Douglas, and thus insure his reelection for a thfrd term with substantial unanimity. They did not concur, however, but received the suggestion with passionate impa tience. Having for a quarter of a century confronted Mr. Douglas as the ablest, most alert, most effective, of their ad versaries, they could not now be induced to regard him in a different hght ; and, beside, their hearts were set on the elec tion, as his successor, of their own especial favorite and cham pion, Abraham Lincoln, who, though the cotmtry at large 358 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. scarcely knew him as for a single term a Eepresentative in Congress, was endeared to them by his tested efficiency as a canvasser and his honest worth as a man. Four years before, the Whig portion of them had wished to make him Senator ; but the far fewer anti-Nebraska Democrats held the balance of power, and they decisively said, " You wiU elect our leader, Lyman TrumbuU, or you wiU not elect at aU." Having given way then, the great body of the party had fuUy resolved that Lincohi should be their candidate now, and that, at all events, Douglas should not be. So Lincoln was nominated, and ac cepted in a memorable speech ; and the State was canvassed by him and Douglas as it had never before been, — they re peatedly speaking alternately from the same stand to gather ings of deeply interested and intently Ustening thousands. In the event, Mr. Douglas secured a smaU majority in -either branch of the Legislature, and was reelected ; but Mr. Lincoln's friends claimed a considerable majority for their favorite in the aggregate popular vote. They did not, for a whUe, incline to forgive me for the suggestion that it would have been -wiser and better not to have opposed Mr. Douglas's retum ; but I stiU abide in that-conviction. Mr. Douglas was the readiest man I ever knew. He was not a hard student ; if he had been, it would have been diffi cult to set limits to his power. I have seen him rise in the Senate quite at fault with regard to essential facts in contro versy, and thence make damaging blunders in debate; but he readily caught at and profited hy any suggestion thrown out by friend or foe ; and no American ever excelled him in off-hand discussion : so that, even if worsted in the first stages, he was apt to regain his lost ground as he went on. Once, as I sat with the senior Francis P. Blair and one or two others outside the bar of the Senate in 1856, he made us the text of an amusing dissertation on the piebald, ring-streaked, and speckled materials whereof the new Eepublican party was composed ; and, passing us soon afterward, he hailed me famU- FREMONT. — B^UCHANAN. — DOUGLAS. 359 iarly -with the interrogation, " Did n't I give you a good turn just now ? " At a later day, -wdien the Lecompton struggle was in progress, a mutual friend, remembering that my stric tures on Mr. Douglas in former years had been of a very caustic sort, inquired of him whether he had any objections, on account of those strictures, to meeting me on a friendly footing. " Certainly not," was his instant response ; " I always pay that class of debts as I go along." Our country has often been caUed to mourn severe, untimely losses ; yet I deem the death of Stephen A. Douglas, just at the outbreak of our gTeat Civil War, and when he had thrown his whole soul into the cause of the country, one of the most grievous and ir reparable. Mr. Buchanan, though born nearly a quarter of a century earher, survived Mr. Douglas by fuUy seven years ; dying in 1868, when he had long outlived whatever infiuence or con sideration he may once have enjoyed. AUke ambitious and timid, his conduct throughout the initial stage of the Eebel hon is yet unaccotmtable on any hypothesis hut that of secret pledges, made by him or for him, to the Southern leaders when he was an aspirant to the Presidency, that fettered and paralyzed him when they perverted the power enjoyed by them as members of his Cabinet to the disruption and overthrow of the Union. That, during those last mourn ful months of his nominal rule, he repeatedly said to those around him, " I am the last President of the United States," I firmly beheve; that he proclaimed and argued that the Federal government had no constitutional right to defend its own existence against State secession, is matter of pubhc record. Though he had spent what shotUd have been the better part of a long Ufe in working his way up to the Presi dential chafr, I think the verdict of history must he that it would have been far better for his own fame, as weU as better for the country, that he had failed to obtain it. XLIII. A RIDE ACROSS THE PLAINS. FEOM the hour when,late in 1848, the discovery of rich gold placers in Cahfornia had incited a vast and eager migra tion thither, insuring the rapid gro-wth of energetic and thrffty settlements of our countrymen on that remote and previously unattractive, thinly peopled coast, the construction of a great International EaUway from the Missouri to the Pacific seemed to me imperative and ine-vitable. I could not deem it practi cable to retain permanently under one government communi ties of many miUions of intelUgent, aspfring, imperious people, separated by fifteen hundred miles of desert, traversed by two great mountain-chains, beside innumerable clusters, spurs and isolated summits, and compeUing a resort, for compara tively easy, cheap, and speedy transit, to a cfrcuit of many thousands of mUes. A Pacific Eaifroad was thus accepted by me at a very early day as a National necessity, alike in its pohtical and its commercial aspects ; and, while others were jVcoffingly likening it to a tunnel under the Atlantic or a 1 bridge to the moon, I was pondering the probabilities and means of its early construction. I resolved to make a joumey of observation across the continent, with reference to the natural obstacles presented to, and facUities afforded for, its construction ; but no opportunity for executing this purpose was afforded me prior to the year 1859. I then hoped, rather than confidently expected, that, on, pubUcly announcing my intention, some friend might offer to bear me company on this journey ; but my hope was not realized. One friend did pro pose to go ; but his wife's veto overraled his not very stubbom A RIDE ACROSS THE PLAINS. 361 resolve. I started alone, on the 9th of May, and travelled rap idly, via Cleveland, Chicago, Quincy, and the North Missouri Eaifroad, to St. Joseph ; thence dropping down the Missouri to Atchison, and traversing Kansas, by Leavenworth and Wyandot, to Osawatomie ; thence visiting La-Wrence and re turning to Leavenworth, whence the "Pike's Peak" stage carried me, through Topeka, Manhattan, and Fort Eiley, to Junction City, then the western outpost of civiUzation in that quarter. We stopped overnight at the said city, and I visited a brother editor, who was printing there a little Democratic weekly, for which he may possibly have had two hundred subscribers ; but, if so, I am confident that not one haff of them ever paid him the first cent. He was, primarily, as I remember, a Texan; but, having spent two years in California, he gave me the most rapturous commendations of the beauties, glories, and deUghts of that region. " It is the greatest, the finest, the most attractive country that man ever saw," he concluded. " Then why are you not stiU in CaUfornia ? " I inqufred, glancing around his doleful Uttle shanty. " Because I am a great fool," he bluntly repUed. I did not see how profitably to protract the discussion. We left Junction City on a bright morning late in May, foUo-wing a new traU, which kept -within sight of the Solo mon's or middle fork of the Kansas Eiver for the next two hundred iniles. The country was, in the main, gently roUing prairie, covered with luxuriant young grass, and fairly glow ing with flowers. Antelopes, though shy, were frequently seen at a distance, which they rapidly increased. Streams ranning into the Solomon, across our track, were at first fre quent, and often skfrted -with trees; but grew scarcer and more scanty as we proceeded. There was some variety of timber in the wet bottoms at first; but soon the species dwindled to two, — Cottonwood and a low, -wide-branching Water Ehn ; at length, upon passing a wide belt of thin soil. 362 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. covering what seemed to be a reddish sandstone, both wood and water almost entirely vanished, save as we descried the former at intervals in the bottoms of the Solomon, some miles to the left (south) of us. The Cayota or Prairie Wolf (a mean sort of stunted or foreshortened fox) was infrequently seen ; the bolder and quite formidable Gray Wolf more rarely ; soon, the underground lodges of the Prairie Dog (a condensed gray squirrel) covered roods of the ground we traversed, — our newly located path lying right across several of their " towns," which it had not yet impeUed them to desert. I refused, at first, to credit the plainsmen's stories that an Owl and a Battle- snake were habitually, if not uniformly, feUow-tenants of his " hole " with the Prairie Dog, though I had afready seen many Owls sitting, as we came near, each at the mouth of a hole, after the Prairie Dog had barked his quick, sharp note of alarm at our approach, and dropped into it ; but I was finaUy compeUed to succumb to testimony that could not be gain- sayed. The rationale of the odd partnership is this : the Eattlesnake wants a lodging, and cannot easily dig one in that compact soil ; the Prairie Dog does n't want to be dug out and eaten by the Cayota, as he quickly and surely would be but for the protection afforded hy the Eattlesnake's deadly fangs. What the Owl (a small particolored one) makes by the asso ciation, I do not so clearly comprehend ; but I suspect the Hawk would pounce upon and devour him but for the ugly customer presumed to be just at hand, and ready to " mis in," ff any outsider should venture to meddle -with the Owl ; whose partnership duties are plainly those of a watch-dog or lookout. Beyond the sterile sandstone belt, we struck a wide sfretch of almost woodless, gently rolling prairie, thickly reticiUated by tortuous buffalo paths, with frequent skeletons and stiff more plenteous skulls, — the soil being covered by a mere sward of the short, strong buffalo-grass ; and soon we came in sight of galloping, fleeing herds of first three and four, then twenty to a hundred and fifty, buffaloes, generaUy ranning A RIDE ACROSS THE PLAINS. 363 southward, in their alarm at our appearance, to seek safety in more familiar haunts, — the entire host being at this time in movement northward. Twenty or thirty miles farther on, ha-ving reached the summit of a gentle slope, we looked down its western counterpart to the pretty brook at its base, per haps five mUes distant, and thence up the opposite " rise," — the eye taking in at a glance at least a htmdred square miles of close-fed velvet glade, whereof nearly or quite half was covered by buffalo, not " as thick as they could stand," but as close together as they could comfortably feed. Say that there were but twenty (instead of fifty) square miles of buf faloes in sight, and that each one had four square rods of ground to himself, the number in sight at once was 512,000. And for three days we were oftener in than out of sight of these vast herds, and must have seen several miUions of buf faloes. In fact, we could with difficulty avoid them, — our driver being once obliged to stop his team, or aUow it and us to be overwhehned and crushed by a frightened, furious herd, which, having commenced its stampede southward across "our path forty or fifty rods ahead of us, continued to follow each other in blind succession untU we must have gone down and roUed over beneath their thundering charge (as an empty stage did a few days afterward), if we had not halted, and so avoided them. A day or two before, an agent of the Uh?', who was riding a horse along the track, unthinking of danger, was bome down by a herd started by some emigrants the other side of an elevation, and instantly hurled to the earth. Though badly hurt, he saved himself from death by firing all the barrels of his revolver at the great brutes careering madly over his prostrate form ; but his horse was instantly kiUed. Emerging from the buffalo region, the soil became visibly thinner, and the vegetation poorer and poorer, untU — the head sources of the Solomon having been passed — we bore rather north of west across several tributaries to the Eepub hcan or main northern branch of the Kansas, which we found liere a rapid, shallow stream, perhaps a hundred yards wide by one to two feet deep, rippling over a bed of coarse sand 364 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and gravel, with a very few cottonwoods thinly dotting its banks at long intervals, — precious little thin, coarse grass being occasionally discernible. A mule, bitten in the jaw by a rattlesnake, lying dead beside a station-tent, was one of the fresher features of this dreary region. A stunted cactus — which reared its smaU, prickly leaves barely above the ground — here began to be manifest. FoUowing up the dwindling river, we soon came to a "sink," — the entire stream percolating for fifteen or twenty mUes hence through its graveUy bed far below the surface of the earth, — a team ster, who dug through eight feet of sand and gravel in quest of water for his fainting beasts, being obUged to desist -with out finding any. Most of the tributaries we crossed on the Eepublican were simply broad beds of coarse, loose, dry sand, into which our mules often sank to a depth of several inches ; though in Winter and Spring I presume these are consider able brooks. Wood here became so scarce that, to supply one station, it had to be carted sixteen mUes. At length, we left the head springs of the Eepublican on our right, and struck, a few miles on, a northern tributary of the Arkansas, kno-wn as the " Big Sandy," whicli we ascended some twenty or thirty miles ; finaUy lea^dng it on our left. Its bed was dry, of rather coarse sand, and often covered with a white, alkahne effiorescence; but, occasionally, a smaU stream ran gently aboveground, under one of its banks, where the chan-- nel had been worn exceptionally deep. Soon after leaving the Big Sandy, we crossed the head wa ters of Bijou Creek, which runs northward into the South Platte. "Pike's Peak," snow-crowned, had for some time been visible nearly -west of us ; soon, we found deeper ra vines and steeper hiUs than we had seen since we left the Missouri, with thin clumps of YeUow or Pitch Pine, — out posts of the Eocky Mountain forests, — occasionally covering patches of their sides or crests : the soil being sterile, and the grass too scanty to nourish sweeping fires at any season. After a few hours of this, we descended to the vaUey of Cherry Creek, near the point where it emerges from the A RIDE ACROSS THE PLAINS. 365 mountains, and, foUowing do-wn its east bank to its entrance into the South Platte, saluted, one bright morning in June, after a rough, chilly, all-night ride, the rising city of Denver. Denver was then about six months old ; but the rival city of Auraria (since absorbed by it), lying just across the bed of Cherry Creek (which suddenly dried up at this point dur ing one night of my brief sojourn), had already attained an antiquity of nearly a year. As there was no saw-miU within several htmdred miles, none of the edifices which composed these rival cities could yet boast a ground-floor; but I attended Divine worship the next Sunday (in Auraria) on the first second-story floor that was constracted in either of them. It may at first blush seem odd that a second-fioor should pre cede a first ; but mother Earth supplied a first-fioor that did very well, wliUe nature has not yet condescended to supply man-made dwelUngs -with chamber-floors. I suppose there were over a hundred dwelUngs in the two cities, when I reached them. I judge that they averaged fuUy ten feet square, though probably the larger number feU short of that standard. In material, none could boast over its neighbors, as aU were built of cottonwood logs from the adjacent bank of the South Platte ; but some of these were radely squared on one side, with an axe ; whUe others were left as God made them. I beUeve there was a variety in roofs also, — some being constructed of "shooks," or pieces split -with an axe from a cottonwood log, while others were of Cottonwood bark. I seem to remember that all the chimneys were of sticks and mud ; but then some were without chim neys ; and, while several had windows (I mean one apiece) composed df four to six Ughts of seven-by-nine glass, others were content with the more primitive device of a rude wooden shutter, closed at night, and during severe, windy, driving storms. Most of these cabins had known as yet only male housekeepers ; and nearly half of them had been deserted by thefr creators and o-wners, some of whom were off prospecting 366 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. for gold; whUe quite a number — disappointed, hopeless; homesick — had left for the States early in Spring, convinced that gold in the Eocky Mountains was a myth, a humbug, or that (in the vernacular) " Pike had n't got any peak." But the recent discoveries on Clear Creek had given matters a new and more cheerful aspect ; so that, whUe two thirds of those who started for "the diggings" that Spring never went with in sight of the Eocky Mountains, — many of them not half way to them, — whUe some barely reached Denver, and then took the back track, the rival cities were gaining population quite rapidly during the ten days that I spent in or near them, and some good families were among the acquisitions. Cabins that would gladly have been sold for $25 two months earUer now ran rapidly up to $100; and the market could fafrly be quoted as active and advancing. There were as yet few or no servants to be hired at any price ; but a consider able band of Arapahoes were camped in Denver ; and, while the braves were thoroughly worthless, their squaws were wiU ing to do anything for food. True, they could do very httle ; but lugging water from the South Platte was the first requi site in housekeeping, and this they did faithfuUy. We Uved mainly on bread, bacon, beans, coffee, and nettles, the la,st being boiled for greens ; but those who were not particular as to dirt could often buy a quarter of antelope just brought in by an Arapahoe ; or, more probably, kUled by the hunter and backed in by his squaw. AVliiskey was in good supply (I know nothing as to the quality) at a quarter (silver) per drink. There were several rude bedsteads just constracted in the Denver House, — the grand hotel of the city, — on which you wrere aUowed to spread your blankets and repose for a dollar a night ; but mine, being bottomed with rough slats nearly a foot apart, almost broke my back, proving far less luxurious than the bosom of mother Earth. Two blacklegs rented opposite comers of the pubhc room, and were steadily swindling greenhorns at three-card monte, from morning till bedtime : one stage-driver, who was paid off with $207 at noon, having lost the last cent of it to one of these harpies A RIDE ACROSS THE PLAINS. 367 by 2. P.M. The gamblers and other rough subjects had an tmpleasant habit of quarreUing and firing revolvers at each other in this bar-room when it was crowded, and sometimes hitting the wrong man, — by which phrase I certainly do not indicate any of their own number. On the whole, therefore, I soon tired of hotel-hfe in Denver. It was not duU, — quite otherwise, — but I am shy by nature and meditative by habit, and some of the ways of the Denver House did not suit me. They were unmistakably Western, and I was journeying to study Western character; but, even though distance might not lend enchantment to the view of these mining-region blacklegs and ruffians, I am sure that they can be studied to better satisfaction out of pistol-shot than at close quarters. " Suppose you jump a cabin ? " suggested the friend to whom I intimated my preference for a less popular lodging. I did not understand ; but he explained, and I saw the point. Several cabins were stUl standing vacant, as many had been ; and no one knew whither their owners had gone, so whoever wanted one of these empty tenements just helped himseff. I at once foUowed the fashion, and was happy in my choice. I was thenceforth lodged very eligibly tiU the owner of my cabin, returning from a prospecting tour, put in an appear ance. He was e-vidently embarrassed at the thought that his advent must seem abrupt and unceremonious ; but I cut short his apologies by insisting that the cabin afforded ample ac commodation for two; and we thenceforth shared it very comfortably for the few days that I tarried in Denver. WhUe thus snugly and cheaply lodged, I boarded with a widow lady from Leavenworth, who had been keeping a mail- station on the plains, but, tiring of that, had just migrated to Denver, and jumped a cabin. She, with her little son, slept on a sort of shelf nearer the roof than the floor of her single room; whUe two male boarders, waiting outside while she made her toUet, spread their blankets on the earth-floor of her tenement. At daylight, they turned out, gi-ving her a chance to dress, clear up, and get breakfast, which they duly returned to eat. Such was Ufe in Denver in June, 1859. XLIV. THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. — THE GREAT BASIN. I MADE a flying -visit, dfrectly after reaching Denver, to the then new " Gregory Diggings," on Clear Creek, where is now Central City. A good road, I hear, now winds thither through the mountains, mainly keeping close to Clear Creek ; but that was impossible in 1859 ; as even an empty wagon would have been capsized into or toward the creek at least a hundred times before making the distance. Our route lay across the South Platte, the prairie and Clear Creek (where Golden City has since sprung up), and then right up the face of the first ridge, rising 1,600 feet in a mUe and a haff, — an ascent so steep as to appear impossible to teams, however Ughtiy loaded ; and even saddle-horses seemed in great perU of falUng off and rolUng to the bottom. After two mUes of level path through an open pine forest on the summit, we had to descend a dech-vity nearly as steep ; then ascend a second mountain ; and so on, tiU we camped at sunset, weary enough, seven miles short of the diggings, which we reached about nine next morning ; spending the day and night with the pioneers, and returning to the Platte Valley the day after. I saw enough on that trip to convince me that the Eocky Mountains abound in Gold and nearly all other metals, but that these must be earned before they can he enjoyed. I bade adieu to Denver about the 18th of June ; having hfred an " ambulance," or wagon and four mules, to convey me to the Overland Mail-route at Fort Laramie, -on the North Platte, 200 miles northward. I judge that there were twenty considerable streams to cross in that distance, — aU then in THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. — THE GREAT BASIN. 369 flood, from the melting snows of the inner and higher moun tains. Several of these streams were forded with difficulty by our team, — one of them (the Cache le Poudre) being as large as the Charles at Cambridge. I think we saw four huts on the way, but only three of them were occupied. There was no White person then li-ving within fifty mUes of Che yenne, where the Pacific Eaifroad now enters the Eocky Mountains ; and only a deserted fort or military camp spoke of ci-viUzation. Yet most of the region between the two Plattes and the hase of the Eocky Mountains — a district equal in area to Connecticut, ff not to Vermont — has good soU, is tolerably timbered, grows fine grass luxuriantly, and ¦wUl yet subsist a large farming population. It is subject to drouth, but may easUy he irrigated ; and then its product of Wheat, Oats, Barley, and Boots wUl be immense. I judge that nearly aU the larger tributaries of the Missouri traverse a good farming region directly under the Eocky Mountains wherein they take rise. This region Ues from 4,500 to 6,000 feet above tide, and hence is subject to frost, haU, and late i snow, as weU as to drouth ; yet I predict its rapid settlement and growth. I wish I could see how to save its Aboriginal ] inhabitants from sure and speedy extinction. After waiting five days at Fort Laramie, I took the mail stage (then weekly) which traversed the old Oregon as well as California emigrant traU up the Platte and its northem tributary, the Sweetwater, to that wide gap in the Eocky Mountains kno-wn as the South Pass, — the Sweetwater heading on the west side of the mountains, and sending (in Summer) a scanty miU-stream through the Pass. Much of this region is quite sterile ; snow lay deep in a ravine of the Pass on the 5th of July; whUe there is one large swamp, thirty or forty miles this side, which remains frozen a foot or two below the surface perpetuaUy. There are smaU lakes on this route that look most in-viting, yet so. surcharged -with alkahne minerals that to drink freely of thefr water is death 24 370 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. to man or beast. There is some YeUow Pine on the hiUs, with less Cottonwood and Quaking Asp, mainly skirting, at long; intervals, the streams ; but this region is, for the most part, unless rich in minerals, good for nothing. I leam that boun teous mines of Gold have lately been found here ; and I know that the indications of Gold were quite palpable on the hUls in the Pass, where we camped and spent a day beside a run nel which brings its scanty tribute to the Sweetwater. But, a few miles beyond the South Pass, where the mountains dis appear, and the road to Utah and Cahfornia diverges from the old traU to Oregon, and where each begins to descend toward the Pacific, the country is utterly worthless for at least two hundred mUes ; in the midst of which we crossed Green Eiver, ranning swfftly southward, in a very deep, nar row vaUey, which yields a httle grass and less Cottonwood. On either side of 'this vaUey stretch dreary wastes of thfrsty sand, shaded only by the two low shrubs, known locaUy as Grease-yvood and Sagebrush, which, together, enclose a thou sand miles of the Overland Wagon-route, and probably cover half a million square miles of the interior of our continent. Greasewood is a species of Artemisia, and derives its vulgar name from a waxy or resinous property, which causes it to burn freely, even while green ; but it grows in bunches or stools six or seven feet apart, with naked, gUttering sand be tween them ; and so defies destruction by fire. Sagebrush exhibits a number of shoots, twelve to twenty inches long, from a common stalk or stump of about equal height ; each shoot somewhat resembUng a stalk of Sage in appearance and color. There is a Sage-Hen that eats this plant ; but who, unless famishing, would thereafter choose to eat the Sage- Hen? Fort Bridger was the first vUlage we had seen since we left Laramie ; hke which, it owes its existence to a mihtary post. It is fraversed by a brawling mill-stream (Ham's Fork) which is rushing to be lost in Green Eiver, and is said to have some arable land in its vicinity. We were stUl considerably north of the present route of the Pacific EaUroad, which we had THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. — THE GREAT BASIN. 371 crossed and left near Cheyenne; but soon, crossing a high di-vide, we bore southward, and, descending rapidly, forded Bear Eiver, here a swfft stream one or two hundred yards wide, but scarcely more than two feet deep. It is unfortunate that the Pacific Eaifroad cannot foUow this river hence to Salt Lake ; but the course of the stream is so tortuous and so shut in by mountains and difficult precipices that this may not be. I judge that, next to the Sierra Nevada, already nearly vanquished, the stretch from Green Eiver to Salt Lake — some three hundred miles — is the most difficult section of the entire work. But the route we traversed, lea-ving that of the raifroad far on our right (north), rises easUy out of the vaUey of Bear Eiver, and thence foUows do-wn a long, narrow, grassy vaUey or glen known as Echo Canon, -with steep cliffs on either side, emerges from it to cross Weber Eiver (also a tributary of Salt Lake), and thence crosses two difficult ridges of the Wahsatch and Uintah mountains, whence it -winds do-wn a ra-vine known as Emigra tion Canon tUl that opens into the vaUey of the Eiver Jordan and of Salt Lake ; and soon we roll into the city of the many- wived prophet, the capital of his sacerdotal and poUtical empfre, and the most conspicuous trophy of his genius and his power. That city has so changed since I saw it, — being now prob ably at least thrice its size nine years ago, — that I wiU speak of it briefly, and only as to certain permanent phases of its character. My present behef is that, Uke most strangers, I was more favorably impressed by it than I should have been. Not that its more inteUigent people received me kindly and treated me with emphatic hospitahty, — I have been thus welcomed to other cities, which nevertheless did not speciaUy impress me. But a. thousand mUes of parched, moimtainous desert (counting from Denver only) on which I had seen no single productive farm, and nothing that could be fairly termed a house hut a few cheap stractures for officers' lodgings at Forts Laramie and Bridger — no vegetables, no fumiture, no beds, — had predisposed me to greet even the rader appUances 372 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. of urban Ufe with uncritical satisfaction. Our civihzation, re garded as an end, is faulty enough, and open to objections from every side ; but, considered as a stage in our progress from the status of the Esquimaux, the Digger, the Hottentot, I submit that it may be contemplated with a complacency hy no means unreasonable. Soon after lea-ving the last Kansas settlement, I noted the rounds of the ladder I had descended during the preceding fortnight, and photographed them as foUows : — " May I2th, Chicago. — Chocolate and moming journals last seen on the hotel breakfast-table. 23d, Leavenworth. — Room-beUs and bath-tubs make thefr final appearance. 24:th, Topeka. — Beef-steaks and wash-bowls (other than tin) last visible. Barber ditto. 2^ih, Manhattan. — Potatoes and eggs last recognized among the blessings that " brighten as they take their flight." Chairs ditto. 21ih, Junction City. — Last visitation of a boot-black, with dis solving views of a board bedroom. Beds bid us good by. 28iA, Pipe Creek. — Benches for seats at meals disappeared, giv ing place to bags and boxes. We (two passengers of a scribbling turn) -write letters to our journals at nightfall in the express-wagon that has borne us by day, and must serve us as bedchamber for the night. Thunder and lightning, from both south and west, give strong promise of a shower before morning. Our trust, under Providence, is in buoyant hearts and a rubber blanket. Good night ! " I descended somewhat farther afterward, and I did not think of hardship, though the water was often scanty, as well as bad, and the pilot-bread had been so long exposed to the drying air of the Plains that human teeth cotUd hardly pene trate it. Those who fancy army "hard-tack" dry eating would devour it thankfuUy, after being rationed a single week on that which I confronted on the Sweetwater and the Colo rado. But hard-tack is wholesome, if not toothsome ; while the bread made on the Plains, of nearly equal parts of flour and saleratus, baked , in a frying-pan or spider, and eaten hot. THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. — THE GREAT BASIN. 373 though I ate it with faciUty, destroyed my digestion, and made me sick, — there being nothing to rehsh it but poorly smoked pork, except tea and coffee, which I dechned. With good water, I could stand almost anything ; but this was often unattainable, and I suffered for want of it. Salt Lake City suddenly restored us to abundance and com fort, — rooms, beds, sheets, towels, vegetables, dried fruits, shade, &c. ; whUe the water was beautiful and good. The Mormons have faults ; but they are more uniformly indus trious and (after thefr fashion) pious than any other people I ever visited. I doubt whether there is another city on the continent wherein family worship is so general, and profanity so rare, as in Salt Lake City, so far as its Mormon inhabitants are considered. I must beUeve the authors of their revela tions either kna-vish or seff-deluded ; but I have such a liking for soUd, steady, bona fide, work, that the rank and file have my most hearty good wishes. Nowhere else are there so few idlers (Brigham Young assured me that there was none but himseff ; and he is kept busy in his vocation of prophet and ruler), and nowhere else have so few poor and ignorant people achieved so much that remains to benefit future generations, as in Utah. I cherish the hope that their spiritual vision wdl soon he cleared, and that they will yet, ceasing to be polygamists, become better Christians, — retaining the habits of industry, fragaUty, and thrift, which command my hearty admfration. " He buUded better than he knew " is a truth of very wide application ; and I am confident that the Pacific EaUroad, of which Brigham Young is grading the thirty mUes next northeast of his metropoUs, is destined to work changes which it is weU that he does not foresee, and which wiU render his dominions more populous and his people far less docile to his guidance than they now are. I judge our age inauspicious to prophets and new revelations from on high ; and, though the past history of Utah seems to refute my theory, I confidently expect that of the next twenty years to confirm it. XLV. UTAH.— NEVADA. APOETION of our Uttle army, despatched from Kansas late in 1857 to put down a threatened (or apprehended) revolt of the Mormons, had stopped for the Winter at Fort Bridger, after its trains, foUowing carelessly hi its rear, had, not far from the Colorado, been surprised and burned by a Mormon force, rendering its Winter sojourn in that desolate region one of great hardship, especiaUy for its animals-; but it finaUy marched into the Mormon settlements unopposed, — the chief Saints protesting that they had never purposed rebeUion against the National authority. The expedition, which had threatened a bloody tragedy, was thus transformed into a most expensive farce ; for, though the regulars were hardly more out of place in Utah than they had been in Kansas, they were a far more costly niusance. Every pound of their sustenance had been hauled across twelve hundred mUes of desert and mountain at a cost of $400 or $500 per ton, — or, at any rate, was charged for as if it had been. And, when I visited Camp Floyd, where it was stationed, forty-five miles south west of Salt Lake City, officers were engaged, under orders from Washington, in seUing its hea-vy trains at auction, at prices possibly averaging one haff the actual value of the mules and one tenth that of the wagons, — the bidders being few, and evidently combined to give Uncle Sam the worst bargains possible. Governments are made to be plundered, — at aU events, are regularly used to that end. I presume that, when the army was ordered from Camp Floyd to Texas the next year, part of these same wagons were bought back from UTAH. — NEVADA. 375 thefr purchasers at generous prices, — which by no means imphes any generosity on the part of those who bought them of the government and sold them back again. I spent a day at Camp Floyd as the guest of my oldest army acquaintance, Lieutenant-Colonel D. C. Buggies, 5th Infantry, whom I had first known in 1835 as a Massachusetts cadet, just appointed to a heutenancy ; and who, ha-ving mar ried in Vfrginia, afterward became a General of the Southem Confederacy. We dined with the commander of the post. Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston, — a grave, deep, able man, -with a head scarcely inferior to Daniel Webster's, — who, less than two years afterward, left Texas overland to take part in the EebeUion, and finaUy found death on the bloody field of ShUoh or Pittsburg Landing, where he led the Eebel host -with a gaUantry and soldiership worthy of a better cause. If some wizard had foreshadowed to us the future, as we sat around his hospitable board not three years before, who would have beUeved hun ? Camp Floyd had been located beside a smaU but constant stream, -with considerable stunted, bushy'Cedar covering the low mountains adjacent, whence it issued ; but the stage-route thence to California rose graduaUy from its vaUey into a hiUy, bumt-up region southwestward ; and thenceforth, tiU we bore \ip to strike the Humboldt at GraveUy Ford, some three hun dred miles westward, I can remember seeing but three brooks of any account, — neither of those carrying water enough to render it a decent mUl-stream ; and neither, I judge, running more than five mUes from the clustered mountains between which it was cradled, tiU the arid, thirsty plain had drank the last drop, and left its shaUow bed thenceforth in Summer a stretch of dry, hot gravel and sand. We may have passed a dozen springs in this distance, though I beheve we did not. In one place, there was a stretch of fifty iniles from water to water, save that some had been carted in barrels to quench the thirst of our jaded mules at a point half-way from one 376 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. station to another. Twice, as I recoUect, we sat down to our noonday meal of pork and bread beside springs by courtesy, where water had been found by shaUow digging in depressions or " sinks " below the usual surface of the plains ; but the warm, sulphurous fluid thence obtained requfred intense thfrst to render it potable. In one place, I recoUect several miles of the aU-pervading Grease-wood and Sage-brush which had been kiUed stone-dead, — dried up, apparently, though their power of resisting drouth is unparaUeled ; yet stunted Bunch Cedar and some Indian Pine thinly covered the brows or the crests of many hUls and low mountains; seeming able to resist a drouth even of successive years. . The country is so broken and mountainous that I presume Artesian weUs have since been, or -will easily be, dug in the reckless clay of the vaUeys, which wiU supply water, not only for drinking, but for frriga- tion ; and the vaUeys need but this to render thefr alkaline clay bounteously productive. I judge that the surface of most of them has been raised twenty to fifty feet by earth washed do-wn, in the course of ages, from the circumjacent mountains, and that, when frrigated, they -wUl be cultivated -with facUity, and with ample success. The Mormons raise bounteous crops, especiaUy of Wheat, wherever they can coax a stream to meander across and percolate through a portion of one of their vaUeys ; and I presume most of those between the Wahsatch and the Sierra Nevada need but water to prove them equaUy fertile. Many of the mountains, I doubt not, wUl prove rich in minerals; but they are rarely or never arable, produce a very httle grass in Spring only ; and thefr scanty, fitful covering of wood, once cut off, would not be re produced in a century. ^ Bear in mind that the route I travelled rather skirts than pierces the desert of deserts which spreads southwestward of Salt Lake, nearly or quite to the Colorado ; covering many thousands of square mUes. A friend, now deceased, once found himself "at sea" on this desert, and likely to perish of thirst ; but he had a noble horse, to which he gave a free rein ; and that horse brought him off ahve, — that was aU. He UTAH. — NEVADA. 377 crossed mUes on mUes of pure rock salt, — how deep, he could not say; but he brought away a fragment which had been washed and worn into a nearly round log, as large as a man's thigh, and three or four feet long, which I saw. Another friend, who explored a route from Austin, Nevada, to the Colorado (on the western verge of this desert), rode, for days, down the bed of what had once been a considerable river, but which seemed to have been absolutely dry for years. There is ample corroborating proof that the Great Basin has been far less parched than it is ; and I trust that a more generous rain-faU wiU again be accorded it. Probably, re- clothing it -with timber would renew its rains ; but then the rains seem to be needed to start and sustain the timber. Two or three hundred iniles north, several streams take rise that make thefr way northward to the Columbia ; as the Humboldt, issuing from the west side of the same mountainous region, runs over three hundred mUes W.S.W., to be lost in a sandy, reedy marsh, not a hundred miles from the Sierra Nevada ; hut, southward of this strange river of desolation, there is rarely a stream large Enough to turn a grindstone, tdl you are very near the banks of the almost equaUy lone some Colorado. I rode more than two hundred miles down the south or left bank of the Humboldt. In that distance, I judge that aU the water it receives from tributaries might be passed through a nine-inch ring ; and the stream, of course, grew smaUer and smaUer as it flowed. Possibly, three springs were passed in aU that distance, though I cahnot remember so many; whUe I do right weU remember my scarcely modi fied thirst. The alkahne water of the Humboldt I could not drink, though others did; in Spring, when its volume is greater, its quaUty is probably better. Once, we stopped by a smaU brook tumbhng do-wn from high adjacent mountains on the left, and I drank my fill of its warm, sweet water ; but for this, I must have remained thirsty throughout. And, in aU the two hundred miles, I believe I did not see wood enough to keep a Yankee farmer's fire going through a Winter. 378 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. WUlow-bushes, skirting the little river, were nearly alL Even the mountain ranges, from one to five miles distant on either side, showed no timber, or next to none. And, when we came at length to that expansion of the stream which is caUed a lake, no raft, boat, or even canoe, floated on its bosom or was moored to either bank, and a cottage buUt of stones and clay constituted the maU-station at its foot. Thence, we crossed a waste of sand forty miles wide, which separates the " sink " of the Humboldt from the kindred marsh that drinks up the waters of the Carson, which comes down from the Sierra ; and, foUowing up the latter, hy what is now Virginia City, but then was nothing, we stopped to eat at Genoa, — then the only considerable -vUlage in what has since become Nevada, — and rested our weary hmbs at dark, after a night- and-day ride of four hundred miles (five days and four nights from SheU Creek in Western Utah), in a wooden hotel, at the very foot of the Sierra Nevada. There was then no Austin, and no real mining in what is now Nevada. The auriferous and argentfferous deposit or vein now kno-wn as the Coftistock lode had just been dis covered, — that was about aU. The natural grass of the upper end of Carson Valley had previously attracted a few settlers, who were weary of mining in Cahfornia, or wom out with travel across the desert and reluctant to scale the Sierra; and, though the vaUey must be fuUy six thousand feet above the sea, and must inevitably be frosty, its beauty and verdure fuUy justify their partiahty. I estimate that three hundred habitations, mainly log, are quite as many as existed in the entire region which is now the State of Nevada, that its civ Uized population did not exceed five thousand, and that its aggregate product was barely adequate to the subsistence even of this number. To-day, Nevada produces more sUver, and Uttle less gold, than any other State or Territory ; and the next census wiU give her a population of at least two hun dred thousand. XLVI. THE SIERRA NEVADA. — THE YOSEMITE. — THE BIG TREES. ACLEAE, warm, golden 1st of August — such a day as the Pacific slope of our continent abounds in — took us across the Sierra Nevada by the double-summit route that fol lows up one branch of the Carson to its source, then descends rapidly into the vaUey of Lake Bigler, thence cUmbs diago naUy the mountaui west of it by a steep ascent of two mUes, crosses its summit, and descends again, foUowing a depression in which springs give birth to rUls, which speedily coUect into a brook, which goes brawling and leaping down the westem dechvity of the Sierra, and has become quite a Uttle river (South Fork of the American) at a point twenty or thirty mUes down, where we crossed its vaUey from the northern to the southem bank, and, rising thence to the summit of a ridge or " divide " on the south, ran rapidly do-wn it to the thri-ving city of PlacervUle, at the base of the range, in CaU- fomia's great central vaUey of the Sacramento. The Sierra Nevada is probably more heavily timbered than any other range of mountains on the continent. On the Ne vada side, this timber is of moderate size, and almost whoUy of YeUow or Pitch Pine, with a few deciduous trees in the narrow ravines of the streams ; while, on the far longer slope that looks toward the Pacific, immense YeUow and Sugar Pines, often eight feet through, thickly cover thousands of square mUes, interspersed with White Cedars from four to six feet in diameter, stately Balsam Firs, a considerable variety of White, Eed, Live, and Eock Oaks, with a few other trees. Such a wealth of magnificent timber profoundly impresses the 380 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. traveUer, who has seen nothing like it since he left the eastem slope of the Eocky Mountains, and a plentfful lack of trees everywhere else since he bade adieu to the Kansas, now so many hundred miles away. The vaUeys and lower slopes of CaUfomia are often quite bare, though wide-branching Oaks are thinly scattered over a portion of the latter ; and I saw here ^ what I never saw elsewhere — U-ving trees (Buck eye) six to eight inches through, with every leaf kUled by drouth on the 1st of August, so that they would exhibit no sign of verdure again tUl after the heavy rains of the ensuing Winter. The dryness of earth and atmosphere on the Pacific slope in Summer and Autumn can only be reaUzed by those who have experienced it. I saw the Mormon farmers cutting hea-vy grass by the margin of Salt Lake ; but they found no process of hay-making necessary. Though its color was stiU a bright green, they raked it up unspread, and stacked it without ceremony, knowing that the atmosphere would mean time have sucked every atom of superfluous moisture out of the greenest of it. I presume this is the case, southward of Oregon, nearly or quite to the Isthmus of Darien. My visit to the chief wonders of Cahfornia — the Yosemite and the Big Trees — was necessarUy hurried, but other-wise satisfactory. The sky was cloudless, as that of California al most uniformly is from May tUl October; the days were warm, but not excessively so; the joumey was made on horseback, and in good part under the shade of giant ever greens. There were hundreds of acres covered almost exclu sively by the Balsam Fir, sixty to eighty feet high, and one to two feet in diameter, growing at an elevation of fully 5^000 feet above tide, where the snows of Winter are so heavy and so many that the Umbs of the Fir are depressed at thefr ex tremities, so as to form a series of umbreUas (as it were) rising one above another. Two high, steep mountains — one on either side of the South Merced — are surmounted by what, in 1859, were difficult bridle-paths, ere you strike at "Grizzly Flat," the source of a little mnnel which meanders through an upland meadow or grassy morass to the brink of the great chasm, uito which ff pours itseff by a.faU of some 2,500 feet. THE SIERRA NEVADA. — THE YOSEMITE. 381 which dissolves it into a white foam, whence it is afflicted with the lackadaisical appeUation of " The Bridal VeU." The faU is not to blame for this, but some of its early visitors are. The Yosemite is the grandest marvel of the continent. It is a rift or cleft in the Sierra Nevada, ten miles long, averag ing haff a mUe -wide at the bottom, and perhaps a mile at the top ; its depth ranging from 3,000 to 4,000 feet, though one or two of the peaks on the north are said to rise 5,000 feet above the surface of the Merced. There are three points at which access is had to the vaUey, — one of them by clambering down the rocks near .its head ; the other two by zigzagging do-wn either brink near its lower end. These are bridle-paths ; the other, a foot-path only. That on the side of Mariposa is two miles long ; and we were two good hours in winding do-wn it through woods, -with the moon's rays obscured to us by the interposition of the mountain whose north face we were de scending. It was midnight when we reached its foot, and halted hi the narrow, grassy vaUey of the stream, right in front of a perpendicular waU of gray granite 3,000 feet high, -with a few YeUow Pines rooted in the crevices which at long intervals creased it, and seeming, with the mountain itseff, about to be precipitated upon us. Nothing else dwells in my memory that is at all comparable in awe-inspiring grandeur and sublimity to this wondrous chasm. I judge that the soft granite frequently found in streaks or belts by the miners of California — granite in chemical composition, but of the consistency of a rather solid boUed pudding — here existed on a much larger scale, untU the httle river (in Summer, a large mill-stream only) graduaUy dug it out, and bore it away, till the last of it had disappeared. I was told in the vaUey that repeated efforts of miners to dig do-wn to the "bed-rock," in 'quest of mineral, had proved fail ures, — the sand and gravel, interspersed with bowlders, ap pearing unfathomable. The little streams from either brink which, at several points, leap into the valley, have, by the aid of frost and freshet, hurled miUions of tons of rock and earth into the chasm, forming gigantic deposits of d^hris, over which the road up the vaUey carries you, generally through 382 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. woods, affording difficult footing for men or animals, especiaUy hy night. Fording brooks, stumbling over rocks, winding among trees, it seemed to me that the six mUes from the point where we entered the VaUey to the two cottages or huts near its centre would never end ; but they did end at last, about 2 A. M. ; and I dismounted, and lay do-wn to a welcome, though unquiet, slumber. I was covered with boUs (the pen alty of drinking the alkaUne waters of Colorado, Utah, and Nevada), and had ridden in torture since noon, bearing my weight on my toes, barely stuck into Mexican stirrups far too small for me, whereby my feet had been so laiped that I could scarcely walk ; hence, the prospect of soon rising to resume my travels was by no means aUuring. I did rise, however ; took breakfast; rode to the head of the VaUey; examined with some care the famous fall ; dined ; and, at 2 p. M., started homeward-; reaching Clark's ranche, on the South Merced, at 10 p. M. Let me explain that the Yosemite faU is not that of the Merced, which enters the vaUey, at its head, by several suc cessive leaps in a wild, rocky gorge or canon, and leaves it by one even more impracticable, — giant blocks of granite being pUed for hundreds of feet above the surface of the boiling current, and completely hiding it from view. The Yosemite is a side-stream or tributary, coming from the north or higher mountains, and, having itself worn do-wn its bed to a depth of a thousand feet, leaps thence 2,600 feet into the chasm, making a single plunge of 1,600 feet. When I saw it, there was barely water in the Yosemite to turn the wheels of an average grist-miU ; hut in Winter and Spring there is proba bly twenty to forty times as much. The spectacle is rather pleasing than subUme, — the Mississippi, when in highest flood, having scarcely sufficient volume to save such a descent from seeming disproportioned and trivial Of Big Trees, there are two principal groups in California, — the Calaveras and the Mariposas. The former is more widely kno-wn, because quite accessible ; and it boasts two or three of the largest trees ; but it has barely 250 in aU, whUe the THE YOSEMITE. — THE BIG TREES. 383 Mariposas has 600. They stand in a shaUow vaUey or de pression on the mountains, some 5,000 feet above the sea level, and 2,500 above the South Merced at Clark's, five mUes distant. That which was clearly largest feU several years ago, bury ing itseff in the stony earth to a depth of four feet, and ex hibiting a length of nearly or quite 400 feet. Formerly, two horses were ridden abreast for some 200 feet through the cavity, which successive fires had enlarged in it. It is stUl easy thus to ride through it, but the hoUow has been burned out, so that it is now much shorter. Several of the trees stUl standing and aUve are said to he over 100 feet in circumfer ence ; many are 80 to 90 feet, with a bark at least eighteen inches thick, a very Uttle sap (white) under it, — the residue of the enormous bulk being a light, dry, reddish heart, which burns easUy, even while the tree is green, but is scarcely prone to natural decay. Several of these giants rise a full hundred feet before putting forth a hmb ; none have many branches, but some of these are six feet through. They, are a species of Cedar, — identical with the Cedars of Lebanon, our guide asserted ; but I presume he only guessed so. Their fohage is scarcely, ff at all, larger than that of the YeUow Pines and White Cedars growing among or near them ; many of these being six to eight feet in diameter near the earth. Within the next two years, the Central Pacific Eaifroad wiU have been completed, when passengers wiU leave New York on Monday moming, and dine in San Francisco the sixth evening thereafter. Then the trip, which I found te dious and rugged, wUl be rapid and easy, with every needed comfort and luxury proffered on arid stretches of desert, where I washed do-wn the Mail Company's ancient pork and hot saleratus bread -with more unwholesome and detesta ble warm alkaline water than (I trust) I shaU ever be con strained to swaUow hereafter. I hope to be one of the party who make the first excursion through trip to San Francisco, there to rejoice -with my countrymen in the completion of the grandest and most beneficent enterprise ever inaugurated and perfected by man. XLVII. THE FUTURE OP CALIFORNIA. ILINGEE yet by the shores of the vast Pacific ; for I feel that the general mind is still inadequately impressed with the majestic promise that impels the resistless tendency of our Gothic race toward the sands of that mighty sea. I do grievously err, if the historian of a future century does not instance the discovery of the Columbia by a Yankee, and the finding of Gold in Upper Calffomia so soon after that country had faUen into our hands, as among the most memorable and fortunate incidents in the annals of our continent, and hence of mankind. On Gold per se, I place no high estimate. If all the science and labor which have been devoted by our people to the dis covery and extraction of the Precious Metals had been as faithfully applied to the production of Iron, Coal, Copper, Lead, Tin, Salt, Gypsum, Marble, Slate, &c., I beUeve our country would have been richer and our people -wiser and happier. Even if -we could regard the abundant possession of Gold and Silver as a chief good, it is plain that the coun tries which produce are ndt those which most amply retain and enjoy them. But mines or deposits of Gold and SUver are prominent among the means whereby attention and poptdation are drawn to a region pre-viously unpeopled, or thinly peopled by savages. Men rash madly and in thousands to a district re ported auriferous ; defying famine, heat, cold, pestUence, and even death itseff. Mining or washing for Gold combines the fascinations of gambling — the chance of sudden riches — THE FUTURE OF CALIFORNIA. 385 with the sober incitements of regular and laudable industry : hence, it always did, and always wUl, aUure vast numbers to brave peril and privation in its behoof In time, the bubble bursts ; the glamour is dispeUed ; but thousands have mean time found new homes and formed new habits ; hence, a new civilized community. I judge that gold-mining in California is nearly " played out." True, there are many good veins there which wUl con tinue to be worked at a profit for hundreds of years yet, during which many more and some better -wUl doubtless be discovered and opened ; but this is sober business, requiring capital, science, luck, patience, to insure success ; whUe the jovial, free-handed heroes of pick and pan have passed away forever, — some to Nevada ; some to Arizona ; others to Montana, Idaho, &c., &c., — many to the land of shadows, — and the river-beds and " gulches " that knew them shaU know them no more. CaUfornia stUl exports Gold largely ; but most of it is produced in Nevada, Montana, British Co lumbia, &c., &c. She for years produced Fffty MUUons per annum ; she has faUen off at least half ; she is Ukely soon to faU stUl lower. I presume the chUd is born who will Uve to see her annual product faU below Ten MiUions. Yet her natural wealth wiU stUl be great, being varied, vast, and indestractible. I group it under these heads : — I. Soil — Of her ninety miUions of acres, I should deem not over twenty nuUions decidedly arable ; but these are, for the most part, exceedingly fertUe. I judge that her great vaUeys were once arms of the sea, since graduaUy filled up by the continual abrasion and wearing away of the slopes of her omnipresent mountains. Many of them have now from 100 to at least 1,000 feet in depth of warm, meUow soU, — a marine deposit of sand, clay, and vegetable mould, in nearly equal proportions, wherem the plough very rarely disturbs a stone. I never saw land better calculated to produce large crops, year after year, -with a moderate outlay of labor. The absence of rain in Summer and early Autumn keeps do-wn weeds ; whUe the unclouded, fervid sun hastens growth and 25 386 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. insures perfection. I am confident that Cotton, and even Cane, might be gro-wn to profit throughout the southern half of the State, in which the Fig, the Ohve, and the Apricot grow luxuriantly and ripen unfaihngly. II. Water. — Though I saw large fields of hea-vy Indian Corn which grew and ripened without receiving a drop of rain, I nevertheless realize and adnut that water is a desirable facihty to vegetable growth and maturity. And, as cultiva tion is here mostly confined to vaUeys and the lower slopes of mountains, water is abundantly procurable. Artesian weUs are easily dug ; their flow is apt to be generous, as weU as constant ; and a smaU stream, weU managed, amply irrigates a very large field. Trees and -vines root deep in that rich, facUe mould; the grape needs a very Uttle water for two years, and none thereafter ; whUe its culture requires but haff fhe work needed here or in Europe, because our frequent rains evoke innumerable weeds. I estimate that a ton of Grapes may be produced in Cahfornia with haff the labor requfred to grow them in Italy; and that Silk, most semi-tropical Fruits, and I trast Tea, also, may be produced with equal facUity. Wheat and other smaU grains yield largely and surely. I saw thousands of acres that had been two months cut and shocked, yet stiU awaited the coming of the circulat ing thresher; other fields were yet uncut (September 1), though long so dead-ripe that a large portion of the grain must be sheUed out and lost in the field, even under the most careful handlmg. I saw fifty acres of choice tree-fruits — mainly Peaches and Apples — in a single patch ; the Peaches rotting by hundreds bf bushels, hecause they could not be gathered and marketed so fast as they ripened. I saw vast tracts of good Mustard, self-sown and gro-wing wUd from year to year, though apparently as good an article as ever ripened. The intense drouth of her long, cloudless, dewless Summer produces cracks and fissures in the earth, into which grains and other seeds drop when dead-ripe ; rains come and close the fissures in November and later; the self-sown seed germinates, and produces a " volunteer" crop, — a fuU one of THE FUTURE OF CALIFORNIA. 387 Mustard, but a haff crop of Wheat, &c. I saw, at the Mission of San Jose, giant pear-trees, planted some scores of years ago by the Jesuits, and producing largely, but of indifferent fruit, tUl a Yankee acquired and grafted them, when he sold in San Francisco their product, the next year but one, so as to net him $ 100 from each tree. I look forward to a day when this country's supply of Eaw Silk, as weU as of Eaisins and other dried fruits, wUl reach us from our own Pacific coast. The rains of CaUfornia are ample, but confined to Winter and Spring. In time, her streams wiU be largely retained in her mountains by dams and reservofrs, and, instead of descend ing in floods to overwhelm and devastate, wUl be graduaUy drawn away throughout the Summer to irrigate and refresh. For a while, water wiU be apphed too profusely, aud injury thus be done; but experience wUl correct this error; and then Calffomia's vaUeys and lower slopes wiU produce more food to nourish and frait to solace the heart of man than any other Twenty MiUions of acres on earth. III. Timber. — Most of her highlands are valuable for tim ber and pasturage only. There are more tons of valuable timber in the Sierra Nevada than in our whole country east of the Eocky Mountains, and southward of the latitude of Chicago. EaUroads -vidU yet render much of it commercially available, and incite its diffusion to every country and island washed by the great ocean. Its value wUl be found to sur pass that of aU the minerals covered by it, or ever exposed to the avaricious gaze of man. The .-Paciflc EaUroads — for there must soon be three dis tinct lines, and in time at least three more — wUl be to CaU fornia what the Erie Canal is to New York, the Mississippi to the great valley. It is barely possible to over-estimate their importance and value. WhUe they render New York that focus of the world's commerce which London has so long been, they niust btuld up, on our Pacific coast, a traffic -with China, Japan, Australia, such as Tyre or Carthage never con ceived. Cahfornia has hitherto seemed, even to her o-wn 388 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. people, on one side of the earth ; they have too generaUy felt as strangers and sojourners, and talked of " going home," — that is, to the Atlantic slope ; but the Pacific Eaifroads, bring ing them within a week's joumey of New England, and plac ing them in daily maU communication with the friends of their childhood, wiU make thousands contented with their lot, and, after a good visit to the old, familiar firesides, they wiU return, contented to end their days on the Pacific slope, and wUl draw their younger brothers and cousins after them. I predict that CaUfornia wUl have Three MiUions of people in 1900, and Oregon at least One IMiUion. I close with a mere glance at San Francisco ; because her age has nearly doubled since I saw her, and her population, wealth, and business, as weU. At the mouth of the only con siderable river that enters the Pacific from our continent, — the Columbia and the Youkon excepted, — with a fair en trance, and an ample, safe harbor, I judge that the Pacific EaUroad fixes and assures her destiny as the second city of America, — the emporium wherein the farthest East wiU ex change its products with the remotest West. I dishke her chUly August fogs and -winds, her blowing, drffting sands ; I might wish her reheved of the giant sand-bank which cen turies have piled up between her and the Pacific ; but then her Western gales would be fiercer and sharper than now ; so it is best to leave her as she is. Since twenty years have raised her from a naked beach to a city of 100,000 souls, who can doubt that eighty more wiU see these sweUed to, at least. One MUUon ? May InteUigence and Virtue keep even step with her material progress ! may the great-grandchUdren of her adventurous pioneers rejoice in the knowledge that her stormy, frregular youth has given place to a sober, respected, beneficent maturity ! may her influence on the side of Free dom, Knowledge, Eighteousness, be evermore greatly felt and greatly blest throughout the awaking, wondering, plastic Western world ! XLVIII. THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OP 1860. THE events of 1858-59, with certain demonstrations against Senator Douglas and his doctrine of " Squatter Sovereignty," by nearly aU his Democratic brethren in the Senate, early in the session of 1859 - 60, plainly portended a disruption of the dominant party ; creating a strong probabiUty that the Eepubhcans might choose the next President. I had afready, for months, contemplated that contingency, and endeavored to fix on the proper candidate for President, in -view of its probable occurrence. My choice was Edward Bates, of St. Louis. He had been sole Eepresentative of Missouri in Congress fully thirty years before, when he had heartUy supported the administration of John Quincy Adams. He had since been mainly in retire ment, save that he had presided with eminent abihty over the Eiver and Harbor Convention held at Chicago in 1847, and had held a local judgeship. Born in Virginia, a hfe-long slaveholder, in poUtics a Whig, he was thoroughly conserva tive, and so held fast to the doctrine of our Eevolutionary sages, that Slavery was an evU to he restricted, not a good to be diffused. This conviction made him essentiaUy a Eepub lican ; while I beUeved that he could poll votes in every Slave State, and, if elected, rally all that was left of the Whig party therein to resist Secession and Eebellion. If not the only Eepublican whose election would not suffice as a pretext for civil war, he seemed to me that one most hkely to repress the threatened insurrection, or, at the worst, to crash it. I did not hesitate to avow my preference, though I may have withheld some of my reasons for it. 390 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. Many Eepubhcans 'lissented from it most decidedly ; one of them said to me, " Let us have a candidate, this time, that represents our most advanced convictions." "My friend," I inquired, "suppose each EepubUcan voter in our State were to receive, to-morrow, a letter, advising him that he (the said voter) had just lost his brother, for some years settled in the South, who had left him a plantation and haff a dozen slaves, — how many of the two hundred and fifty thousand would, in response, declare and set those slaves free ? " "I don't think I could stand that test myself ! " was his prompt rejoinder. "Then," I resumed, "it is not yet time to nominate as you propose." The EepubUcan National Convention was caUed to meet at Chicago, May 16, 1860, and I attended it, having been re quested by the Eepubhcans of Oregon to act as one of thefr delegates therein. Governor Seward was the most prominent candidate for the Presidential nomination, warinly backed by the delegations from New York, Michigan, and several other States, including most of those from Massachusetts. I was somewhat surprised to meet there quite a number who, in conversations with me and others, had unhesitatingly pro nounced his nomination unadvisable, and Ukely to prove dis astrous, now on hand to urge it. I strongly felt that they had been right before, and were -wrong now ; and I did what I could to counteract their efforts ; visiting, to this end, and briefiy addressing, the delegations from several States. I did much less than was popularly supposed ; being kept busy for ten or twelve of the most critical hours just preceding the baUotings in the committee of one delegate from each State- represented that framed and reported the platform. An effort to concentrate, prior to the balloting, aU the anti-Seward votes on one candidate, proved unsuccessful; and the probabihty of Seward's success seemed thereafter so decided, that one of his leading supporters urged me, just before we began to bal lot, to name the man whose nomination for Vice-President would be most effective in reconciling those with whom I acted to the support of Govemor Seward. I advised, through THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF 1860. 391 him, the Seward men to make the whole ticket satisfactory to themselves. We soon proceeded to vote for a candidate for , President, -with the foUowing result : — ls< baOat. 2d haUot. 3d idUot. William H. Se-ward, of New York, .... 173^ 1844 180 Abraham Lincoln, of Illinois, 102 181 231i Simon Cameron of Pennsylvania, 50| Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio, 49 42i 24i Ed-ward Bates, of Missouri, 48 35 22 William L. Daytxsn, of Ne-w Jersey, .... 14 10 John McLean, of Ohio, 12 8 5 Jacob Collamer, of Vermont, 10 Scattering, 6 4 2 Mr. Lincoln ha-ving very nearly votes enough to nominate him on the third baUot, others were rapidly transferred to him, untu he had 354 out of 466 in aU, and his nomination was declared. On motion of WiUiam M. Evarts, on the part of New York, seconded by John A. Andrew on behaff of Massachusetts, the nomination was then made unanimous. On the first baUot for Vice-President, Hannibal Hamlin, of Maine, received 194 votes, which the next baUot sweUed to 367 against 99, — when he, too, was unanimously nominated ; and the Convention adjourned with nine hearty cheers for the ticket. The " Constitutional Union " (late " American " ) party, met by delegates three days later in Baltimore, declared its plat form to be " the Constitution of the country, the Union of the States, and the enforcement of the Laws," and nominated thereon John Bell, of Tennessee, for President, and Edward Everett, of Massachusetts, for Vice-President. The Democratic National Convention* had. met originaUy at Charleston, South Carolma ; had quarreUed over a platform for a week or more ; and had finaUy been disrapted by the withdrawal of a majority of the delegates from Slave States, because of the adoption (by a vote of 165 to 138) of a plat form which was held to favor, or at least not explicitly to condemn. Senator Douglas's "Squatter-Sovereignty" dogma. * April 23. 392 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. After taking 57 baUots for President, whereon Mr. Douglas had a decided majority of aU the votes cast on every baUot, and a majority of a ftdl Convention, that hody, by a vote of 195 to 55, adjourned* to reassemble at Baltimore, June 18 ; at which time (the places of most of the seceders having meantime been fiUed) Mr. Douglas received on the first baUot 173|, and on the second 181J votes, which was less than two-thirds of a fuU Convention (303). He was thereupon, on motion of Sanford E. Church, of New York, declared the nominee. Hon. Benjamin Fitzpatrick, of Alabama, was unanimously nominated for Vice-President; but he dechned, and Hon. Herschel V. Johnson, of Georgia, was put up in his stead. The bolters at Charleston met in Baltimore on the llth of June, but adjoumed to the 25th ; at which time, Hon. John C. Breckinridge, of Kentucky (then Vice-President), was ijnanimously nominated for President, with General Joseph Lane, of Oregon, for Vice-President. The quadrangular contest thus inaugurated has had no paraUel but a very imperfect one in 1824. It seems clear that the bolting Democratic ticket was intended to render the success of the Eepubhcans inevitable ; and the probabUity of that success was openly exulted over in 4th of July toasts at various celebrations in South CaroUna, where no other can didate than Breckinridge had even a nominal support. Yet in New York the supporters of Douglas, of BeU, and of Breck inridge united on a common ticket, which was defeated, but only after a most determined canvass. In other States, the " fusion " was incomplete or non-existent, rendering Mr. Lin coln's success a foregone conclusion. Mr. Douglas, alone among the Presidential candidates, took the stump, and spoke with vigor and energy in several States, but to Uttle purpose. The popular vote in the Free States was mainly divided between Lincoln and Douglas ; in the Slave States, between Breckmridge and BeU; the totals- in either section bemg, as nearly as they can be apportioned, as foUows : — * May 3. THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF 1860. 393 Lincoln. Douglas. BrecMnridge. BeU. Free States, 1,831,180 1,128,049 279,211 130,151 Slave Sta,tes, 26,430 163,525 570,871 515,973 Total, , . . 1,857,610 1,291,574 850,082 646,124 Mr. Lincoln had 180 electoral votes to 123 for aU others ; he ha-ving the ftdl vote of aU the Free States but New Jersey, which gave him 4. Mr. Douglas had barely 3 in New Jer sey, with the 9 of Missouri, — 12 in aU, — whUe Breckinridge, ¦with a much smaUer popular vote, had 72 electors; barely missing those of Vfrginia, also Kentucky and Tennessee, making 39 in aU. Mr. Lincoln's popular and electoral vote were each a httle larger than those of Mr. Buchanan in 1856 ; but, prac ticaUy, ihe one result had strong points of resemblance to the other. *n the former, a united South triumphed over a divided North ; in the latter, a United North succeeded over a di-vided South. But the di-vision affected only the Presi dency; the anti-EepubUcans stiU held the Supreme Court, with the Senate, and were moraUy certain of a large majority also in the new House of Eepresentatives, whereof two thfrds of the members were chosen with or before the Presidential Electors. Thus stood the country on the day after that which re corded the popular verdict for Lincohi and Hamlin. It is trae that the moral weight of that verdict was dimin ished by the consideration that it was pronounced by barely two fifths of the legal voters. Antagonist on other points as the defeated factions were, it was notorious that they were a unit in opposition to the cardinal EepubUcan principle of No Extension of Slavery, which, by acting in concert, they could at any time arrest and defeat. Yet the election of Lincoln, by placing the Executive patronage of the Government in the hands of a Eepublican, had done much toward the develop ment throughout the South of that latent anti-Slavery senti ment which her aristocracy abhorred and dreaded. In that election, therefore, many slaveholders saw foreshadowed the doom of thefr cherished "institution." XLIX. SECESSION,— HOW CONFRONTED. THE popular vote * in each State for Presidential Electors having rendered inevitable the success of Lincoln and HamUn, the result — immediately ascertained and dissemi nated by means of the telegraph — was nowhere received -with more general expressions of satisfaction than in SoiRi Caro lina, whose ruling caste had, months before, hut especiaUy on the preceding 4th of July, indicated thefr -wish and hope that the election would have this issue. Indeed, we Eepubhcans had been fully aware, throughout the canvass, that the di-vis ion of the Democratic party effected at the Charleston Con vention was designed to assure our success, — not as an end, but as a means, — and that those who supported Breckinridge, whUe they would have regarded his election with compla cency, were quite as weU satisfied -with that of Lincoln. Much as they dishked — nay, detested — the " Black Eepubhcans," they regarded Senator Douglas and his "Squatter Sover eignty' with an intenser aversion, and were bent on thefr absolute discomfiture at all hazards. AU revolutionary movements derive thefr momentum from diverse sources, and are impeUed by very different agencies. Of the four and a haff miUions of voters for President in 1860, it is quite safe to say that aU who desired Disunion were mcluded within the 850,000 f who voted for Breckin- * November 6, 1860. t As South Carolina then chose her electors by her Legislature, her people do not count in this aggregate, which they would probably have swelled to abont 900,000. SECESSION. — HOW CONFRONTED. , 395 ridge ; but even this fraction should, in justice, he di-vided into classes, as foUows : — I. The Disunionists, pure and simple, who, beheving Slavery the only natural and stable basis of social order, and noting the steady advance of the Free States in relative wealth, population, and power, deemed the Secession and Confedera tion of the Slaveholding States the only course consistent with their interests or thefr safety. I doubt whether this class numbered haff a miUion of the fifteen hundred thousand legal voters residing in the Slave States, while it could count no open adherents in the Free States. II. Those who, whUe they perceived neither safety nor sense in Secession, did not choose to be stigmatized as Abo htionists nor hooted as cowards, hut preferred the remote, con tingent perUs even of civU war to the imminent certainty of persecution and social outlawry, if they should be pointed out as lacking the courage or the wiU to risk aU, dare aU, in de fence of " Southem rights." III. Those who, whUe at heart hostUe to Disunion, — deem ing it no remedy for existing ills, whUe it opened a new vista of untold, awful calamities, — yet regarded the menace of Secession with complacency, as certain to frighten "the North " into any and every requfred concession and retraction to avert the threatened disruption. It was this third class — I judge more numerous than, whUe superior in wealth and social consideration to, the first and second combined — that I deemed it our first duty to resist and baffle. I had for forty years heen Ustening, -with steadily diminish ing patience, to Southern threats of Disunion. Whatever an awakened conscience, or an enlightened apprehension of Na tional interest, commended to a majority of the North as just and pohtic, was — if not equaUy acceptable at the South — apt to he met by the bravado, " Do what you propose, and we -wiU dissolve the Union ! " I had become weary of this, and desirous of ending it. In my cherished conception, the Union was no boon conferred on the North by the South, but 396 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. a voluntary partnership, at least as advantageous to the latter as to the former. I desfred that the South should be made to comprehend and respect this truth. I -wished her to reahze that the North could do without the South quite as weU as the South could do without the North. For the first breath of Disunion from the South fanned into vigorous hfe the old spirit of compromise and cringing at the North. " What wiU you do to save the Union ? " was asked of us Eepubhcans, as ff we had committed some enormity in voting for and electing Lincoln, which we must now atone by proffering concessions and disclaimers to the justly alarmed and irritated South. At once, the attitude of the North became alarmed, depre catory, self-abasing. Every local election held during the two months succeeding our National triumph showed great " Con servative '' gains. Conspicuous Abohtionists were denied the use of pubhc haUs, or hooted down if they attempted to speak. Influential citizens, through meetings and letters, denounced the madness of " fanaticism," and implored the South to stay her avenging arm until the North could have time to purge herseff from complicity with " fanatics," and demonstrate her fraternal sympathy with her Southern sister, — that is, attest her unshaken loyalty to the Slave Power. An eminent Southern Conservative (John J. Crittenden) having proposed, as a new Union-saving compromise, the ranning of the hne of 36 degrees 30 minutes North latitude through our new territories to the Pacific, and the positive aUotment and guaranty of aU South of that hne to Slavery forever, the sug gestion was widely grasped as an olive-branch, — even the veteran Thurlow Weed commending the proposal to popular favor and acceptance as fair and reasonable. The Eepubhcan party — which had heen caUed into existence by the opening of free soil to Slavery — seemed in positive danger of signaUz- ing its advent to power by giving a direct assent to the prac tical extension of Slavery over a region far larger and more important than that theoreticaUy surrendered by the Kansas- Nebraska bUl. In fact, the attitude of the North, during the SECESSION, — SOW CONFRONTED. 397 two last months of 1860, was foreshadowed in four Unes of CoUins's Ode to the Passions : — " First, Fear his hand, its skill to try. Amid the chords bewildered laid ; And back recoiled, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made.'' And the danger was imminent that, if a popular vote could have been had (as was proposed) on the Crittenden Com promise, it would have prevailed by an overwhelming ma jority. Very few Eepubhcans would have voted for it ; but very many would have refrained from voting at aU ; while their adversaries would have hrought their every man to the polls in its support, and carried it by hundreds of thousands. My o-wn controUing con-viction from first to last was, — There must, at aU events, be no concession to Slavery. Dis union, should it befaU, may be calamity ; but compUcity in Slavery extension is guUt, which the Eepubhcans must in no case incur. It had for an age been the study of the slave- holding politicians to make us of the North partners -with them in the maintenance, diffusion, and profit or loss of their industrial system. " Slavery is quite as much your affair as ours," they were accustomed to say in substance: "we own and work the negroes ; you buy the cotton and sugar pro duced by their labor, and seU us in retum nearly aU we and they eat, drink, and wear. If they ran away, you help catch and return them : now set us off a few hundred thou sand mUes more of territory whereon to work them, and help us to acqture Cuba, Mexico, &c., as we shaU say we need them, and we -wiU largely extend our operations, to our mutual benefit." It was this extension that I was resolved at aU hazards to defeat. But how ? Good and trae men met the Disunionists (whether earnest or affected) in this square, manly way : " You must obey the laws. The Union -wUl not be tamely surrendered, and cannot be dissolved by force. Whoever shaU attempt thus to dis solve it -wUl have reason to repent of his temerity. Behave yourselves, or you -wUl me your turbulence ! " 398 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. To me, as to some others, a different course seemed advisa ble. We said in substance : " You Disunionists claim to be the Southern people, and rest your case on the vital principle proclaimed in our fathers' immortal Declaration of Indepen dence, — ' Governments derive their just power from the con sent of the governed.' We admit the principle, — nay, we affirm, we glory in it ; but your case is not within it. You are rwt the Southem people ; you are not even a majority of the Southem Whites ; you are a violent, unscrupulous, desperate minority, who have conspired to clutch power and wield it for ends which the overawed, gagged, paralyzed majority at heart condemn. Secure us a fair opportunity to state our side of the case, and to argue the points at issue before your people, and we -wiU abide thefr decision. We disclaim a union of force, — a union held together by bayonets ; let us be fairly heard ; and, ff your people decide that they choose to break away from us, we wiU interpose no obstacle to thefr peaceful withdrawal from the Union." Whether this was, or was not, in the abstract, sound doc trine, it is clear that those who uttered it exposed themselves to ready misapprehension and grave obloquy, which were counterbalanced by no advantage or profit to themselves. Their consolation was that they had done something toward arresting the spring-tide of Northern servUity that set strongly in favor of " concUiation " through the adoption of the Crit tenden Compromise. They were right at least in their fundamental assumption of fact. The South was not for Secession. Though its par tisans had previously made skilful use of the machinery of the Democratic party to secure Govemors, Legislatures, &c. in their interest, and the Federal officers — appointed by Pierce and Buchanan whUe Jefferson Davis, Jacob Thomp son, John B. Floyd, HoweU Cobb, John SUdeU, &c., were thefr trusted advisers — were nearly aU impUcated in their conspiracy, the Disunionists, wholly unresisted by President Buchanan, were enabled, by their utmost efforts, to ahenate but a minority of the Southern States or People from the SECESSION, — HOW CONFRONTED. 399 Federal Union. South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Missis sippi, Louisiana, Florida, and Texas — seven States in aU, entitled to but twenty-eight representatives in Congress — were claimed as having seceded, up to the hour wherein War was formaUy inaugurated by an order from the Confederate War Department to open fire upon the Federal fortress named Sumter, in Charleston harbor. In no one of these States but Texas had the ordinance of Secession been submitted to, and ratified by, a direct popular vote. The eight other Slave States, which had double their free population and double thefr representation in Congress, had not merely decUned to secede, — Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Missouri, had given such majorities against it as they never gave before ; North Carohna and Arkansas had expressly voted it do-wn ; whUe Maryland and Delaware refused even to take the mat ter into consideration. In fact, the people of the South, Uke those of the North, were as yet unripe for Disunion, and shuddered at the prospect of civU war. The bombardment of Sumter, which summoned the Nation to arms, was impeUed by a consciousness that the mushroom Confederacy would other-wise collapse and disappear. Said Jeremiah Clemens, formerly United States Senator from Alabama, at a Union meeting at HimtsvUle, March 13, 1864 : — " I wish to state a fact in relation to the commencement of this war. Some time after the ordinance of Secession was passed I was in Montgomery, and caUed on President Davis, who was in that city. Davis, Memminger, the Secretary of War [Leroy Pope Walker], Gilchrist, the member from Lowndes County, and several others, were present. As I entered, the conversation ceased. They were evidently discussing the propriety of firing on Fort Sumter. Two or three of them withdrew to a comer of the room ; and I heard GUchrist say to the Secretary of War : ' It must be done. Belay two months, and Alabama stays in the Union. Tou must sprinkle blood in the faces of the people." So said, so done, — except that the " sprinkle " sweUed into a cascade, the cascade into a river, which inundated and red dened the whole breadth of our country. L. OUR CIVIL WAR, —ACTUAL AND POSSIBLE. HOSTILITIES on the part of the Confederacy had been inaugurated weeks before Mr. Lincoln's accession to the Presidency. The Federal forts, arsenals, armories, sub- ' treasuries, &c., &c., located in the seceding States, had, in good part, thus changed hands, — often -with the hearty as sent and cooperation of their custodians, — always -without serious resistance offered hy them or commanded from Wash ington. Fort Sumter, Key West, and Fort Pickens (at Pen sacola) were all that held out for the Union. General Twiggs's surrender* of the -greater part of our httle Army, then posted along the exposed frontiers of Texas, vsdth aU the forts, arms, munitions, stores, &c., occurred two weeks he fore the close of Mr. Buchanan's term. StiU, the fact that war existed, or even that it was inevitable, was not generaUy reaUzed in the Free States, tUl the telegraph flashed far and wide the startling news that fire had been opened f on Fort Sumter from the Eebel forts and batteries whereby it was half encircled, — f oUo-wing this, next day, -with, the tidings that the feebly manned and nearly foodless fort had surren dered. Hereupon, Virginia was promptly plunged by her Convention into the -widening vortex of Secession ; and was soon foUowed by Arkansas, J North Carohna, § and ultimately by Tennessee. II Meantime, President Lincoln, directly on hearing of the faU of Sumter, had summoned the new Congress to meet in * February 18, 1861. J May 6, 1861. 1| June 8, 1861. t April 12, 1861. § May 20, 1861. OUR CIVIL WAR, — ACTUAL AND POSSIBLE. 401 extraordinary session on the 4th of July ensuing, and had caUed on the Governors of the presumptively loyal States for thefr respective quotas of a volunteer force of 75,000 men to defend the capital and public property of the Union. The Governors, not only of Virginia (which was then on the point, ff not in the act, of seceding), but of North Carohna, Tennes see, Missouri, Kentucky, and even Delaware, responded only -with "railing accusations," implying amazement that any President should ask or expect their help in the nefarious work of " coercion." From the Governors of the Free States (nearly or quite aU EepubUcans) very different responses were received, s-wfftly foUowed by the required volunteers. One of the first regiments on foot was from Massachusetts, and was fiercely assaUed* on its passage through Baltimore by a vast pro-Slavery mob, whereby three of its men were slain and eight seriously wounded. The residue made thefr way through the city, and proceeded to Washington ; but a Penn sylvania regiment, just behind it, was roughly handled by the mob, and constrained to take the back track to Philadelphia. Baltimore thereupon ranged herseff on the side of Secession, stopping the trains and cutting the wires that connected Washington with the stUl loyal States ; the Federal Arsenal at Harper's Ferry, being menaced, was fired and abandoned ; the Navy Yard at Norfolk was culpably deserted, lea-ving two thousand cannon and large supphes of munitions to the ex ulting Confederates ; a Confederate camp was estabhshed near St. Louis, under the auspices of Governor Jackson, and men openly enhsted and driUed there for the work in prospect ; the South was closed to Northern travel and commerce, and everything portended a formidable, bloody, devastating war. Yet President Lincoln persisted in what seems to me his second grave mistake, — that of underestimating the spirit and power of the EebeUion. He had caUed for but 75,000 men when apprised that Fort Sumter had faUen ; he caUed for no more when assured that Vfrginia and North Carohna had been swept into the vortex of Secession by that open * April 19, 1861. 26 402 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. defiance of the National authority and assault on the National integrity; that Arkansas and Tennessee were on the point of foUowing their bad example ; and that even Maryland and Missouri were, at least for the moment, in the hands of those who fuUy shared the animus and sympathized with the aims of the Disunionists. It was now plain that the Slave Power was the Nation's assaUant, and that its motto was, " War to the knife ! " I think the President should have changed his tactics hi view of the added gravity of the pubUc danger. I think he should have in-vited the people to assemble on a des ignated early day in thefr several wards and townships, then and there to solemnly swear to uphold the Govemment and Union, and to enroU themselves as volunteers for the war, subject to be caUed out at his discretion. Each man's age, as weU as name, should have been recorded ; and then he should have caUed them out in classes as they should be wanted, — say, first, those of 20 to 25 years old ; secondly, those between 25 and 30 ; and so on. I judge that not less than One MU lion able-bodied men would have thus enroUed themselves ; that the first two caUs would have provided a force of not less than two hundred thousand men ; and that subsequent calls, though less productive, would have suppUed aU the men from time to time required, -without cost and -without material delay. The Confederate Congress had met at Montgomery, Ala bama, held a brief session, and adjourned to reconvene at Eichmond on the 4th of July. I hold that it should not have been aUowed so, to meet, hut that a Union army. One Hundred Thousand strong, should have occupied that city early in June, — certainly before the close of that month. Eichmond was not yet fortified; it was accessible by land and by water ; we firmly held Fortress Monroe ; the desig nated capital of the Confederacy should never have received its Congress, but should have -witnessed such a celebration of the anniversary of American Independence as had never yet thriUed its heart. The war-cry, "Forward to Eichmond!" did not origmate -with me ; but it is just what should have OUR CIVIL WAR,— ACTUAL AND POSSIBLE 403 been uttered, and the words should have heen translated into deeds. Instead of energy, -vigor, promptness, daring, decision, we had in our councils weakness, irresolution, hesitation, delay ; and, when at last our hastUy coUected forces, after being de moralized by weeks of idleness and dissipation, were. sent forward, they advanced on separate Unes, under different com manders; thus enabling the enemy to concentrate aU his forces in Vfrginia against a single corps of ours, defeating and stampeding it at BuU Bun, whUe other Union volunteers, aggregating nearly t-wice its strength, lay idle and useless near Harper's Ferry, in and about Washington, and at Fortress Monroe. Thus what should have been a short, sharp straggle was expanded into a long, destdtory one ; whUe those whose blundering incapacity or lack of purpose was responsible for those Uls united in throwing the blame on the faithful few who had counseUed justly, but whose urgent remonstrances they had never heeded. " Forward to Eichmond ! " was exe crated as the impulse to disaster, even by some who had lus- tUy echoed it ; and weary months of halting, timid, nerveless, yet costly warfare, naturaUy foUowed. Men talk reproach- fuUy of the heavy losses incurred by Grant in taking Eich mond, forgetting that his predecessors had lost yet more in not taking it. In war, energy — prompt and -vigorous action — is the trae economizer of suffering, of devastation, and of hfe. Had Napoleon or Jackson been ui Scott's place in 1861, the Eebelhon would have been stamped out ere the close of that year ; but Slavery would have remained to scourge us still Thus disaster is overruled to subserve the ends of beneficence ; thus the evil of the moment contains the germ of good that is enduring ; and thus is freshly exemphfied the great truth proclaimed by Pope : — " In spite of pride, in erring Reason's spite. One trath is clear, — Whateveb is, is bight." LI. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. THEEE are those who say that Mr. Lincoln was fortu nate in his death as in his hfe : I judge otherwise. I hold him most inapt for the leadership of a people involved in desperate, agonizing, war ; whUe I deem few men better fitted to guide a nation's destinies in time of peace. Espe ciaUy do I deem him eminently fitted to soothe, to heal, and to reunite in bonds of tme, fraternal affection a people just lapsing into peace after years of distracting, desolating inter nal strife. His true career was just opening when an assas sin's bullet quenched his Ught of Ufe. Mr. Lincoln entered Washington the -victim of a grave de lusion. A genial, quiet, essentiaUy peaceful man, trained in the ways of the bar and the stump, he fuUy beUeved that there would be no civil war, — no serious effort to consum mate Disunion. His faith in Eeason as a moral force was so imphcit that he did not cherish a doubt that his Inaugural Address, whereon he had bestowed much thought and labor, would, when read throughout the South, dissolve the Confed eracy as frost is dissipated by a vernal sun. I sat just behind him as he read it, on a bright, warm, stUl March day, expect ing to hear its deUvery arrested by the crack of a rifle aimed at his heart ; but it pleased God to postpone the deed, though there was forty times the reason for shooting hun in 1860 that there was in '65, and at least forty tiipes as many intent on kiUing or having htm kUled. No shot was then fired, how ever ; for his hour had not yet come. Almost every one has personal anecdotes of " Old Abe." ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 405 I knew him more than sixteen years, met him often, talked with him familiarly ; yet, while multitudes fancy that he was always overflowing with jocular narrations or reminis cences, I cannot remember that I ever heard bim teU an an ecdote or story. One, however, that he did teU whUe in this city, on his way to assume the Presidency, is so characteristic of the man and his way of regarding portents of trouble, that I here record it. Almost every one was asking him, -with evident apprehen sion ff not perturbation: "What is to be the issue of this . Southern effervescence ? Are we reaUy to have ci-vU war ? " and he once responded in substance as foUows : — " Many years ago, when I was a young la-wyer, and Illinois was Uttle settled, except on her southern border, I, with other la-wyers, used to ride the circuit ; journeying with the judge from county-seat to county-seat in quest of business. Once, after a long speU of pouring rain, which had flooded the whole country, transforming smaU creeks into rivers, we were often stopped by these swoUen streams, which we with diffi culty crossed. StUl ahead of us was Fox Eiver, larger than aU the rest ; and we could not help saying to each other, ' If these streams give us so much trouble, how shaU we get over Fox Eiver ? ' Darkness feU before we had reached that sfream ; and we aU stopped at a log tavern, had our horses put out, and resolved to pass the night. Here we were right glad to faU in with the Methodist Presiding Elder of the cir cuit, who rode it in aU weather, knew aU its ways, and could tell us aU about Fox Eiver. So we aU gathered around him, and asked him ff he knew about the crossing of Fox Eiver. ' 0 yes,' he repUed, ' I know aU about Fox Eiver. I have crossed it often, and understand it well ; but I have one fixed rule -with regard to Fox Eiver : I never cross it tUl I reach it.' " I infer that Mr. Lincoln did not fuUy reaUze that we were to have a great civil war tiU the BuU Eun disaster. I cannot otherwise explain what seemed to many of us his amazing tameness when reqtured bythe Mayor and by the Young 406 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. \ Christians of Baltimore to promise not to have anymore vol unteers marched across the State of Maryland on thefr way to the defence of Washington. Had he then realized that bloody strife had become a dire necessity, I think he would have responded with more spfrit. When we were at length unmistakably launched on the stormy ocean of civU war, Mr. Lincoln's tenacity of purpose paraUeled his former immobUity. I believe he would have been nearly the last, ff not the very last, man in America to recognize the Southern Confederacy, had its arms been trium phant. He would have much preferred death. This firmness impeUed him to what seemed to me a grave error. Because he would never consent to give up. the Union, he dreaded to recognize in any manner the existence of the Confederacy. Yet such recognition, after the capture of sev eral thousands of our soldiers, became ine-vitable. Had For tune uniformly smUed on our arms, we might have freated the EebeUion as a seditious riot ; but our serious loss in pris oners at BuU Eun rendered this thenceforth impossible. We were virtuaUy compeUed to recognize the Confederates as belUgerents, by negotiating an exchange of prisoners. Tlience- forth (it seems to me) we were precluded from treating them as felons. And I could see no objection, not merely to receiv ing with courtesy any overtures for peace they inight see fit to make, but even to making overtures to them, as Great Britain so pubUcly did to our Eevolutionary fathers in the Summer of '76. War has become so fearfuUy expensive, through the pro gress of invention and machinery, that to protract it is to involve aU parties in bankruptcy and ruin. BelUgerents are, therefore, prone to protest their anxiety for Peace, — in most cases, sincerely. Napoleon, though often at war, was always proclaiming his anxiety for peace. It seemed to me, through out our great struggle, that a more -vigorous prosecution, ahke of War and of Peace, was desirable. Larger armies, hi the ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 407 average more energeticaUy led, more ably handled, seemed to be the National need, down to a late stage of the contest. And I deemed it a mistake to put aside any overture that looked to the achievement of peace. Instead of repelling such overtures, however unpromising, I would have openly welcomed any and aU, and so treated each as to prove that the continuance of war was not the fault of our side. And so, when Henry May, Colonel Jacquess, and others, soUcited permission to go to Eichmond in quest of Peace, I would have openly granted them every facihty, asking them only to state distinctly that I had not sent nor accredited them. And I judge that Mr. Lincoln slowly came to a conclusion not dissimUar to mine, since Mr. F. P. Blafr's two visits to Eichmond were made -with his fuU knowledge ; whUe his o-wn visit to Fortress Monroe, there to meet Confederate Com missioners and discuss -with them terms of pacification, was a formal notice to aU concerned of his anxiety to stay the effusion of blood. I beheve that this conference did much to precipitate the do-wnfaU of the tottering Confederacy. I doubt whether any one of Sherman's nearly simultaneous successes did more. And, whUe Mr. Lincoln would have been a tenacious champion of the authority and dignity of the Union and the rights and security of aU its loyal people, I am sure the vanquished Eebels would have found him a generous conqueror. Mr. Lincohi died for his country as truly as any soldier who feU fighting in the ranks of her armies. He was not merely kUled for her sake, — because of the high responsi bUities she had a second time devolved on him, and the fidehty where-with he fulfiUed them, — he was worn out in her ser-vice, and would not, I judge, have Uved out his official term, had no one sought his immolation. When I last saw him, a few weeks before his death, I was struck by his hag gard, care-fraught face, so different from the sunny, gladsome countenance he first brought from lUinois. I felt that his hfe hung by so slender a thread that any new access of trouble or excess of effort might suddenly close his career. I had 408 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. ceased to apprehend his assassination, — had ceased even to think of it ; yet " the sunset of hfe " was plainly looking out of his kindly eyes and gleaming from his weather-beaten -visage. I beheve I neither enjoy nor deserve the reputation of fa voring exorbitant aUowances or la-vish expenditures; yet I feel that my country has been meanly parsimonious ia its deaUngs with Mr. Lincoln's fanuly. The head of that family was fairly elected and inaugurated President for a second term ; and he had scarcely entered upon that term when he was murdered because he was President. I hold that this fact entitled his famUy to the four years' salary which the people had voted to pay him ; that the manner of his death took his case entfrely out of the category of mere decease whUe in office; and that they should have been paid the $100,000 which, but for Booth's buUet, would have been theirs, instead of the one year's salary that was aUowed them. I am quite aware that Mrs. Lincoln was and is unpopular, — I need not inqufre with what reason, since I am not pleading for generosity, but for naked justice. Buchanan, trembling at the rustle of a leaf, served out his term, and was paid his fuU salary ; dying, seven years later, of natural decay. To withhold Mr. Lincoln's pay because he invoked the hatred of assassins by his fearless fidehty, and was therefore bereft of Ufe when in the zenith of his career, is to discourage fidelity and foster pusiUanimity. May not the -wrong be redressed even yet ? Mr. Lincoln was emphaticaUy a man of the people. Mr. Clay was caUed "The Great Commoner" by those who ad mired and loved him ; but Clay was imperious, even haughty, in his moods, -with aristocratic tastes and faults, utterly foreign to Lincoln's essentiaUy plebeian nature. There never yet was man so lowly as to feel humbled in the presence of Abraham Lincoln ; there was no honest man who feared or dreaded to meet him ; there was no virtuous society so rade that, had he casuaUy dropped into it, he would have checked ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 409 innocent hUarity or been felt as a damper on enjoyment. Had he entered as a stranger a logger's camp in the great woods, a pioneer's bark-covered cabin in some new settle ment, he would have soon been recognized and valued as one whose acquaintance was to he prized and cultivated., Mr. Lincoln was essentiaUy a growing man. Enjoying no advantages in youth, he had observed and reflected much since he attained to manhood, and he was steadUy increasing his stock of knowledge to the day of his death. He was a wiser, abler man when he entered upon his second than when he commenced his ifrst Presidential term. His mental pro cesses were slow, but sure ; ff he did not acqufre swiftly, he retained aU that he had once leamed. Greater men our country has produced; but not another whom, humanly speaking, she could so Ul spare, when she lost him, as the -victim of WUkes Booth's murderous aim. Though I very heartUy supported it when made, I did not favor his re-nomination as President ; for I wanted the War driven onward with vehemence, and this was not in his nature. Always dreading that the National credit would faU, or the National resolution falter, I feared that his easy ways would aUow the EebeUion to obtain European recogni tion and achieve ultiinate success. But that " Di-vinity that shapes our ends " was quietly working out for us a larger and fuUer deUverance than I had dared to hope for, leaving to such short-sighted mortals as I no part but to wonder and adore. We have had chieftains who would have crushed out the Eebelhon in six months, and restored " the Union as it was " ; but God gave us the one leader whose control secured not only the do-wnfaU of the Eebelhon, but the eternal overthrow of Human Slavery under the flag of the Great EepubUc. LII. JEFFERSON DAVIS. THE President of the Southem Confederacy was chosen by a capable, resolute aristocracy, -with express refer ence to the arduous task directly before him. The choice was dehberate, and apparently -wise. Mr. Davis was in the mature prime of hfe; his natural abihties were good; his training varied and thorough. He had been educated at West Point, which, -with aU its faults, I judge the best school yet estabUshed in our country ; he had served in our Uttle army in peace, and as a Colonel of volunteers in the Mexican War ; returning to ci-vil Ufe, he had been conspicuous in the pohtics of his State and the Nation ; had been elected to the Senate, and there met in courteous but earnest encounter Henry Clay and his compeers ; had heen four years Secretary of War under President Pierce ; and had, immediately on his retiring from that post, been returned to the Senate, whereof his admirers styled him " the Cicero," and whereof he con tinued a member until — not -without manffest reluctance — he resigned and returned to Mississippi to cast his future fortunes into the seething caldron of Secession and Disunion. As compared with the homely country lawyer, Abraham Lincoln, — reared in poverty and obscurity, -with none other than a common-school education, and precious httle of that ; whose famUiarity -with public affairs was confined to three sessions of the Ilhnois Legislature and a single term in the House of Eepresentatives, — it would seem that the advan tage of chieftains was largely on the side of the Confederacy. The contrast between them was striking, but imperfect; JEFFERSON DAVIS. 411 for each was thoroughly in earnest, thoroughly persuaded of the justice of the cause whereof he stood forth the foremost champion, and signaUy gffted -with that quahty which, in the successful, is termed tenacity, in the luckless, obstinacy. Mr. Lincoln was remarkably devoid of that magnetic quality which thrills the masses with enthusiasm, rendering them heedless of sacrifice and insensible to danger ; Mr. Davis was nowise distinguished by its possession. As the preacher of a crusade, either of them had many superiors. But Mr. Davis carefuUy improved — as Mr. Lincohi did not — every oppor tunity to proclaim his own undoubting faith in the justice of his cause, and labored to difPuse that con-viction as widely as possible. His successive messages and other manifestoes were weU calculated to dispel the doubts and inflame the zeal of those who regarded him as thefr chief; whUe, apart from his first Inaugural, and his brief speech at the Gettysburg cele bration,* Mr. Lincoln made httle use of his many oppor tunities to demonstrate the justice and necessity of the War for the Union. Mr. Da-vis, after the fortunes of his Confederacy waned, was loudly accused of favoritism in the aUotment of MUitary trusts. He is said to have distrusted and undervalued Joseph Johnston, which, if so, was a grave error ; for Johnston proved himseff an able and trustworthy commander, ff not a great mihtary genius, — never a blunderer, and never intoxicated by success nor paralyzed by disaster. His displacement in 1864 by Hood, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Georgia, was proved a mistake ; but it Was more defensible than the appointment of HaUeck as General-in-Chief of our armies, directly after his faUure on the Tennessee. Bragg is named as first of Da-vis's pets ; but Bragg seems to me to have proved himseff a good soldier, and to have shown decided capacity at the Battle of Stone Eiver, though he was ultimately obUged to leave the field (and Uttle else) to Eosecrans. Pemberton was accounted another of Davis's overrated favorites; but Pemberton, being of Northern birth, was never fuUy trasted, * November 19, 1863. 412 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. nor fafrly judged, by his compatriots. On a fuU survey of the ground, I judge that Da-vis evinced respectable, not briUiant, capacities, in his stormy and trying Presidential career ; and that his quahfications for the post were equal to, whUe Ms faults were no greater than, Mr. Lincoln's. This, however, was not the judgment of his compatriots, who extravagantly exaggerated his merits whUe thefr cause seemed to prosper, and as unjustly magnified his faults and short-comings from the moment wherein their star first -visibly waned. They were ready to make him Emperor in 1862 ; they regarded him as thefr evU genius in 1865. Ha-ving rashed into war in undoubting confidence that thefr success was inevitable, they were astounded at thefr defeat, and im peUed to beUeve that thefr resources had been dissipated and their armies overwhelmed through mismanagement. They were Uke the idolater, who adores his god after a victory, but flogs him when smarting under defeat. A baleful mischance saved Mr. Da-vis from the fate of a scapegoat. After even he had given up the Confederacy as lost, and realized that he was no longer a President, but a fugitive and outlaw, he was surprised and assaUed, whUe making his way through Georgia to the Florida coast with intent to escape from the country, by two regiments of Union cavalry, and captured. I am confident that this would not have occurred had Mr. Lincoln survived, — certainly not, ff our shrewd and kind-hearted President could have prevented it. But his murder had temporarUy maddened the mUhbns who loved and trasted him ; and his successor, sharing and inflaming the popular frenzy, had put forth a Proclamation charging Davis, among others, with conspiracy to procure that murder, and offering large rewards for thefr arrest as traitors and assassins. Captured in fuU -view of that Procla mation, he might have been forthwith tried by a drum-head Court-Martial, " organized to convict," found guilty, sentenced, . and put to death. This, however, was not done ; but he was escorted to Sa vannah, thehce shipped to Fortress Monroe, and there closely JEFFERSON DAVIS. 413 imprisoned, with aggravations of harsh and (it seems) need less indignity. An indictment for treason was found against him ; but he remained a mUitary prisoner in close jaU for nearly two years, before even- a pretence was made of arraign ing him for trial Meantime, pubUc sentiment had become more rational and discriminating. Da-vis was stUl intensely and widely de tested as the visible embodiment, the responsible head, of the Eebelhon ; but no one now seriously urged that he be tried by Court-Martial and shot off-hand ; nor was it certain that a respectable body of officers could be found to subserve such an end. To send him before a civU tribunal, and aUow him a fair trial, was moraUy certain to result in a defeat of the prosecution, through disagreement of the jury, or otherwise ; for no opponent of the EepubUcan party, whether North or South, would agree to find him guUty. And there was grave doubt whether he could be legaUy convicted, now that the charge of inciting WUkes Booth's crime had been tacitly abandoned. Mr. Webster * had only given clearer expression to the general American doctrine, that, after a revolt has levied a regular army, and fought therewith a pitched battle, its champions, even though utterly defeated, cannot be tried and con-victed as traitors. This may he an extreme statement ; . but surely a rebeUion which has for years maintained great armies, le-vied taxes- and conscriptions, negotiated loans, fought scores of sanguinary battles -with alternate successes and reverses, and exchanged tens of thousands of prisoners of war, can hardly faU to have achieved thereby the position and the rights of a la-wful beUigerent. Just suppose the case (nowise improbable) of two Commissioners for the exchange of pris oners, — hke Mufford and Ould, for example, — who had for years been meeting to settle formahties, and exchange boat loads of prisoners of war, untU at length — the power repre sented hy one of them having been utterly vanquished and broken do-wn — that one is arrested by the -victors as a traitor, and the other directed to prosecute him to conviction and * In his first Bunker Hill Oration, 414 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. consign him to execution, — how would the case be regarded by impartial observers in this later haff of the Nineteenth Century? And suppose this trial to take place two years after the discomfiture and break-do-wn aforesaid, — what then ? Mr. Andrew Johnson had seen fit to change his views and his friends since his unexpected accession to the Presidency, and had, from an intemperate denouncer of the beaten Eebels as deserving severe punishment, become their protector and patron. Jefferson Davis, in Fortress Monroe, under his proc lamation aforesaid, was an ugly elephant on Johnson's hands ; and thousands were anxious that he should remain there. Their view of the" matter did not impress me as statesman like, nor even sagacious. The Federal Constitution expressly pro-vides* that, " In aU criminal prosecutions, the accused shaU enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed," &c. In times of war and grave public perU, Constitutions cannot always be strictly heeded ; hut what national interest required that this provision should be persistently, ostentatiously defied ? An Irishman, swearing the peace against his three sons for pertinaciously assaulting and abusing him, made this proper reservation : " And your deponent would ask your honor to deal tenderly -with his youngest son, Larry, who never struck him when he was do-wn." I confess to some feUow-feeUng ¦with Larry. Mr. George Shea, the attorney of record for the defence in the case of The United States versus Jefferson Davis, indicted for treason, is the son of an old friend, and I have known and hked him from infancy. After it had become evident that his chent had no immediate prospect of trial, if any prospect at aU, Mr. Shea became anxious that said client be hberated on bail Consulting me as to the feasibiUty of procuring some names to be proffered as bondsmen of persons who had * Amendments, Art. YI. JEFFERSON DAVIS. 415 conspicuously opposed the EebeUion and all the grave errors which incited it, I suggested two eminent Unionists, who, I presumed, would cheerfuUy consent to stand as security that the accused would not run away to avoid the trial he had long but unsuccessfuUy invoked. I added, after reflection, " If my name should be found necessary, you may use that." He thanked me, and said he should proffer it only in case the others abundantly at his command would not answer without it. Months passed before I was apprised, by a telegram from Washington, that my name was needed ; when I went down and proffered it. And when, at length, the prisoner was brought before the United States District Court at Eichmond,* I was there, by in-vitation, and signed the bond in due form. I suppose this would have excited some hubbub at any rate ; but the actual tumult was gravely aggravated by gross misstatements. It was widely asserted that the object of gi-ving baU was to screen the accused from trial, — in other words, to enable him to run away, — when nothing hke this was ever imagined by those concerned. The prisoner, through his counsel, had assiduously sought a trial, while the pros ecution was not ready, because (as Judge Underwood was obhged to testify before a Committee of Congress) no con-vic tion was possible, except by packing a jury. The words " straw baU " were used in this connection ; when one of the sureties is worth several miUions of doUafs, and the poorest of them is abundantly good for the sum of % 5,000, in which he is "held and firmly bound" to produce the body of Jefferson Da-vis whenever the plaintiff shaU be ready to try him. If he only would run away, I know that very many people would be much obliged to him ; but he won't. It was telegraphed aU over the North that I had a very affectionate meeting and greeting -with the prisoner when he had been bailed ; when in fact I had never before spoken nor ¦written to him any message whatever, and did not know him, even by sight, when he entered the court-room. After the bond was signed, one of his counsel asked me ff I had any * May 13, 1867. 416 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. objection to being introduced to Mr. Davis, and I repUed that I had none; whereupon we were introduced, and simply greeted each other. I made, at the request of a friend, a brief caU on his -wife that evening, as they were leaving for Canada ; and there our intercourse ended, probably forever. When the impeachment of President Johnson was fuUy resolved on, and there was for some weeks a fafr prospect that Mr. Wade would soon be President, with a Cabinet of Uke Eadical faith, I suggested to some of the prospective Pres ident's next friends that I had Jefferson Davis stUl on my hands, and that, if he were considered a handy thing to have in the house, I might tum him over to the new Administra tion for trial at an hour's notice. The suggestion evoked no enthusiasm, and I was not encouraged to press it. I trust no one -wiU imagine that I have made this state- - ment with any purpose of seff-vindication. To aU who have civiUy accosted me on the subject, I trust I have given ci-vU, if not satisfactory, answers ; whUe most of those who have seen fit to assail me respecting it, I have chosen to treat -with sUent scorn. I beheve no one has yet succeeded in inventing an unworthy motive for my act that could inipose on the creduhty of a chUd, or even of my bitterest enemy. I was quite aware that what I did would be so represented as to ahenate for a season some valued friends, and set against me the great mass of those who know Uttle and think less ; thou sands even of those who rejoiced over Da-vis's release, never theless joining, fuU-voiced, in the howl against me. I knew that I should outlive the hunt, and could afford to smUe at the pack, even when its cry was loudest. So I went quietly on my way; and in due time the storm gave place to a calm. And now, ff there is a man on earth who wishes. Jefferson Da-vis were back in his ceU, awaiting, in the fourth year of his detention, the trial denied him in the three preceding, he is at liberty to denounce me for my course, in the assurance that he can by no means awake a regret or provoke a reply. LIII. AUTHORSHIP. — WRITINa HISTORT. ALMOST, every one who can -write at aU is apt, in the course of his Ufe, to write something which he fancies others may read -with pleasure or -with profit. For my o-wn part, beyond a few boyish letters to relatives and intimate friends, I began my efforts at composition as an apprentice in a newspaper office, by condensing the news, more especiaUy the foreign, which I was dfrected to put into type from the city journals received at our office ; endeavoring to give in fewer words the gist of the information, in so far, at least, as it would be Ukely to interest our rural readers. Our Editor, during the latter part of my stay in Poultney, was a Baptist clergyman, whose pastoral charge was at some distance, and who was therefore absent from us much of his time, and aUowed me a wide discretion in preparing matter for the paper. This I improved, not only in the selection, but in the condensation, of news. The rudimentary knowledge of the art of composition thus acqufred was graduaUy improved during my brief experience as a journeyman in various news paper establishments, and afterward as a printer of sundry experimental journals in this city ; so that I began my dis tinctive, avowed editorial career in The New-Yorker -with a considerahle experience as a writer of articles and paragraphs. I had even -written verses, — never fluently nor happUy, — btif"~) tolerably weU measured, and faintly evincing an admiration ; of Byron, Mrs. Hemans, and other popular writers, — an j admiration which I never mistook for inspiration or genius. | WhUe true poets are few, those who imagine themselves 27 418 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. capable of becoming such are many ; but I never advanced even to this grade. I knew that my power of expression in verse was defective, as though I had an impediment in my speech, or spoke with my mouth fuU of pebbles ; and I very soon renounced the fetters of verse, content to utter my thoughts thenceforth in unmistakable prose. It is a conffort to know that not many survive who remember ha-ving read any of the few rhymed effusions of my incautious youth. I had been nearly twenty years a constant -writer for the newspaper press ere I ventured (in 1850) to put forth a volume. This was entitled "Hint^ toward Eeforms," and consisted mainly of Lectures and Addresses prepared for dehvery before viUage lyceums and other Uterary associations from time to time throughout the preceding six or eight years. Most of them regarded Social questions ; but their range was very wide, including PoUtical Economy, the Eight to Labor, Land for the Landless, Protection to Home In dustry, Popular Education, Capital Punishment, Abstinence from Alcohohc potations, &c., &c. My volume was an ordinary duodecimo of 425 pages, compactly fiUed -with the best thoughts I had to offer ; aU designee^ to strengthen and diffuse sympathy -with misfortune and suffering, and to pro mote the substantial, permanent weU-being of mankind. When I had fully prepared it, I sent the copy to the Harpers ; and they agreed to publish it fairly, on condition that I paid the cost of stereotyping (about $400), when they would give me (as I recoUect) ten cents per copy on aU they sgld. I cheerfuUy accepted the terms, and the work was published accordingly. I beheve the sales nearly reimbursed my out lay for stereotyping ; so that I attained the dignity of author ship at a very moderate cost. Green authors are apt to suffer from disappointment and chagrin at the faUure of their works to achieve them fame and fortune. I was fafrly treated by the press and the pubhc, and had no more desfre than reason to complain. AUTHORSHIP. — WRITING HISTORi 419 I have given these unflattering reminiscences so tllly, he- cause I would he useful to young aspfrants to authofikip, even at the cost of losing thefr good-wUl. I have been sdir cited by many — 0, so many ! — of them to find pubhshers for the poems or the novel of each, in the sanguine expecta tion that a pubUsher was the only requisite to his achieve ment of fortune and renown ; when, in fact, each had great need of a pubhc, none (as yet) of a pubUsher. You are sure, 0 gushing youth ! that your poems are such as no other youth ever -wrote, — such as Pindar, or Dante, or MUton would read with deUght, — and I acquiesce in your judgment. But the great mass of readers have not " the -vision and the faculty divine " ; they are prosaic, plodding, heavy- witted persons, who read and admire what they are told others have read and adnured before them, — ff the discovery of new Homers and Shakespeares were to rest with them, none would henceforth be distinguished from the common herd. You, we -wiU agree, are such a genius as Heaven vouchsafes us once in two or three centuries ; but can you dream that such are discerned and appreciated by the great mass of their cotem poraries ? How much, think you, did Homer, or Dante, or MUton receive from the sale of his works to the general pub hc ? Nay : how much did Shakespeare's poetry, as poetry, con tribute to his sustenance ? Nay, more : do you, having ac qufred the greenback-cost of adding a volume to your hbrary, buy the span-new verses of Stiggins Dobbs or C. Pugsley Jagger ? You know that you do not, — that you buy SheUey, or Beranger, or Tennyson, instead. Then how can you expect the great mass of us, who have not the faintest claim to genius or special discernment, to recognize your untrumpeted merit and buy your volume ? You ought to know that we shall foUow your example, and buy — if we ever buy poems at aU — those of some one whose fame has already reached even our duU ears and fixed our heedless attention. Hence it is that no judicious pubUsher wiU buy your manuscript, nor print it, even ff you were to make him a present of it. He can't afford it. And your talk of the stupidity, the incom- 420 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. peten^; the rapacity, or the cruelty of pubhshers is whoUy asid/ from the case. Not one first work in a hundred ever j&ys the cost of its pubhcation. True, yours may be the rare exception ; but the pubUsher is hardly to blame that he does not see it. A year or two later, on my return from my flrst visit to Europe, I was surprised by an offer to pubUsh in a volume the letters I had -written thence to The Tribune, and pay me copyright thereon. I knew, right weU, that they did not de serve such distinction, — that they were flimsy and super ficial, — things of a day ; to be read in the morning and for gotten at night. But it seems that some who had read them in The Tribune -wished to have them in a more compact, port able shape ; while it was highly improbable that any others would be tempted to buy them : so I consented, and revised them; and they duly appeared as "Glances at Europe" hi 1851-52. I recollect my share of the proceeds was about $500; for which I had taken no pecuniary risk, and done very Uttle labor. Had the work been profounder, and more deserving, I presume it would not have sold so weU, — at aU events, not so speedUy. "- Years passed ; I made my long-meditated overland journey to Calffomia ; and the letters I -wrote during that trip, printed from week to week in The Tribune, were coUected on my re tum, and printed in a volume nearly equal in size to either of my former. As a photograph of scenes that were then passing away, of a region on the point of rapid and striking transformation, I judge that this " Overland Journey to CaU fomia in 1859" may be deemed worth looking into by a dozen persons per annum for the next twenty years. Its publishers faUed, however, very soon after its appearance ; so that my returns from it for copyright were inconsiderable. And now came the Presidential contest of 1860, closely foUowed by Secession and CivU War, whereof I had no AUTHORSHIP. — WRITING HISTORY. 421 thougnt of ever becoming the historian. In fact, not tUl that War was placed on its true basis of a straggle for liberation, and not conquest, by President Lincoln's successive Procla mations of Freedom, would I have consented to -write its his tory. Not tUl I had confronted the EebeUion as a positive, desolatuig force, right here in New York, at the doors of ear nest EepubUcans, in the hunting down and kUling of defence less, fleeing Blacks, in the burning of the Colored Orphan Asylum, and in the mobbing and fiLring of The Tribune office, could I have been moved to dehneate its impulses, aims, pro gress, and impending catastrophe. ^~ A very few days after the national triumph at Gettysburg, -with the kindred and almost simultaneous successes of Gen eral Grant in the capture of Vicksburg, and General Banks in that of Port Hudson, -with the consequent suppression of the (so called) "Eiots" in this city, I was visited by two strangers, who introduced themselves as Messrs. Newton and 0. D. Case, publishers, from Hartford, and soUcited me to -write the History of the EebeUion. I hesitated; for my" labors and responsibUities were already most arduous and exacting, yet could not, to any considerable extent, be trans ferred to others. The compensation offered would be hberal^ in case the work should attain a very large sale, but other wise quite moderate. I finaUy decided to undertake the task, knowing weU that it involved severe, protracted effort on my part ; and I commenced upon it a few weeks later, after col lecting such materials as were then accessible. I hired for my workshop a room on the third floor of the new Bible House, on Eighth Street and Thfrd and Fourth Avenues, pro cured the requisite fumiture, hired' a secretary, brought thither my materials, and set to work. Hither I repafred, dfrectly after breakfast- each week-day morning, and read and compared the various documents, official reports, newspaper letters, &c., &c., that served as materials for a chapter, while my secretary visited Ubraries at my dfrection, and searched out material among my documents and elsewhere. The great pubhc hbraries of New York, — Society, Historical, Astor, 422 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. and Mercantile — aU cluster around the Bible House ; the two last-named being -within a bowshot. I occasionaUy visited either of them, in personal quest of material otherwise inac cessible. When I had the substance of my next chapter pretty fafrly in mind, I began to compose that chapter ; hav ing often several authorities conveniently disposed around -„me, -with that on which I principaUy reUed lying open before me. I oftener -wrote out my first draft, merely indicating extracts where such were to be quoted at some length ; leav ing these to he inserted by my secretary when he came to transcribe my text ; but I sometimes dictated to my secre tary, who took short-hand notes of what I said, and -wrote them out at his leisure. My first chapter was thus composed ~at one sitting, after some days had been given to the arrange ment of materials ; but, usuaUy, two days, or even three, were given to the composition of each of the longer chapters, after I had prepared and digested its material Our rule was to lock the door on resuming composition, and dechne aU soUcitations to open it tUl the day's aUotted task had been finished ; and this was easy while my " den " was kno-wn to very few ; but that knowledge was graduaUy diffused; and more and more persons found excuses for dropping in ; untU I was at length subject to daily, and even more frequent, though sel dom to protracted, interraptions. I think, however, that ff I should ever again undertake such a labor, I would aUow the location of my " den " to be kno-wn to but one person at The Tribune office, who should be privUeged to knock at its door in cases of extreme urgency, and I would have that door Open to no one beside but my secretary and myseff. Even my proof-sheets should await me at The Tribune office, whither I always repaired, to commence a day's work as Editor, after finishing one as Author at the " den." "^ A chapter ha-ving been fairly -written out or transcribed by my secretary, while I was " reading up " for another, I care fuUy revised and sent it to the stereotyper, who sent me his second and third proofs, which were successively corrected before the pages were ready to be cast. Sometimes, the dis- AUTHORSHIP. — WRITING HISTORY. 423 covery of new material compeUed the re-vision and recast of a chapter which had been passed as complete. And, though the material was very copious, — more so, I presume, than that from which the history of any former war was -written, — it was stiU exceedingly imperfect and contradictory. For in stance :, when I came to the pioneer Secession of South Caro lina, I -wished to study it in the proceedings and debates of her Legislature and Convention as reported in at least one of her o-wn journals ; and of these I found but a single file pre served in our city (at the Society Library), though four years had not yet expired since that Secession occurred. A year later, I probably could not have found one at aU. Of the score or so of speeches made by Jefferson Davis, oftpn from cars, whUe on his way from Mississippi to assume at Montgomery the Presidency of the Confederacy, I found but two con densed reports ; and one of these, I apprehend, was apocry phal In many cases, I found officers reported kiUed in bat tles whom I afterward found fighting in subsequent battles ; whence I conclude that they had not been kiUed so dead as they might have been. Some of the errors into which I was thus led by my authorities were not corrected tiU after my work was printed; when the gentlemen thus conclusively disposed of began to -write me, insisting that, though desper ately wounded at the battle in question, they had decided not to give up the ghost, and so stUl remained in the land of em bodied rather than that of disembodied souls. Their testimony was so direct and pointed that I was constrained to beheve it, and to correct page after page accordingly. I presume a few, even yet, remain consigned to the shades in my book, who nevertheless, to this day, consume rations of beef and pork with most unspiritual regularity and seff-satisfaction. There doubtless remain some other errors, though I have corrected many ; and, as I have stated many more particulars than my rivals in the same field have usuaUy done, it is probable that my work originally embodied more errors of fact or incident than almost any other. Yet " The American Confiict " -wiU be consulted, at least by historians, and I shaU be judged by it, after most of us now 424 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. U-ving shaU have mingled -with the dust. An eminent an tagonist of my pohtical views has pronounced it " the fairest one-sided book ever -written " ; but it is more than that. It is one of the clearest statements yet made of the long train of causes which led irresistibly to the war for the Union, showing why that war was the natural and righteous conse quence of the American people's general and g-uilty compU city in the crime of upholding and diffusing Human Slavery. I proffer it as my contribution toward a fuUer and more -vi-vid realization of the truth that God governs this world by moral laws as active, immutable, and aU-pervading as can be opera tive in any other, and that every collusion or compromise with evil mpst surely invoke a prompt and signal retribu tion. The sale of my history was very large and steady down to the date of the clamor raised touching the bailing of Jeffer son Da-vis, when it almost ceased for a season ; thousands who had subscribed for it refusing to take thefr copies, to the sore disappointment and loss of the agents, who had supphed them selves with fifty to a hundred copies each, in accordance -with their orders; and who thus found themselves suddenly, and most unexpectedly involved in serious embarrassments. I grieved that they were thus afflicted for what, at the worst, was no fault of theirs ; while their loss by every copy thus refused was twenty times my own. I trust, however, that their undeserved embarrassments were, for the most part, temporary, — that a juster sense of what was due to them ultimately prevailed, — that aU of them who did not mistake the character of a fitful gust of popular passion, and thereupon sacrifice their hard earnings, have since been re heved from their embarrassments; and that the injury and injustice they suffered without deserving have long since been fuUy repaired. At aU events, the public has learned that I act upon my convictions without fear of personal consequences ; hence, any future paroxysm of popular rage against me is hkely to be less violent, in view of the fact that this one proved so plainly ineffectual. LIV. MY DEAD. " T DO not wear my heart upon my sleeve," and shrink X from the obtrusion of matters purely personal upon an indifferent pubhc. I have aimed, in the series here-with closed, to narrate mainly such facts and incidents as seemed likely to be of use, either in strengthening the young and portionless for the battle of Ufe, or in commending to thefr acceptance con-victions which I deem sound and important. My hfe has been one of arduous, rarely intermitted, labor, — of efforts to achieve other than personal ends, — of efforts which have absorbed most of the time which others freely devote to social intercourse and to fireside. enjoyments. Of those I knew and loved in youth, a majority have already crossed the dark river, and I wUl not impose even their names on an unsympathizing . world. Among them is my fellow- apprentice and Ufe-long friend, who, after long Ulness, died in this city in 1861 ; my first partner, afready named, who was drowned whUe bathing in 1832 ; and a young poet of promise who was slowly yielding to consumption when the tidings of our BuU Eun disaster snapped short his thread of hfe, — as it would have snapped mine had it been half so fraU as his. The faces of many among the departed whom I have known and loved come back to me as I gaze ado-wn the -vista of my half-century of active Ufe ; but I have no right to Uft the veil which shrouds and shields their long repose. I wUl name but those who are a part of myself, and whose loss to earth has profoundly affected my subsequent career. Since I began to -write these reminiscences, my mother's 426 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. last surviving brother, John Woodbum, has deceased, aged seventy-two, lea-ving the old Woodburn homestead, I under stand, to some among his chUdren ; so has my father's brother, Isaac, aged eighty, leaving, so far as I know, but one of the nine brothers (John) stUl U-ving. My father himself died on the 18th of December last, aged eighty-six. He had, for twelve years or more, been a mere wreck, first in body only ; but his infirmities ultimately affected his mind ; so that, when I last -visited him, a year before his death, he did not recognize me tiU after he had sat by my side for a fuU haff-hour ; and he had before asked my oldest sister, " Did you ever know Henry Greeley ? " — aUuding to one of her sons, then several years dead. He had fitful flashes of mental recovery ; but he had been so long a helpless -victim of hopeless bodUy and mental decay that I did not grieve when I leamed that his spirit had at length shaken off the encumbrance of its mortal coU, which had ceased to be an instrument, and remained purely an obstruction. Of his protracted Ufe, forty-two years had been spent in or on the verge of New England, and forty-four in his dehberately chosen, steadUy retained, Pennsylvanian home. My son, Arthur Young (" Pickie "), bom in March, 18-44, was the third of seven chUdren, whereof a son and daughter, severaUy bom in 1838 and in 1842, scarcely opened thefr eyes to a world which they entered but to leave. PhysicaUy, they were remarkable for thefr striking resemblance in hafr and features to their father and mother respectively. Arthur had points of similarity to each of us, but with de cided superiority, as a whole, to either. I looked in vain through Italian galleries, two years after he was taken from us, for any full parallel to his dazzUng beauty, — a beauty not physical merely, but visibly radiating from the soul His hair was of the finest and richest gold ; " the sunshine of pic ture " never glorified its equal ; and the delicacy of his com plexion at once fixed the attention of observers like the late N. P. WiUis, who had traversed both hemispheres without ha-ving his gaze arrested by any child who could bear a com- MY DEAD. 427 parison with this one. Yet he was not one of those paragons sometimes met -with, whose idlest chatter would edify a Sun day school, — who never do or say aught that propriety would not sanction and piety delight in, — but thoroughly human, and endued with a love of play and mischief which kept him busy and happy the Uvelong day, whUe rendering him the dehght and admuation of aU around him. The arch dehcacy where-with he inqufruigly suggested, when once told a story that overtaxed his credulity, " I 'pose that aint a lie ? " was characteristic of his nature. Once, when about three years old, having chanced to espy my watch lying on a sofa as I was dressing one Sunday moming, with no third person pres ent, he made a sudden spring of several feet, caught the watch by the chain, whfrled it around his head, and sent it whizzing against the chimney, shattering its face into frag ments. " Piclde," I inquired, rather sadly than angrUy, " how could you do me such injury ? " " 'Cause I was nervous," he regretfuUy repUed. There were ladies then making part of our household whose nerves were a source of general as weU as personal discomfort; and this was his attestation of the fact. There were -wiser and deeper sayings treasured as they fell from his Ups ; but I wUl not repeat them. Several yet hve who remember the graceful gayety wherewith he charmed admfring cfrcles assembled at our house, and at two or three larger gatherings of friends of Social Eeform in this city, and at the N. A. Phalanx in New Jersey ; and I think some grave seigniors, who were accustomed to help us enjoy our Saturday afternoons in our rural suburban residence at Turtle Bay, were dra-wn thither as much by their admiration of the son as by their regard for his parents. Meantime, another daughter was given to us, and, after six months, withdra-wn ; and still another born, who yet survives ; and he had ran far into his sixth year without one serious Ulness. His mother had devoted herself to him from his birth, even beyond her intense consecration to the care of her other children ; had never allowed him to partake of animal 428 RECOLLECTIONS OF A BUSY LIFE. food, or to know that an animal was ever kiUed to be eaten ; had watched and tended him with absorbing love, tUl the perils of infancy seemed fairly vanquished ; and we had rea son to hope that the light of our eyes would be spared to gladden our remaining years. It was otherwise decreed. In the Summer of 1849, the Asiatic cholera suddenly reappeared in our city, and the frightened authorities ordered aU s-wine, &c., driven out of to-wn, — that is, above Fortieth Street, — whereas our home was about Forty-eighth Street, though no streets had yet been cut through that quarter. At once, and before we reahzed our danger, the atmosphere was poUuted by the exhalations of the s-winish multitude thmst upon us from the densely peo pled hives south of us, and the cholera claimed its -victims by scores before we were generaUy aware of its presence. Our darUng was among the first ; attacked at 1 A. m. of the 12th of July, when no medical attendance was at hand ; and our own prompt, unremitted efforts, reenforced at length by the best medical skiU within reach, avaUed nothing to stay the fury of the epidemic, to which he succumbed about 5 P. M. of that day, — one of the hottest, as weU as quite the longest, I have ever kno-wn. He was entfrely sane and con scious tiU near the last; insisting that he felt little or no pain and was weU, save that we kept him sweltering under clothing that he wanted to throw off, as he did whenever he was permitted. When at length the struggle ended with his last breath, and even his mother was con-vinced that his eyes would never again open on the scenes of this world, I knew that the Summer of my Ufe was over, that the chill breath of its Autumn was at hand, and that my future course must be along the downhUl of hfe. Yet another son (Eaphael iBhland) was bom to us t-wo years- afterward; who, though more hke his father and less like a poet than Arthur, was quite as deserving of parental^: love, though not so eminently fitted to evoke and command MY DEAD. 429 general admfration. He was -with me in France and S-witzer land in the Summer of 1855 ; spending, with his mother and sister, the previous Winter in London and that subsequent in Dresden ; retuming with them in May, '56, to faU a victim to the croup the ensuing February. I was absent on a lecturing tout when apprised of his dangerous iUness, and hastened home to find that he had died an hour before my arrival, though he had hoped and striven to await my retum. He had fulfiUed his sixth year and twelve days over when our home was again made desolate by his death. Another daughter was horn to us four weeks later, who survives ; so that we have reason to be grateful for two chU dren left to soothe our decline, as weU as for five who, having preceded us on the long journey, await us in the Land of Souls. My Ufe has been busy and anxious, but not jobless. Whether it shaU be prolonged few or more years, I am grate ful that it has endured so long, and that it has abounded in opportunities for good not whoUy unimproved, and in experi ences of the nobler as weU as the baser impulses of human nature. I have been spared to see the end of giant -wrongs, which I once deemed in-vincible in this century, and to note the sUent upspringing and growth of principles and influen ces which I haU as destined to root out some of the most fla grant and pervading evUs that yet remain. I realize that each generation is destined to confront new and pecuhar per ils, — to -wrestle -with temptations and seductions unknown to its predecessors ; yet I trust that progress is a general law of our being, and that the iUs and woes of the future shall be less crashing than those of the bloody and hateful past. So, looking calmly, yet humbly, for that close of my mortal career which cannot be far distant, I reverently thank God for-" the blessings vouchsafed me in the past ; and, with an awe that is not fear, and a consciousness of demerit which does not exclude hope, await the opening before my steps of the gates of the Etemal World. ISCELLAIIES. LITEMTURE AS A YOCATIOT^. THE world is a seminary; Man is our class-book; and the chief business of hfe is Education. We are here to leam and to teach, — some of us for both of these purposes, — aU at least for the former. Happy he, and greatly blest, who comes di-vinely qualifled for a Teacher, — fitted by nature and training to -wrestle with giant Ignorance and primal Chaos, to dispel unfounded Prejudice, and banish enshrouding Night. To govern men, in the rude, palpable sense, is a small achieve ment ; a groveUing, purblind soul, well pro-vided with horse men and artiUery, and thickly hedged with bayonets and spears, may do this. Nero ruled the Eoman world at the height of its power and glory, and ruled it so sternly that no man dared speak of him, while he Uved, save in the language of abject flattery. CaUgula did it Uke-wise; and so, in an uncouth, second-hand, deputizing way, did (or might have done) Cahgula's horse ; but which of these, think you, could have instructed the mUUons he so sternly swayed? Alaric had no difficulty in cutting off ten-score thousand heads ; but he leaves to our own Everett the -writing of^ the poem wherein the nature of his exploits is duly celebrated. Had he heen obhged to shee off as many more heads, or -write such a poem, he would have chosen the former task -without hesitation or seff-distrust. — ¦ The trae king, then, — the man who can, — from which root I would derive also ken and cunning, — is he who sways the mighty realm of Thought; whose achievements mimic those of the Infinite Father by buUding out into void space, 28 434 MISCELLANIES. and peopling Chaos with U-ving and beneficent, though bodi less, creations. Who knows or cares what was the name of Homer's temporal sovereign? The world could not spare Cicero's Orations, but what recks it of his consulate ? George III. ruled respectably a mighty reahn through the most mem orable haff-century in the history of man ; yet his age wUl be known to remote posterity, not as his by any means, nor even as that. of Napoleon or WeUington, but as that of Goethe, Wordsworth, and Byron. Bonaparte himseff was a reahty and no sham ; yet he missed his best chance of earthly im mortahty when he ,aUowed Fulton to leave France with the steamboat stUl in his brain. The burning of Moscow was unlucky for the conqueror of Austerhtz ; hut this non-com prehension of our great countrjrman was a betrayal of inca pacity, — a do-wnright discomfiture, of which no Grouchy can be made the scapegoat. Inevitable, then, is it, and by no means to he lamented, that, in an age so eventful and stfrring as ours, an innumerable multitude should aspfre to Write, — that is, to Teach. Nay, "Itis greatly to be desired, and every way to be encouraged, that the largest possible number should aspire to sing and shine as enlighteners and monitors of thefr feUow-heings. Brother in the tow frock and ragged unthinkahles ! have you an idea hum ming in your brain, that seems to you fitted to cure even the lightest of human maladies ? Out with it, I pray you, in mercy to a benighted, heart-sick, and bhndly suffering race ! Sister in hnsey-woolsey, and wearing a red-cotton handker chief by way of diadem, have you aught to say, that, if uttered, would cheer and bless the weary steps whereby we are aU measuring off the little span which divides us from the grave ? For sweet Charity's sake, do not withhold it, but let your hght shine, even though the darkness be sure not to compre hend it, — a by no means novel nor uncommon case. Heed not the croaker's warning that the world overflows with books and authors, — so it did in Solomon's time ; yet how many very good ones, that mankind could hardly spare, have been written since ! Truly, the universe is full of light, and has LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 435 been these thousands of years ; yet, for aU that, we could not dispense with the sunshine of to-morrow, whether as a reaU zation or as an assuring prediction. Never beheve those who teU you that our Eace are surfeited with teachers,^ — that their present needs are material only, not spiritual, — and that your humble lay -wiU be drowned by the crashing volume of the world's great choral harmonies, — for if you have some thing to say, and do reaUy say it, never doubt that it wUl find or make its way to the eyes and hearts of those fitted to ap preciate and enjoy it. , — But the real perplexity, the one great source of disappoint ment and mortification in the premises, is this, — Of the legions who aspire to teach and sing, only a very smaU pro portion do so from any hearty, intrinsic, essential love of the work, whUe the great multitude seek primarily and mainly their own glory or aggrandizement, rather than the good of thefr kind. They aspfrejo be teachers, not because the worlds needs to be ta.ugbt^jTiirt^ beca.uRp. thp.y_must somehow he fed. Mimms " lays " are inspired by his laziness, and not by any of the Muses, who would be tortured by his invocations if they paid any sort of heed to his twanging. Crotchet's trea tise on Hydrauhcs and Dynamics was impeUed by the vacuum in his own stomach, rather .than by any painful sense of deficiency or error in popular conceptions of natural science. Van Eoamer's " Travels " were constrained by the stern alter native of qiutting his native soil or cultivating it; he is enabled to tell us how the Camanches grow corn, or the Mohaves harvest beans, through his own in-vincible repug nance to assisting in either process at home. And thus the domain of letters is continuaUy infested, is weUnigh overrun, by a, swarm of adventurers who are only inteUectual in thefr pursuits and tendencies because they dread being, and so have not fitted themselves to he, material, — as TaUeyrand accounted aU men MUitary who were not Civil. Hence, the patient earth groans beneath the weight of books -written from as grovelling a motive as ever sent a traant whimpering to school, and the moon and stars are persecuted -with flatulent 436 MISCELLANIES; apostrophes and impertinent staring by bards whose main incitement to thus tormenting the night is a constitutional abhorrence of getting up and swinging an axe in the momuig. '^ It is high time the current cant affirming the misfortunes of authorship, "calamities of genius," the miserable recom pense of inteUectual effort, &c., were scouted from the earth. Its groundwork is a total misconception of the relations of things inteUectual to things physical, — of Mind to Matter, Time to Eternity. MUton, they say, sold Paradise Lost for [ten pounds to its original publisher, Mr. Simmons. Begging i your pardon, gentlemen, he did no such thing; ff he had done, the mighty epic would have henceforth been Simmons' s Paradise Lost, no longer Milton's. No such poem was ever written for pounds, few or many, nor ever can be. The author sold only the privilege of multiplying copies for the few years wherein his right of property in liis work was pro tected by law ; but the poem was stiU MUton's, and so must remain while Time shaU endure. Trade and Law are mighty in their several spheres ; but both together are powerless to vest the proper ownership of Paradise Lost in anybody else than John MUton. 1 am not paUiating the injustice done to authors by our laws of Copyright; they are indeed gross and indefensible. Their original sin inheres in their attempt to draw a distinc tion where the laws of the Universe make none, — between Property in the creations of the Brain and in those of the Hands. The distinction is at best imperfect. A poem, as given by the author to the press, is the joint production of inteUect and muscles, — so is a plough or a boot-jack. The difference is one of proportion only, — in the poem, the labor of Produc tion is mainly brain- work ; the reverse is the case with the plough. The poet's work, as poet, is one of creation purely, so far as finite beings can create ; while the mechanic's achievement is one of accommodation or shaping merely. No man ever made, no man can make, a flour-barrel so thor oughly Ids as ChUde Harold was and is Byi-on's. On what IDrinciple, then, do human laws say that the flour-barrel be- LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 437 longs to the maker, his heirs or assigns, so long as it shaU exist, and wherever it may be found, but that ChUde Harold was Byron's property only within a narrow territorial radius and for a brief term of years ? Clearly, on no principle at aU. The law plunders the author while pretending to protect him. It ought to know nothing of Copyright save to requfre the author to give fair notice that he regards his production as a property, and forbids the multipUcation of copies by any other than a pubUsher expressly authorized by him. Then, if it were deemed expedient to confiscate the author's right of property, at the expiration of fifty or a hundred years from the date of his work's first appearance, he ought to be fairly compensated for his book, if the demand for it were still active, so as to justify a claim to indemnity on the part of his heirs. ^ The Law of Copyright is pernicious in aU its restrictions on the natural right of property, — wrong in denying that right in one country to the citizen of another, and thereby bribing the author to pander to local and provincial prejudices, instead of speaking to aU Humanity. A book which finds readers in aU or many lands is presumptively worth far more" than one which finds admirers only in the country which produced it. This law is doubly -wrong in virtuaUy saying to the author, " Cater to the prejudices, the folhes, the passions of the hour ; for the approval of future generations may indeed pUe marble above your unconscious dust, but wUl give no bread to your famishing offspring ! " It is very true that the pecuniary recompense is not the main impulse to the production of works which the world does not -wiUingly let die ; but the State has no moral right to rob a man merely because he leaves his doors unlocked. It is bound to render to each his due ; and it sets an evU example in divesting any of what is rightfuUy his own. —_ But, to ninety-nine of every hundred Uterary aspirants, it makes no difference practically whether the copyright ac corded to thefr works is or is not Umited both in time and space. Out of every hundred books pubhshed, not ten are 438 miscella'nies. ever read out of the country which produced them ; hardly one -wiU be heard of by the author's own grandchUdren. " Come Uke shadows, so depart," is the motto that would fit- Uest iUustrate the title-page of our bookseUers' annual cata logues of their new issues. Like an April snow-shower, they are poured upon us tiU they threaten to cover, if not trans form, the earth ; but soon the sun shines out, and, the next hour, they have vanished forever. Now, while it is quite true that Milton did not -write Para dise Lost for Mr. Simmons's ten pounds, nor for any number of anybody's pounds, it is none the less certain that the State has no moral right to bribe its authors to strive for momen tary popularity rather than enduring regard. It has no moral right to say to them, "Write skUfuUy on a level with the passions and prejudices of the day, and you shaU have wealth and present fame ; hut, if you -write what the vicinage may condemn, yet what the Ages and the Eace must approve and embalm, you shall be punished with poverty for yourself and beggary for your chUdren." That " ye cannot serve God and Mammon" was true enough in the nature of things, before the State undertook to aggravate, as against Mammon's despisers, the severity of the sentence and the intensity of the punishment. The World of Thought ! how vast its extent ! how ma jestic its triumphs ! I am not surprised that Uterary fame is the object of such general aspiration ; I should be surprised indeed if it were otherwise. Just consider how potent, how vast, is the sway to-day exercised hy Plato, and VirgU, and Tacitus, now so many centuries in thefr graves, and compare it with the narrow, transient, imperfect dominion of Alexan der or Augustus, so omnipotent in his o-wn age and sphere, so impotent elsewhere, and ever after. Xenophon the leader has long been undistinguishable dust, whUe Xenophon the narrator is stiU in the zenith of his power and renown. Ju lius Csesar holds his place in the world's regard far more by means of his Commentaries than of his victories, and Bona parte's first campaign electrified Europe not more by his bat- LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 439 -ties than his buUetins. We cannot wonder, then, that men have sacrificed ease and pleasure, youth and strength, grace of motion and power of vision, to win a name among those who worthily wielded that "weapon mightier than the .sword" ; for, indeed, there is no other field of effort, no other arena for ambition, so inviting, so dazzhng, as this. Woffe on the Heights of Abraham admiringly recited Gray's Elegy, and declared that he wotUd rather be its author than the con queror of Montcalm and Canada. "AU for love and the world weU lost," is the surrender of the grandest possibiUties to a fleeting deUrium of the senses ; but weU might the con queror of an empire, the hefr of a dynasty, exchange his cir cumscribed and vanishing dominion for a seat among the Kings of Mind, — the rulers of that World of Ideas, whose sway each year expands and strengthens, though thefr bones have enriched, centuries ago, the soil with which they -wres tled for a meagre subsistence as Homer the mendicant or i^sop the slave. . - But have the true Kings of Thought in. fact realized their own might, and actuaUy aspfred to and straggled for the pre eminence which Mankind has so cordiaUy assigned them ? Did Shakespeare, for instance, know himself the inteUectual ^oHigy he truly was, and apprehend that the ImesTie'd'ashed " ofl -with sucFfacUe"rapiHf^ would be read" in ^elTgEEed" awe ~and -wonder on isles of the Southern main, ^f beyond "the African cape, which in his day bounded in that dfrection the kno-wn world ? I find in his -writings the presence of amazing power, but notTEe^ consciousnessj5fJ.t^_Nay_[ I cannot^ help [inspecting that, had he reaily_kBQWJL,ljja.w great ,a.man.he was and is, he woiilcni^e refrained from acting and talking so often hke a httle one. The world has known men" who' 'profoundly esteemed themselves great, and justified that con sciousness by every act of thefr lives. I could not have dared to ask Michael Angelo to build me a tavern-stable out of the crumbling waUs of a deserted monastery or fortress ; I should have cowered before the glance of his eye as he turned upon me with the question, " Do you think I was sent into the 440 MISCELLANIES. world to build stables ? " Yet I would not have hesitated— would you ? — to ask Shakespeare to write me, for a considera tion, an epithalamium, a monody, a pasquinade, an epigram ; and should not have feared rebuke or refusal, if the price named were sufficient. For I see the man working and delving from day to day hke any journeyman among us, — -with immense courage, certainly, and capacity, and consciousness of power, — but stUl working up the ordinary play-house rubbish into his grand, airy new structure, as any skUful mason might fiU up the centre of his waU -with the commonest brickbats, untU the difference between him and other playwrights seems one of degree purely, and not of kind. But, reading him thought fuUy, I am arrested by passage after passage evincing an almost Divine faculty, — a faculty in which I discern nothing of the playwright, but rather the inspiration of the soul-rapt prophet, who looks straight through aU things ; for to him the universe is -without opacity, and past, present, and future are mere lines of demarcation across the great plain lying lucid and level before him. This man's nature is a riddle which I, very palpably, cannot read ; so I turn away, perplexed and overmastered, to resume the thread of my discussion. If he were always unapproachable, I could comprehend, though I might not accurately measure him ; ff he were only a clever play-house poet, I could more easily and surely estimate him ; but his starry flights and his paltry jokes — his celestial pene tration and his contemptible puns — form together a riddle entirely too hard for me. I read him ; I admire him ; but I do not know him ; and aU the commentators and critics serve only to render darkness more visible, — my darkness, I freely admit ; but is it not also in some part their own I The great soul like Milton's, finding utterance through Authorship because utterance is a necessity of its being, and because it feels impeUed benignly to assure its weaker, more opaque brethren, that e-vil is phenomenal and transitory, — the murky exhalation of a chiU night, which heaven's sunshine -will in due time dissipate, — for this I take to he the burden LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 441 of aU true Literature, as of true Prophecy, — this is, to my eye, the grandest, noblest spectacle beheld on earth. But the hterary hack also, — whereof I hold Shakespeare to be the highest type yet revealed to us, — perhaps the highest ever to be seen, — he who, finding authorship to be the work directly in his way, takes hold of it and does it, heartUy, man fuUy, capitally, with aU his might, as he would do anything else that thus planted itseff across his path ; always evincing talent, energy, resolution; sometimes irradiating these -with the celestial fire of genius — he, too, is at least a respectable personage; and contemplating him shaU give us added strength and vivacity for the discharge of our own duties, whatsoever they be. But the Uterary mendicant, — the aspfrant to hve by hterature, whUe Uterature begs to be excused from his obsequious and superser-viceable attentions, — of him and his works be the heavens mercffuUy obhvious, be the earth com passionately deUvered ! He is just the sorriest sight the sun looks down upon, and fills us with the dismalest conceptions of the lower possibiUties of human infirmity. Do but contemplate him, at twenty, thfrty, forty, fifty years of age, — a hale, stout, broad-shouldered man, -with thews that might chop cord-wood or do some other creditable service to his kind, — at aU events, with fingers terminating either fore-arm that would answer for gathering apples or picking up potatoes, — to see him, thus generously furnished, insisting on Authorship as his vocation, when nobody wants to hear or read him, — wandering from publisher to publisher to petition for the prmting of his poem or novel, or besieging editor after editor for employment on his journal, — this is a spectacle of human degradation which angels may weU weep over. And then to hear him talk of the Calamities of Gen ius ! — he whose chief calamity is, manifestly, a total lack of genius, and not of genius merely, but of seff-respect, energy, or manhood. Had he but one spark of true genius, it would develop in him a healthful, proper pride, whereof the first dictate would be a revolt against such hawking and auction- eermg of his Diviner faculties. " No," he would say, " I need 442 MISCELLANIES. bread, and am not ashamed to sohcit the pri-vUege of earning it by such means as naturaUy bring bread, — by hfrehng labor in the corn-field, the meadow, the ditch, or the mine ; for that is the natural resort of aU those who have no estate of their own. I can proudly ask my neighbor to let me saw his wood for a dinner, since such is the ob-vious way of earn ing dinners, and sawed wood ministers to a physical necessity akin to my urgent need of victual ; but to ask any man to give me a dinner or a doUar for a poem or essay which he never asked me to -write, — to beg of him an exchange of his bread for my thoughts, my ideas, — this I cannot stoop to do. If my book be printed, either -with my own means or those of a publisher who behoves it wUl do, let any man buy it and pay for it who wUl; but, ff I urgently want bread, let me produce something which is bread's natural equivalent, or let me beg it, if reduced to that dire extremity, in the direct, honest way ; but to degrade my faculty of uttering thoughts, such as they are, into a means of indirect beggary, that low est deep of humiliation, I cannot, dare not, descend to." Perhaps there is not in all Literature any monument of human perversity and self-exposure more emphatic than the grand chorus of complaint and remonstrance wluch every year forces its way through some muddy channel or other to the public ear, of which the burden is the stolidity, incapaci ty and niggardUness of pubhshers, in not discerning unrecog nized merit in the works of young or unknown authors, buy ing their manuscripts at a generous price, and introducing them, with appropriate ceremonies, to the reading pubhc. There are never less than thousands of these unprinted au thors, whose fame is yet in the egg, but who fancy that they need only a spirited and appreciating publisher to cause it to chip the shell and soar away on eagles' -wings to immortality. Every year, some hundreds of fresh aspirants to hterary dis tinction contrive to overleap the hated barrier and rush into print ; when perhaps the books of ten of them repay the cost of the adventure; two or three are encouraged to try again; and possibly one proves a man of mark, wins popular appro- LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 443 bation, and is ever after sohcited by publishers, instead of needing to soUcit thefr partiaUty and favor. But it was not by this one, nor yet by the two or three, that the howl was prolonged as to the obtuseness and rapacity of pubhshers, — their drinking rare wines out of the skuUs of thefr plundered, starving authors, &c., &c. No : it is from the ranks of the great unpubUshed, or, ff pubhshed, unread, that this hideous dissonance goes up, — men who, far from being victims of pubhshers, have victimized them, and wUl do it again when ever they shaU induce one to briiig out another of their dreary inanities. All the wine that -wiU ever be made by pubhshers out of these plaintive gentlemen's productions might be drank out of their own skulls, while they are yet h-ving, and leave abundant room therein for aU the brains they have to fulfil their ordinary functions undisturbed and unstimulated. Authors of this stamp rarely consider that not creditable -writing only, but trae pubUshing also, is an inteUectual voca tion, — that as much abUity is often evinced in bringing out and selling a book as in writing it. Pubhshing is a pursuit requiring various talents, ripe scholarship, large capital, and rare sagacity. Of original pubUcations, but a smaU portion prove profitable, while the great majority involve positive loss. The instances of undeserved or inordinate success in publishing are quite as rare as in authorship. And you, my unfledged bard ! who croak over the stupidity of pubhshers, and the indifference of the reading class to unlaureUed merit, out of your own mouth shaU you be con demned ! You complain that others are deaf and blind to such merit ; yet you are not one whit less so yourself ! Tou, Mr. Epaphroditus Sheepshanks, who grumble that Thackeray or Tennyson is read, yet your novel or poem untouched, — is tacitly condemned by thousands who cannot know that it is not excellent, — do you buy or read the novels of Snooks or the poems of Pettibone, in preference to those of the great celebrities of our day ? You know weU that you do no such thing, — that you have never looked through them, have 444 MISCELLANIES. scarcely given them a thought. You say, very naturaUy, " They may be good ; but my time for reading is Umited; and I choose to devote it first to those whose works I have afready some reason to know are good. Snooks and Pettibone may be clever feUows, I dare say they are, but they must await a more convenient season." And in this you talk and act sensibly ; quite otherwise when you grumble that more would- be authors do not succeed in getting printed, and that those who do faU to extract more money as copyright from pub- Ushers in addition to that which they have already squandered in paper, typography, and binding. ' True, there appear at long intervals men decidedly in ad vance of thefr time, — who come to thefr o-wn, and are not recognized and made welcome, — who write, like Wordsworth or Emerson, for a pubhc which thefr genius must create or thefr patience await, — authors whose works would seU better if they were less profoundly good. But this class accept their fortune unmurmuringly, and never repine over thefr inabUity to serve at once God and Mammon, and so grasp the rewards of both Time and Eternity. They do their o-wn work calmly, uncomplainingly, almost unconsciously, hke the stars and the mountains, and are content to gladden and bless as they may, without striking for an advance of wages. They know, with out seeking it, that thefr message of good--wUl finds its way to the hearts fitted to receive and assimilate it ; they would be amazed by an intimation that their efforts were unappreciated and unrewardedT'.'Not laboring mainly for popularity or pelf, they cannot regard the absence of both as an evideijce that -thefr effort is defeated, and their labor in vain. "But," says an ingenuous youth, "I aspire to eminence, fame, popularity, — nay, sir, to usefulness, — as an author; which, I trust, is no ignoble aspiration. Then why may I not seek to seU the fruits of my inteUectual efforts in order to cultivate and improve my faculties, and quaUfy me for the career I meditate ? Why may I not seek to seU the poem or story I wrote yesterday, in order to win me bread and oppor tunity to -write a better one to-morrow ? " The question is a fair one, and shaU be fafrly answered. LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. ' , ¦ 445 The ever-present and fearful peril of the Literary vocation is comphance, — the sacrifice of the eternal verity to the tem porary necessity. To write to-day for to-day's bread involves the necessity of -writing what to-day wUl appreciate, accept^ and buy. This is to set your faculty of thought and utter-^ ance up at auction to the best cash bidder, agreeing to do whatever Divine or diaboUc work he may have in hand; and it is most unUkely that he who bids highest in current coin for to-day's work, payable to-night, wiU have Divine work for you to do. Of course, it is understood that you do not directly seU yourseff to whomsoever wUl pay highest ; but that is the palpable tendency of going needUy into the market to barter brains for bread. You cannot afford to be nice respecting the use to which your mental faculties are to be turned, ff you must seU them to-day, or ,go hungry to-mor row. The natural drift, therefore, of sending your head into the market for sale is toward moral indifference and debase ment, — toward the sale of your talents for the most they ¦wUl fetch, -without regard to what, use they wUl be requfred to subserve. This tendency may be resisted, baffled, overborne ; but it can never cease to be a reahty and a peril. Sensual appetite is always ready to pay generously for a present grati fication ; whUe Virtue is coustitutionaUy austere and pro-vi- dent. And, beside, there is a very great mistake widely preva lent which confounds the continual use with the improve ment of the faculties essential to Authorship ; whereas, use is as often exhausting as strengthening. WasTiington, Bona^ parte, Byron, WeUington, — in fact, nearly aU the great men of the last age, — e-vinced quaUties as admfrable- and eminent in the outset as in the maturity of their several careers. Their opportunities, their responsibilities, may have afterward been broader ; but Washington on Braddock's fatal field, Bonaparte in Italy, Byron in Childe Harold, WeUington in India, whUe stiU young men, evinced the great quahties which have ren dered their names immortal They there gave promise of aU that they afterward performed. If such qualities inhere in you, they wUl find or make their way out ; ff they do not, 446 MISCELLANIES. you cannot create them by years of imitative, mechanical drudgery as a journeyman in the vocation you are anxious to master. I would say, then, to aspiring young men : " AVhUe you seek the ladder that leads up to renown, preserve, as above aU price, your proper independence, mentaland physical. Never surrender yourseff to what is termed an inteUectual vocation until you have first laid the foundations of independence in the knowledge of a good trade or handicraft, to faU back on whenever you shaU find yourseff unable to maintain at once your position as a brain-worker and your perfect self-respect. Take your place in the field or the shop, and make yourseff master of its duties, — fasten yourself to some patch of ground on some slope of the AUeghanies, the Catskills, the Ozarks, — do anything which will make you a seff-subsisting, skUful, effective worker -with the hands, whUe you have the fuU con trol of your mental powers, and may apply your hours won from toU to their improvement, until you shaU be called thence to intellectual pursuits by some other need than your own. Then you may accept the new opportunity in perfect security, and in the proud consciousness that your instmcted sinews can earn you a UveUhood by manual labor, should it ever happen that you can no longer maintain your integrity and your seff-respect in that other vocation to which a hope of wider usefulness, and the request of those you serve, -wUl have drawn you. Now, you need no longer consider how much trath the pubhc -will bear, but what is the particular truth it needs to have expounded and enforced to-day. You wiU serve mankind as a benefactor, not now as a slave. It is one of the most venerable of jokes, — patronized, I dare say, by Mr. Joseph MUler and other ancient coUectors of good things, and yet so pat to my argument that I cannot re frain from quoting it, — that a London ship was once captured off the Spanish coast by an Algerine rover, and her crew and passengers mustered before the Dey, to be put to the best use respectively as slaves. Each, as he entered the immediate presence of the head pirate, was requfred to name his trade LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 447 or caUing ; which, heing duly interpreted, he was assigned to the workshops, the ship-yard, the gardens, or the gaUeys, ac cording as his past experience had fitted him for efficiency in one vocation or another. At length, there came one who answered the usual question by avowing himseff an author, and this was finally franslated so as to render it compre hensible to the Dey ; who, after puzzUng his brains for some time to devise a better use for so helpless an object, finaUy ordered him to be provided with a pair of feather inexpressi bles, and set to hatching out chickens. Here the story stops, lea-ving us in tantaUzing darkness as to the success of the hterary gentleman in this new field of production ; but, as the employment so compelled must have been sedentary and irksome to the last degree, it serves to enforce my moral, that a youth should thoroughly qualify himself to earn his own bread -with his hands before he risks himseff on the pre carious enterprise of ministering to the inteUectual needs of others. Ha-ving thus protested, as I could not in conscience fail to do, agauist the baseness which aspires to authorship as an escape from ruder labor, and then whimpers because its fiim- sy inteUectual wares cannot be exchanged for wholesome bread-corn, or substantial beef, let me not faU to remonstrate also against the crying injustice done, more especiaUy by the laws of our country, not to her worthless but to her worthier, nobler Authors, through the denial of International Copy right. We nationaUy and systematicaUy steal the works of Bulwer, Dickens, Thackeray, Macaulay, Browning, Tennyson ; boldly clainung the right and exerting the power of taking, using, enjoying, their products, without rendering the authors any equivalent ; and we thereby deprive our own authors of^ the fair and just reward of their labor as weU. Our Irving, Bryant, Hawthorne, Longfellow, &c., are less -widely read and less fuUy recompensed than they should be, because the works on which they are paid a copyright must be sold in direct competition with those of their European rivals, whom we refuse to pay at aU. " Are they not paid by their own 448 MISCELLANIES. countrymen ? " I hear triumphantly asked. " No, sir ! " I re ply ; not paid by Europe for the service they render us, not paid by anybody else for the instruction or entertainment we derive from their works. This instruction we have no moral right to appropriate without paying for it, any more than we might honestly clothe ourselves in unbought Euro pean fabrics which a -wrecking storm had strewn along our shores. That we can take them without redress, and for the present with impunity, is undoubted ; but that no more proves our right to do it than the impunity long enjoyed by the cor sairs of the Barbary coast in plundering Christian vessels in the Mediterranean, proved the justice of that shameful atro city. The day wiU yet dawn wherein Man everywhere shaU profoundly realize that no essential advantage can ever be obtained through injustice, — that the constitution of the Uni verse is such that no product of human effort can be ob tained cheaper than by honestly bujdng and fairly paying for it. In that day, it will be felt and admitted that we have seriously injured and imperilled our country, by intrusting the formation of its mind, morals, and manners mainly to Foreign Authors, through the relative cheapening and conse quent diffusion of their works ine-vitably resulting from the denial of International Copyright. Perhaps there is no chapter in the history of Literature more amusing, and yet none which is essentially more melan choly, than that which acquaints us with the fraUties of Authors, and especially of those of decided genius. That Shakespeare was arraigned for deer-steaUng, — a most poetical and deUcate sort of theft, aU admit ; — that the great Bacon, father of modern Philosophy, was disgraced and cashiered for corruption as Lord Chancellor, the most responsible and one of the most lucrative as weU as honorable posts in the king dom ; that Bums was irregular in love and immoderate in drink ; that Byron was a Ubertine, and Chatterton a cheat ; that some bards have run away with other men's wives, whUe a good many have run away from their o-wn, — these. LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 449 and hke deplorable facts, are reiterated and gloated over by miUions, who are much better acquainted with the vices and errors of the greatly gifted than -with their -writings. Too many of us find an ignoble, if not malicious, pleasure in re ducing those whose inteUectual stature threatens to dwarf us at least to our own moral level; we catch atthe evidences of thefr frailty, in order to assure ourselves that we too are spirituaUy deathless as they, or they at least mortal as we are. And thefr hves are necessarily so ptibhc, so transparent, so scrutinized, that the least flaw attracts observation ; they seem worse than others at least as bad as they, only because they are better known. How many foUies, meannesses, vices, sins, in the Uves of the common-place, are charitably hidden from pubhc -view by the friendly obhvion which screens the majority from observation in shielding them from pubhc inter est or curiosity ! How many have stolen deer, and been con- -victed and whipped or imprisoned for it, and had the matter aU over and forgotten -within a year or two ; whUe here stands great Shakespeare, stUl in the stocks for deer-steahng, though he has stood there so patiently < — a Uttle disdainfuUy, per haps, yet quite exemplarUy — for almost three centuries ! 0, it is a fearful thing for one greatly gifted to cherish -vices or yield to temptations ! his errors cover and deform him like ¦writhing, hissing snakes, whose scaly sides and gleaming crests shine in the refulgence by which his genius has sur rounded him, from the towering height to which his achieve ments have Ufted him, so that the whole world sees them ; the good -with pitying sorrow, the thoughtless with mfrthful levity, the bad with Ul-concealed exultation. Vice is lament able in any, — is the source, not merely of moral degradation, but of physical suffering ; but saddest of all are the offen ces, most signal and enduring the punishments, of those fitted by Nature to he great, — the Kings of the mighty reahn of undying Thought ! The necessities, the perplexities, the pecuniary distresses, of authors, — these, too, have afforded the multitude an inex- 29 450 MISCELLANIES. haustible fund of anecdote and entertainment. In fact, the ob^vious contrast between the novelist or poet in his garret, lying abed for the day, perhaps, to have his Unen washed, whUe he considers whether to let his hero marry the great hefress and inherit his principaUty just yet, or tantaUze the reader's impatience ¦with new machinations or impediments through two or three chapters more, — this is antithesis too pungent, too comic, not to be enjoyed. The great majority have ceased to read such " slow," tame essays as those of The Spectator and The Tatler; yet the story of Dick Steele's embarrassments, foUies, arrests for debt, and irreclaimable prodigalities, have recently been retold to our city audiences by Thackeray with inimitable felicity, and enjoyed with tm- exampled zest. An author's thoughts, it would seem, may perish or be supplanted, but the mementos of his thoughtless ness wUl endure forever. Yet there is exaggeration in the current notion of the con stitutional poverty and squalor, the desperate shffts and aver age seediness, of authors, which ought to be exposed, since there is just truth enough at the bottom of it to render it mischievous. The great, the radical difference between our age and the centuries which preceded the invention of printing, ought to be explained and reaUzed. In those ages, the cost of multiplying books was so great that very few copies, even of the best, were made or could be afforded ; and the author's right of property in his work — that is, his rightftU control over the privUege of reproducing it — was of slender or doubtful pecuniary value. Homer, of course, received nothing for his masterly and immediately, universaUy poptUar works, beyond the few pence flung to him here and there in reqtutal for the pleasure he afforded by singing them. Cicero was paid for his orations by his cUents, never hy his readers. And thus it chanced that the dedication of books, now so absurd and unmeaning, had once a real force and significance. Authors, as a class, were never rich, and those who were poor had yet inherited a prejudice against Uving on air. And, since thefr works had no pecuniary value when completed. LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 451 they were very poor security, whUe yet un-written, for the bread that must be eaten, and the -wine which would be drank, by the authors whUe writing them. So each poor aspfrant for Uterary distinction was obUged, at the outset of his under taking, to seek and find a patron, wealthy, and fond of doing pubhc-spfrited acts, or at least of the fame thence arising, who would be wiUing to subsist him whUe at his work and reward him at its close. The Dedication, then, was the author's pubhc and formal acknowledgment of his obhgation to his patron, — his avowal that the credit of the work ought to be di-vided between them, — just as to-day the inventor of a mechanical improvement, and the capitahst who supphes the money wherewith to perfect and secure it, often take out a patent jointly. But the Art of Printing, and the general diffusion of knowledge and Uterary appetite, have aboUshed patrons, by abolishing the necessity which evoked them ; so that there is now but one real patron. The Pubhc, and nearly aU dedications to particular individuals are affected, anti quated, and unmeaning. It is a very common but a very mischievous notion, that the -writing of a book is creditable per se. On the contrary, I hold it ^creditable, and only to be justified by proof of lofty qualities and generous aims embodied therein. To -write a book when you have nothing new to communicate, — nothing to say that has not been better said afready, — that is to inflict a real injury on mankind. A new book is only to be justified by a new trath. If Jonas Potts, however iUiterate^ and commonplace, has been shipwrecked on Hudson's Bay, and has traveUed thence overland to Detroit or Montreal by a route previously unkno-wn, then he may give us a book — if he -wiU attempt no more than to tell us as clearly as pos sible what he experienced and saw by the way, — which -wUl have a genuine value, and which the world may weU thank him for ; and so of a man who, having manufactured charcoal aU his days, should favor us with a freatise on burning char coal, sho-wing what was the relative value for that use of the 452 MISCELLANIES. various woods ; how long they should be on fire respectively ; how much wood should be bumed in one pit, and how the burning should be managed. Every contribution, however rude and humble, to our knowledge of nature, and of the means by which her products may most advantageously be made subservient to our needs, is beneficent, and worthy of our regard. But the fabrication of new poems, or novels, or essays, or histories, which really add nothing to our stock of facts, to our fund of ideas, but, so far as they have any signifi cance, merely resay what has been more forcibly, intelUgibly, happily, said afready, — this is a work which does less than no good, — which ought to be decried and put down, under the general police duty of abating nuisances. I would have every -writer of a book cited before a competent tribunal and made to answer the questions : " Sfr, what proposition is this book intended to set forth and commend ? What fact does it reveal ? What is its drift, its purport ? " If it embodies a new truth, or even a new suggestion, though it seem a very mistaken and absurd one, make way for it ! and let it fight its o-wn battle ; but ff it has reaUy no other aim than to be readable, therefore salable, and thus to win gold for its author and his accompUces, the printer and pubhsher, then let a bonfire be made of its manuscript sheets, so that the world may speedUy obtain from it aU the Ught it is capable qfjmparting. I once received a letter from a somewhat noted novehst, pressing me to read thoroughly one of his works just issued, which the cover proclaimed his " greatest novel," and which he -wished me to commend to general favor, saying he was anxious to do his part toward the emancipation of the poor from, their unmerited degradations and miseries. I was not able to read the book, — editors receive too many requests like- this ; but I rephed to the letter ; saying, in substance : "You wish to unprove the condition of the poor. WeU: aUow me to suggest a way. Take hold of the first piece of vacant earth you can gain permission to use, plant an acre with potatoes, cultivate and gather them, give one haff to LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 453 such poor creatures as reaUy need them, and save the balance for your own subsistence whUe you grow more next year. In this way, you wUl do more toward meliorating the condition of the poor than you could by -writing novels from July to eternity." My phUanthropic friend did not take my advice, — he did not even thank me for it; but he soon after started a newspaper, whereof he sent me the flrst five numbers, in every one of which I received a most unmercfful flageUation^ The paper is since dead ; hut I have no doubt its editor con tuiued his castigations to the last, and died laying it on with whatever vigor he had left. I could not help that. I never made any reply; but my convictions, as expressed in my letter to him, remain unchanged to this day. Yet let us not seem to disparage the Author's vocation ; nay: we dare not, we cannot. There is no other earthly exercise of power so Olympian, pervasive, enduring. Eeflect how many generations, dynasties, empires, have flourished and vanished since the Book of Job was -written ; and how many more -wUl rise and fade, leaving that sublime old poem stiU fresh and Uving. See Cicero, Virgil, Horace, Li-vy, stUl studied and admired by the patrician youth of nations un kno-wn to Eome in her greatness, whUe aU other power per taining to the Pagan era of the Eternal City has long since passed away forever. Nay : consider how Plutarch, iEschylus, Plato, hving in a world so very different from ours, — in many respects, so infantile compared with ours, — can stUl instract the -wisest and deUght the most critical among us, and you may weU conclude that to write nobly, exceUently, is a far loftier achievement than to rule, to conquer, or to kUl, and that the traly great author looks down on the Uttle strifes and agitations of mankind from an eminence which monarchs can but feebly emulate, and the ages can scarcely wear away. But eminence in any good or great undertaking imphes intense devotion thereto, — implies patient, laborious exertion, either in the doing or in the preparing for it. He who 454 MISCELLANIES. fancies greatness an accident, a lucky hit, a stroke of good fortune, does sadly degrade the achievement contemplated, and undervalue the unerring -wisdom and inflexible justice wherewith the universe is ruled. Ask who among modern poets have -written most admirably, so far as manner and finish are regarded, and the lover of Poetry least acquainted with Literary History wiU unhesitatingly answer, — Pope, Goldsmith, Gray, Moore, CampbeU, Bryant, LongfeUow, Ten nyson. He may place others above any or aU of these in power, in genius, in force ; but he cannot doubt that these have most smoothly, happily, faultlessly, sung what they had to sing, — that thefr thoughts have lost less than almost any others' by inharmony or infehcity of expression. Then let bim tum to Biography, and he -wiU find that these men have ex ceUed nearly or quite aU others in patient study, in fastidious determination to improve, so long as improvement was prac ticable ; in persistent labor, so long as labor could possibly avaU. It was quite easy for Pope to say, " The things I have -written fastest have always pleased most " ; for he always studied and thought himself full of a subject before he began to write about it, and his composition was merely a setting down and arranging of ideas afready present in his mind. And yet I apprehend that Posterity has not ratified his judg ment; I mean, that his works which "pleased most" when first pubhshed have not stood the test of time as weU as some others. The world of letters knew him as a pains-taking, laborious, correct writer, even before he had estabhshed his claim to be honored as a great one. And the works he -wrote so rapidly he afterward revised, corrected, altered, recast, before aUowing the public to see them, to the sad encourage ment of blasphemy among his printers, so that on one occa sion his pubUsher decided that it would be easier to compose in type afresh than attempt to correct one of his proofs. No man ever wrote better, so far as style is regarded ; because no man was ever more determined to publish nothing that he could improve. So Goldsmith considered four hnes of his "Deserted ViUage" a good day's work, and the world has LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 455 ratified his judgment. With the kindred "Elegy" of Gray, this belongs to a school of poetry which I do not transcend ently admire ; but its exceUence after its kind, I presume, no one has ever doubted. And it is related of Moore, the most fastidious and the most melodious writer of our time, that a friend once traveUed with him aU day, and was surprised by his taciturn moodiness and abstraction, until, just before night, his face Ughted up, and he exclaimed, hke the old Greek : " I have it ! That wUl do ! " — then explained to his startled com panion that he had been aU day trying to adjust a rhyme or counterpart to a line in one of his then unfinished poems, and had but just now succeeded. It is thus that works which the world prizes and embalms are composed. A style termed "easy" is generaUy obtained at great expense of time and effort, whether in the immediate composition or in the life long preparation for it ; and he who calculates on storming the ramparts of hterary fame by the audacity, the impetuosity, of his genius, -wUl very certainly be repulsed and discomfited. The "kingdom of heaven" may "suffer -violence," but the repubhc of letters resents and repels it. __ 0, my erring friend ! dehghted that your son of fourteen years or your daughter of twelve has -written a page of not intolerable verses, I pray you to lay this lesson to heart ! I can sympathize with your paternal partiahty ; I do not wonder that you are proud of your child's achievement, — for the -writing even of bad verses at so tender an age is an achievement in one sense, and may plausibly be deemed by you a sign of promise, — but you are thinldng of the figure those verses would cut in the Poet's Corner of some journal, of the praises they would ehcit and the distmction they would confer on thefr writer ; and against these fond, fool ish, perUous fancies I most earnestly protest and warn you. If your child has any talent — which is possible, though not probable ; for precocity in any hut secret authorship argues a low idea of the difficulties of creditable composition, and a taste easily satisfied, because of the poverty of its concep- 456 MISCELLANIES. tions of exceUence, ¦ — stUl, it is possible your chUd 'has talent, (which I am confident he did not inherit) ; and, z/he has, you are taking the very course to ruin him. Puff him up with the conceit that he is an author at fourteen, and he wUl pret ty surely have proved himseff a fool before he is twenty-five. But read over his composition -with him, and kindly point out its faults or weaknesses ; encourage him to try again, and avoid these errors if possible, but studiously -withhold his pro ductions from pubUcity, and impress him -with the trath that to -write feebly or badly, — as he cannot now help doing ff he -writes at aU, — is only creditable or noteworthy as it renders possible his -writing weU after he shall have attained inteUec tual and physical maturity. Thus cultivate, chasten, and ripen his faculty, but never stimulate it ; and there is a possi bUity that it may ultimately aUy him to the great and good of past ages ; but let him set out with the conceit that he is a prodigy, and his -wreck and ruin are inevitable. It only remains to me to speak more especiaUy of my o-wn vocation, — the Editor's, — which bears much the same rela tion to the Author's that the BeUows-blower's bears to the Organist's, the Player's to the Dramatist's, JuUien or listz to Weber or Beethoven. The Editor, from the absolute neces- ~sify of the case, cannot speak dehberately ; he must -write to-day of to-day's incidents and aspects, though these may be completely overlaid and transformed by the incidents and aspects of to-morrow. He must -write and strive in the fuU consciousness that whatever honor or distinction he may ac qufre must perish -with the generation that bestowed them, — with the thunders of applause that greeted Kemble or Jenny Lind, with the ruffianism that expelled Macready, or the cheerful laugh that erewhUe rewarded the saUies of Burton or Placide. No other pubhc teacher Uves so whoUy in the present as the Editor ;'ancnEelij^ElesI~affirmaIioS df'unpop^ ular tmth, -^ the most self-sacrificing" defianc£or'abase_aJid_. selfish Pubhc Sentiment that regards only the_^QsL. sordid- ends, and values every utterance solely as it tends to pre- LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 457 serve quiet and contentment, whUe the doUars faU jingling into the merchant's drawer, the land-jobber's vault, and the miser's bag, — can but he noted in their day, and with their day forgotten. It is his cue to utter sUken and smooth say ings, — to condemn Vice so as not to interfere with the pleas ures or alarm the consciences of the vicious, — to praise and champion Liberty so as not to give annoyance or offence to Slavery, and to commend and glorify Labor without attempt ing to expose or repress any of the gainful contrivances by which Labor is plundered and degraded. Thus sidling dex terously between somewhere and nowhere, the Able Editor of the Nineteenth Century may ghde through Iffe respectable and in good case, and Ue do-wn to his long rest with the non- achievements of his Ufe emblazoned on the very whitest mar ble, surmounting and glorifying his dust. There is a different and sterner path, — I know not whether there be any now quaUfied to tread it, — I am not sure that even one has ever foUowed it impUcitly, in view of the certain meagerness of its temporal rewards and the haste wherewith any fame acqufred in a sphere so thoroughly ephemeral as the Editor's must be shrouded by the dark waters of obUvion. This path demands an ear ever open to the plaints of the •wronged and the suffering, though they can never repay ad vocacy, and those who mainly support newspapers wiU be annoyed and often exposed by it; a heart as sensitive to oppression and degradation in the next street as if they were practised in Brazil or Japan ; a pen as ready to expose and reprove the crimes whereby wealth is amassed and luxury en joyed in our own country at this hour, as ff they had only been committed by Turks or Pagans in Asia some centuries ago. Such an Editor, could one be found or trained, need not ex pect to lead an easy, indolent, or whoUy joyous Ufe, — to be blessed by Archbishops or foUowed by the approving shouts of ascendant majorities ; but he might find some recompense for their loss in the cahn verdict of an approving conscience ; and the tears of the despised and the friendless, preserved from utter despair by his efforts and remonstrances, might freshen for a season the daisies that bloomed above his grave. 458 MISCELLANIES. Let me conclude by restating the main propositions which pervade and vivffy this essay. literature is a noble caUing, I but only when the caU obeyed by the aspirant issues from a world to be enUghtened and blessed, not from a void stomach clamoring to be gratified and fiUed. Authorship is a royal "piesthood; but woe to him who rashly lays unhaUowed hands on the ark or the altar, professing a zeal for the welfare -of Jhe Eace only that he may secure the confidence and sym pathies of others, and use them for his o-wn selfish ends ! If a man have no heroism in his soul, — no animating purpose beyond Uving easUy and faring sumptuously, — I can imagine no greater mistake on his part than that of resorting to author ship as a vocation. That such a one may achieve what he "regards as success, I do not deny ; but, if so, he does it at greater risk and by greater exertion than would have been requfred to win it in any other pursuit. No : it cannot be wise in a selfish, or sordid, or sensual man to devote nunseh" ~to Literature ; th"e^^SC^^^"^osure incident to this way of hfe, — the dire necessity v^iclii consti'auis the author to stamp his owiTessential portrait on every volume of his works, no matter how carefuUy he may fancy he has eraseH, or now artfuUy he may suppose he has concealed it, — this should repel from the vestibule of the temple of Fame the foot of every profane or mocking worshipper. But ff you are sure rtEa|jrour impulse is not personal nor sinister, but a desire, I to serve and~eim"ohle"your Eace. rather than to dazzle and be ' served by it ; that you are ready joyfuUy to " shun dehghts, and Uve laborious days," so that"TEeret^the -well-being Of mankind may be promoted, — then I pray you not to beUeve that the world is too wise to need further enhghtenment, nor that it would be impossible for one so humble as yourseff to say aught whereby error may be dispeUed or good be diffused. Sell not your integrity ; barter not your independence ; beg of no man the privilege of earning AliYelihood~^;^_Authorship ; since that is to degrade your faculty, aiS*Tei7 prdbaBIyto corrupt it ; but, seeing through your o-wn clear eyes, and utter ing the impulses of your o-wn honest heart, speak or write as LITERATURE AS A VOCATION. 459 truth and love shaU dictate, asking no material recompense, but Uving hy the labor of your hands, untU recompense shall be voluntarUy tendered to secure yom* service, and you may frankly accept it without a compromise of your integrity or a perU to your freedom. Soldier in the long warfare for Man's rescue from Darkness and Evil, choose not your place on the battle-field, but joyfuUy accept that assigned you ; asking not whether there be higher or lower, but only whether it is here that you can most surely do your proper work, and meet your ftdl share of the responsibUity and the danger. BeUeve not that the Heroic Age is no more ; since to that age is only requisite the heroic purpose and the heroic soul. So long as ignorance and evU shaU exist, so long there will be work for the devoted, and so long wUl there be room in the ranks of those who, defying obloquy, misapprehension, bigotry, and interested craft, struggle and dare for the redemption of the world. "Of making many books there is no end," though there is happUy a speedy end of most books after they are made ; but he who by voice or pen strikes his best blow at the impostures and vices whereby our race is debased and paralyzed may close his eyes in death, consoled and cheered by the reflection that he has done what he could for the eman cipation and elevation of his kind. POETS AND POETRY. WE are aU bom poets. Not that every tenanted cradle holds an undeveloped Shakespeare, — far from it. Demonstrated inteUectual greatness is the prerogative of the few ; it is " the vision," not " the faculty divine," which is the birthright of the many. The grime of smoke and care and sin hea-vily in-wraps, incases, japans, many souls, even in early childhood, — as we see chUdren of seven years prema turely haggard with suffering, squalor, and vice, — but there was a time when these imps were poets, lacking only the power of expression. The chUd who conjectured that the stars were hut chinks or crannies of heaven, — gunlet-holes 1 bored in the adamantine flrmament to let God's glory ¦ through ; the prattler who watched the darkening evening sky, until, espying the first bright speck through its dusky medium, she rapturously exclaimed, " There ! God has made a star ! " — were happy only in expressing the common im pulses of childhood. As aU young chUdren are actuaUy the ists, — behevers in a veritable, personal, conscious, omnis cient, omnipotent Author and Euler of aU things, and utterly averse to substituting for this natural, tangible conception any thin attenuation of Pantheistic fog or "fire-mist," any blank Atheistic assumption, which gives to blind Chance or inexorable Fate the name of Law, — so the uncorrupted chUd instinctively perceives the poetic element in Nature, reaUzes that we are not the mere combinations of gases and alkahes to which the chemist's crucible would reduce us, but beings of mysterious origin and untold spiritual force, inhabiting a POETS AND POETRY. 461 world only less weird and wondrous than ourselves. The Frenchman, who was astounded by the discovery that he had been talking prose aU his hfe, might have been equaUy amazed by the assurance that he formerly thought, ff he did not utter, poetry, — and this was as true as the other. Every close observer must have noted how naturaUy the talk of un schooled, unspoUed chUdren takes on poetic vestments, — be comes dramatic not merely, but hyperboUc and imaginative in a high degree. Emerson truly says that the first person who caUed another puppy or ass was a poet, — percei-ving in the individual contemplated a spiritual aptitude to bark or bray, as the case might be. I only add that the first chUd whp ever saw a man making an ass of himseff, — which, with all deference to our common progenitor, I apprehend was the first chUd that ever clearly saw anything whatever, — at once perceived the spiritual simUitude, and probably blurted out the ungracious trath. AU savage tribes — that is, aU nations stUl in thefr mental chUdhood — have a poetic Uterature, ff any; thefr legends, their traditions, thefr romances, their chronicles, are aU poetic, aUke in substance and in diction. Of this truth our Aborigines afford a ready demonstration. A stagnant or decrepit race, Uke the Chinese, may have their prosaic ordinances, statutes, records, statistics, phUosophies ; not so a vigorous, elastic, Teutonic tribe or Saracenic empire. Thus we naturaUy flnd some of the most admired and re markable poems — the Book of Job, the Hebrew Psahns, the Ihad, and the Bagavhat Geta of the Hindoos — dating back to the infancy of Society, as the Inferno, and Shakespeare's and Milton's masterpieces, aUy themselves with the infancy of modem civUization, or of the Protestant development thereof We laugh at Nimrod Wildflre and kindred etchings of the hyperbohc or exaggerated modes of speech indicative of a new country, — new, that is, to the race now inhabiting it ; the story of a Western soU so fertile that a crowbar, carelessly thmst into it overnight, is found bristUng -with spikes and tenpenny nails next moming; of the pumpkin--vine, that outran the steed of the rather astonished traveUer; of the 462 MISCELLANIES. Vermonter, whose chance companion in the cutter behind a rather hvely nag at length perplexedly inquired, ""What grave yard is this we are passing through?" and was answered, "Only the milestones along the road," — but a new people are irresistibly prone to these exaggerations. The young American, who goes abroad, flnds himseff obhged to moderate and tone down his ordinary conversation to adapt it to the general level ; to speak of Niagara, or Lake Superior, or the glaciers of Switzerland, in the language that rises spontane ously to his hps, would jar the nerves of his pohshed hsteners, and he would very possibly be reminded, by some highly respectable citizen, that the view from the foot of the great cataract at Niagara could not possibly be that of a falling ocean, since the narrowest ocean is three thousand mUes across, whUe Niagara is hardly a mUe. The weU-bred Eng Ushman of to-day is so fenced in, incmsted, barricaded, with respectabUities, proprieties, decencies, that the poetic element — nay, even the faculty of appreciating it — seems choked out of him ; hence, the British poets of to-day find a warmer and more general appreciation with us than at home ; and I cannot doubt that there are many mOre Americans than Britons famihar with the works of Scott, Byron, and I think even Shakespeare. Yet the Enghsh are our kinsmen ; equal, but dissimilar, in mental capacities and aptitudes, — only we are stiU in the poetic phase of our national Ufe, out of which they have passed. We are too cultivated and critical to pro duce a great epic, — our Washington is no AchUles, no Alex ander, no demigod, but a sensible, conscientious, conservative Virginia planter, heartUy loyal to Church and King ; yet one whom insane tyranny and regal foUy converts at last into a rebel, — of course, a more formidable rebeh than any natural agitator, leveller, demagogue, or even phUosophizing democrat,' could be ; for, when he draws the sword against the throne he has revered and prayed for from chUdhood, be sure there are not many left to draw for it whose support carries either moral weight or physical power — the weight of numbers — : along -with it. For Washington, though a model man in his POETS AND POETRY. 463 way, is not a representative American. His cahn, sedate, orderly frame of mind is not that which is habitual with or prized by the mass of our people. He is such a man as the multitude accept as a leader in a perUous and trying emer gency, when they feel a pressing need of the sympathy and aid of the soUd "men of property and standing" in their imminent struggle ; but, had not Washington led the army of the Eevolution, he would never have been chosen President ; as a plain Vfrginia gentleman, he would have been beaten in a canvass for the Legislature by some Da-vy Crockett, Sam Houston, or Larry Keitt of his day, and would thereupon have forsworn pohtics in disgust, and devoted his after Iffe to his famUy, his farm, and his stock, and been known only to a hundred or two of the next generation as an upright incorruptible justice of the peace, and a very capable and 'soldierly captain of the mihtia company of his neighborhood. No : Washington, in an age of peace and thrfft, would never have been "the gray-eyed Man of Destiny," — never been cheered at the theatre, nor glorified in the star-spangled jour nals. We heap such honors on men of a stamp very different from his. ~» But to return to Poetry. The most -vulgar error of the -vulgar mind -with respect to Poefry is that which somehow confounds it with verse, and even with rhyme ; supposing that a measured distich or qua- frain, ending -with words of similar but not identical sound, is necessarily poetic. Proud mothers -wiU often draw forth from the deepest recess of closet or bureau some metrical effusion of budding son or daughter, which is supposed to be instinct with poetry, because measured into feet and tagged -with rhyme ; when in fact there is no more poetry in it than in the request, " Pass me the baked potatoes." Ehymed couplets of regularly measured and accented hnes are a fashion of our poetry, but no more essential to it than a silk or fur hat is to the character of a gentleman. It is barely possible that the chUd who has an addiction to and knack of making verses may nevertheless possess some share of the poetic faculty, — 464 , MISCELLANIES. the Divine afflatus, — but the prestunption agauist it is almost overwhelming. The poetic genius naturaUy disdains the fetters of rhyme, or only consents to wear them at the beck of stern necessity. To the fresh, unhackneyed soul, kindhng -with rapture inspired by its first perceptions of the beauty inhering in the wonder-works of God, rhyme is as unnatural and repulsive as the fool's cap and beUs. For, not merely is it true that there have been great poets who never dreamed of such a thing as rhyme, and clever rhymsters who had not the faintest conception of poetry, but thefe have been genuine poets who failed miserably as rhyming poetasters. John Bunyan, for example, whose PUgrim's Progress is the epic of Methodism, — (I know, good reader, that he was not techni- caUy a Methodist, and that I ought to have said EvangeU- calism, had there been such a word,) — and one of the truest, if not the greatest, of British poems, -wrote hideous doggerel whenever he attempted verse, as the introduction to that same epic bears testimony. There can hardly be a more certain evidence that a child has ceased to be poetic than the fact that he has begun to rhyme. The oldest and most natural — I should rather say, the least unnatural — form of poetic expression, when poetry ceased to be a purely spontaneous utterance of exalted and overmastering emotions, and became, in some sense, an art, is that of parallelism, or the expression of the same idea or sentiment through two succeeding images or affirmations ; the second being merely cumulative or confirmatory'of the former. The Hebrew Scripture* embody some of the earUest and most famUiar examples of this paralleUsm, of which I cite Euth's appeal to Naomi as a beautfful exemplification : — "And Ruth said: 'Entreat me not to leave thee. Nor to retum from foUo-w-ing after thee : For -whither thou goest I -will go, And -where thou lodgest I -will lodge : Thy people shall be my people. And thy God my God : Where thou diest will I die, Ap.6i there shall I be buried.' " POETS AND POETRY. 465 I am inclined to deem this paraUeUsm, which informs all the poetry of the Bible, not exclusively Hebrew, but a mode of poetic expression natural to the primitive stages of Society, the mteUectual puberty of the Eace ; though I at this mo ment recaU few examples of it outside of Hebrew lore. Mungo Park, the explorer of Central Africa, relates that, as he lay sick and suffering hi the Great Desert, the negro women, who mercffuUy ministered to his sore necessities, gave utterance to their sympathy hi a rade song, of which the burden ran thus : — " Let us pity the poor white man : He has no mother to bring him milk. No wife to grind his com." A paraUeUsm as palpable, though not so perfect, as any in Job or Ecclesiastes. " The Poet," says Emerson, " is the man without impedi ment." If so, I apprehend that the Poets of our world's in fancy enjoyed certain marked advantages over thefr modern successors. Not only was the whole range of poetic imagery then fresh and unused, so that the bard was never constrained to discard a happy simile occurring to his mind because some other bard had used it before him, but, moreover, his utter ance was no-wise impeded or shackled by the necessity of obeying the rules or formulae established by preceding bards and their critics, for the government of the realm of Poetry. If the sotU of the universe found expression through his burn ing words, — ff their perusal inspired the reader -with a deeper and truer perception of the infinite reason which inheres in seeming dissonance, as weU as obvious harmony and good, — ff he were impeUed by it to love and practise virtue, to loathe ¦vice, yet pity its -victims, and to count nothing a defeat or disaster which did not involve a surrender of his own high purpose, his generous aspiration for human weU-being, — then was he a true poet, whom the ages were waiting to crown, though Fadladeen should demonstrate unanswerably his ig norance of the first rudiments of the minstrel's art. But the poet of our day must be an obedient vassal to an inexorable 30 466 MISCELLANIES. rule, — must shun ruggedness or wUfulness of expression as a mortal sin, — must respect the unities, and be loyal to rhythm and rhyme, — or he cannot induce the critics even to blast him with thefr thunders. True, a wUd colt of a bard- ling wiU now and then revolt against this despotism, and go prancing and kicking, and displajdng his Ul-conditioned, ishaggy coat across Nature's wide, bare common; but the critical shrug ultimately kiUs if it does not tame him, and he is left but the sorry choice between subsiding into a patient dray-horse, and being cut up for dog's meat. MacDonald Clarke, twenty years ago, and " Walt. "Whitman," just now, undertook to be poets in defiance of the canons of the art ; but, though the latter received the unmeasured indorsement of Emerson, and obtained an immediate currency on the strength of it, I doubt whether even he, despite his unques tionable originahty, and dazzling defiance of what men have been accustomed to regard as decency, wiU ever achieve the distinction of being knocked on the head -with a volume of the Edinburgh Eeview. The earUest poets were, I apprehend, the shepherds of Arabia, Chaldea, and that westernmost jut of the great Asian continent, wherein so large a share of the events memorable in Man's history have transpired. AU shepherds are natu raUy poets ; or rather, the loneUness, the sUence, and the seri ousness, of the shepherd's hfe naturaUy predispose him to poetry. He is not necessarUy and constantly absorbed in his daily duties, which yet require of him a wakeful, alert under standing, and senses sharpened to acuteness by the necessity of keen perception and watchful observation. "When at length his fiock have sunk, at early evening, to rest, and the shepherd crouches, -wrapped in his blanket-cloak, beside them, his mind awakens to a loftier activity ere his senses are sealed in slumber : from his mountain-side elevation, he looks abroad across roUing river and t-winkUng city — across vaUeys where the fog begins to gather and wooded ridges fluttering in the chUl night-breeze — to other mountains, vast and towering as POETS AND POETRY. 467 his o-wn, and to heaven, vaster and higher than them aU, and the feehngs of immensity, of awe, and of reverence are stirred -within his soul : ff of a cold, calculating, mathemati cal nature, he becomes an astronomer, and begins to weigh the stars in his balance ; if of a fervid, impulsive genius, his meditations melt and glow into poetry. From shepherd races and shepherd chmes have come forth the instructors, con querors, bards, and ci-vihzers of the barbarian world. But the mountainous ruggedness, the " cloudless cUmes and starry skies," of Chaldea, Syria, and Arabia, so unlike the vast plains of Sarmatia and Scythia, are especiaUy favorable to the development of the poetic fire ; hence, the Book of Job, so manifestly pastoral in its origin as well as its imagery, is one of the subhmest, as it probably is the very oldest, of sur- ¦vi-ving poems. True, the author is palpably a scholar, an ob server, a traveUer, who has gathered aU the world knew in his day of astronomic as of terrestrial lore; but his hero is a Chaldean or Hebrew herdsman, Uving hy the side of the great Arabian desert, and subject to the mischances and sud den reverses which constantly threaten and frequently befaU the shepherds of that region, even in our own day. In its > magnificent imagery, as weU as in its characters and inci dents. Job is the simplest and grandest, as weU as oldest, of pastoral poems. A shepherd boy, keeping his flock on the sterile mountains of Judea, in constant peril from. the savage beasts and not less savage men of the desert, — "a cunning player on an harp," sought out by King Saul's servants to expel the evil spirit which had taken possession of their master (alas that the e-vil spirits which gain control of rulers cannot always be thus exorcised !), — a battler for his race and faith and native land, volunteering to encounter, whUe stiU a mere lad, the giant champion of their mortal foe, and vanquishing him in deadly combat, — a fugitive from the jealous madness of his royal master, into whom the Evil One seems to have again entered, and there intrenched himseff beyond dislodgement 468 MISCELLANIES. by the powers of music, — a needy and desperate wanderer and outlaw for years, carrying his hfe in his hand, — then the anointed monarch and idolized hero of his nation, — then dethroned and put to fiight by the ingratitude and perfidy of his favorite son and the fickle levity of his people, — again restored to a throne of increasing splendor, and dying peace fully and regaUy in extreme old age, at the summit of his power and glory, — if I were required to name that one who of aU men had hved the most arduous, stirring, eventful Iffe, most fuU of violent contrasts and trying situations, of love and war, of glory and humihation, I must say, David, king of Israel. A hfe so fuU of absorbing action would seem to give little chance for literary culture or achievement ; and yet- this warrior king, who could not be permitted to build the Great Temple to his God, because he had been a man of violence and blood, has bequeathed us so many Psalms in which the waiting, contrite souls of ages so remote and races so diverse as ours from his find a fuUer and fitter expression of thefr aspirations and their needs than all the piety and genius of intervening ages have been able to indite. Yes, this untaught shepherd son of Jesse, this leader in many a sanguinary fight, this man of a thousand faults and many crimes, knew how to sweep the chords of the human heart as few or none have ever touched them before or since, — to take that heart, -with aU its frailty, its error, its sin, and lay it penitently, plead ingly, at the footstool of its Maker and Judge, and teach it by what utterances, in what spirit, to implore forgiveness and help. Other thrones have their successions, dynasties, their races- of occupants ; but David reigns unchaUenged King of Psalmody till Time shall be no more. Of Greek Poetry I have a right to say but little. The general impression it makes on me is that of youthfulness on the part of its authors. The most learned among us do not know those old Greeks very weU ; and I am often impeUed to wonder whether the versatile, elastic, cheating, unreUable Greeks of our day are not lineal descendants, not of the POETS AND POETRY. 469 Spartans, perhaps, hut of the Athenians and Argives of old ; whether the latter did not hate work and love profit as much as the Fanariote or the Greek trader of our time ; nay, whether the Spartans themselves, plus a few satisfactory floggings, are not reproduced in the warrior mountaineers of Albania and the -fierce robber bands which infest the passes and plains of Thessaly. Trae, the Athenian of to-day is behind the citizens of Western Europe in culture, in courage, and in most manly -virtues; but may he not be as far in advance of the Western Asiatic of Xerxes' or Darius's reign as were the countrymen of MUtiades or Alexander ? Europe north of the Alps has unquestionably advanced; may not Greece have simply stood stUl, instead of retrograding ? The solution of this doubt is to be fotmd, not in the prowess nor the physical achievements of the old Greeks, but in thefr Uterature, and especiaUy their tragedy. The Greek epic held substantiaUy the place of the modern novel; I cannot so confidently say that the novel fills the place of the epic. The epic embodied and presented human hfe under its more heroic and majestic aspects, — the Ufe of the pafriot, ready to seal his devotion -with his blood. Greek Iffe, as depicted by Homer, is rade and sterile ; its pleasures, gross and sensual ; its gods, men and women endowed with supernatural powers, but not at aU distinguished by super natural -virtues. It would be very rash in me to pronounce Homer monotonous, and at times tedious, when the scholars, who know him so much better, say exactly the reverse ; so I ¦wiU not hazard the criticism, though I shaU privately cherish my own opinion. I wonder if any one else ever detected or fancied a resemblance between the roU of Homeir's heroes and Cathn's gaUery of Indian portraits ? The Epic is the utterance of a rader age than ours. The scholar stUl praises it, — he thinks he dehghts in it, — but it is the delight of association, of comparison, of remembrance, — not of dfrect and simple enjoyment. "Who ever heard of an edition of the Iliad in translation being required by the un- classical youth of Great Britain, of this or of any other mod- 470 MISCELLANIES. ern country ? I apprehend that, for each copy of any great epic to be found in the hands or under the piUow of the youth in aU our common schools, you may find ten copies of the Arabian Nights or of certain of Dickens's Novels. Only by those who have been impelled to study them as a task are the great epics stUl read ; and by these rather as a habit or duty than as a genuine pleasure. Yet we must be grateful to the creators of the Epic, since to them are we indebted, by direct transmission, by Uneal descent, for Tragedy, the broadest, the deepest, the most vivid, expression of human emotions and aspfrations. ^schylus is the trae child of Homer, and that grand Athenian stage whereon the passions, the impulses, the hopes, the fears, the love, piety, guilt, revenge, remorse, which make up our strangely compounded Human Nature, were depicted so in tensely as never before nor since, was the outgrowth of those lofty and stirring narrations wherewith " that blind old man from Seio's rocky isle" was wont to beguUe the hours and in- spfre the hearts of the ancestors of Pericles and Plato. From the goat-song of the Mime, the cart of Thespis, the rude chant of the baUad-singer, the monologue of the legendary, the dialogue of the satirist, was rapidly elaborated that shapely and towering fabric of Grecian Tragedy which must awe, dehght, and instruct mankind through ages yet to be. The argument of Tragedy is the struggle of Man with Mis fortune, — the spectacle of Virtue enduring the buffets of Ad versity, and of Crime overtaken by the shafts of Eetribution. But Greek Tragedy essayed a loftier fiight than ours, and pre sented the suffering but undaunted human soul enduring and defying the bolts of Fate, the anger of the immortal gods. We see there Guilt hurried irresistibly to its awful doom, — inexorable Nemesis visiting the punishment of evU deeds even upon the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the evil-doer, — the fair, the gentle, and the good, bowing to the destiny invoked by the sin of ' some progenitor, — and this is not unlike what experience and literature have elsewhere made famUiar; but Prometheus, chained to his rock and suf-- POETS AND POETRY. 471 fering the tortures of the damned for having dared to enUghten and bless mankind, yet calm-souled and defiant, awaiting the unknown but inevitable hour which shaU de throne his jealous and fearful Olympian tyrant, and bring him dehverance and recompense, this is a conception pecuhar to Greek Tragedy, and the lesson of stoical endurance and inteUectual force taught by it is without a modern paraUel. Nor must we rashly conclude that the great tragic poets were irreverent or hostUe to the religion of their age and race. ' Behind the fable of Prometheus rests the grand, eternal trath, that aU the forces of the universe are subject to the moral law; that Good is the measure and true end of Power; that tyranny and cruelty would stUl be what they are if their responsible author were armed with celestial thunders ; that, ff there could be a more benignant and just being than the Deity, that being would then be God. Let me venture to cite one passage from the Agamemnon of jEschylus as rendered by Bulwer in his Athens, — not one characteristic of Greek Tragedy, but one which the reader of poefry wUl readUy contrast with famUiar passages of Scott and Byron. It is that in which Clytemnestra announces to the chorus the glad tidings of the capture of Troy, — said ti dings having been transmitted by the good old fire-telegraph of primitive times : — "A gleam, — a gleam from Ida's height, By the fire-god sent, it came ; From watch to watch it leaped, that light. As a rider rode the flame ! It shot through the startled sky. And the torch of that blazing glory Old Lemnos caught on high. On its holy promontory, And sent it on, the jocund sign, To Athos, mount of Jove divine. Wildly the while it rose from the isle, So that the might of the journeying light Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine ! Farther and faster speeds it on, Till the watch that keep Macistus' steep, — See it burst like a blazing sun ! 472 MISCELLANIES. Doth Macistus sleep ^ On his tower-clad steep ? No ! rapid and red doth the wild-fire sweep. It flashes afar on the wayward stream Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam ! It rouses the light on Messapion's height. And they feed its breath with the withered heath. But it may not stay ! And away, — away, — It bounds in its freshening might. Silent and soon. Like a broadened moon. It passes in sheen, Asopus green. And bursts on Cithseron gray. The warder wakes to the signal rays. And it swoops from the hill -with a broader blaze. On — on the fiery glory rode; — Thy lonely lake, Gorgopis, glowed, — To MSgara's mount it came ; They feed it again, And it streams amain, — A giant beard of flame ! The headlong cliffs that darkly down O'er the Saronic waters frown. Are passed with the swift one's lurid stride. And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide. With mightier march and fiercer power It gained Arachne's neighboring tower, — Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won. Of Ida's fire the long-descended son ! Bright harbinger of glory and of joy ! So first and last, with equal honor crowned. In solemn feasts, the race-torch circles round. And these my heralds ! this my Sign of Peace ! Lo ! while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece Stalk, in stern tumult, through the halls of Troy ! " The Eomans were never a poetic people. Epicureans, who phUosophized in verse, like Horace; biting satfrists, hke Juvenal ; happy weavers into verse of legendary lore, Uke VirgU, the LongfeUow of that sole age, the Augustan, hi which Eoman hterature s'eems to have been at aU worthy of the mistress of the civiUzed world ; concise, critical, caustic, pains-taking annaUsts the Eomans were, but not poets. Thefr best metrical productions have a second-hand flavor; they smeU of the lamp ; they would have been different, or never have been at aU, had there heen no Greece. POETS AND POETRY. 473 Brownson says certain ages are termed Dark, because we are in the dark -with regard to them. Those who wiU may assign a kindred reason for my assumption, that there was no poetry worth treasuring and praising written between the Augustan age and the time of Dante, and that one needs to be at least as good a CathoUc as Dante to appreciate and enjoy the Inferno. "When I assume that English Poetry for us begins with Shakespeare, I must not be misunderstood. That there is merit of a certain kind in Chaucer, in Spenser, and other British rhymers before the age of Queen Bess, is of course manifest. But who in our day ever sat down to read Chaucer or Spenser otherwise than as a task, — something requisite to a competent knowledge of Enghsh Uterature ? For my part, I say frankly that I hold The Faery Queene a bore, and never had patience to complete its perusal Its aUegorical repre sentations of our good and evU impulses are tedious, fantastic, unreal, insufferable. They probably instructed and dehghted the generation for which they were -written ; but their fra grance has departed. Lay them respectfuUy, tenderly do-wn to thefr long rest, and let the gathering dust slowly bury them out of sight ! ' But of that vast, " myriad-minded " Shakespeare, what shaU I say ? True, I do not love him ; but do I the less ap preciate and admire his inteUectual force and grandeur ? Be cause I profoundly hate his Toryism, shaU I disparage his unquestioned and, in its way unequaUed, genius ? Because I am compeUed to perceive that his jokes are often sorry and his puns mainly detestable, must I be presumed to deny that his humor is dehcious and his imaginative faculty beyond that of any other mortal ? By no means. I am provoked by his ingrain Toryism, because it seems at once unnatural and irrational I -wiU not deny that the mass of men are base, — possibly as base as he represents them, — I wiU only insist that there are capacities, possibilities, in this abused nature of ours, beyond our actual achievement, or be yond his apprehension of that achievement. Even if it were 474 MISCELLANIES. otherwise, he, a child of the people, the son of a wooUen- draper, should, not have been first to discover and proclaun the deplorable fact. Yet, no autocrat bom in the purple nour ished a more profound contempt for the rabble, the canaiUe, the oi polloi, than this vagabond by statute and venison-thief by conviction. In his game, only the court-cards count ; aU the rest go for nothing. We, the untitled, undistinguished masses, are not merely clowns and poltroons, fit only for butts for knightly jests, and hardly good enough to be meat for knightly swords, but there is a constant, though quiet, assumption that this, as it ever has been, must continue to be forever. You would naturaUy suppose that grandest event in modem Mst tory, the discovery of the Western continent, which was stUl recent in his day, and which must have been the theme of many a conversation in his presence among the Ealeighs, Drakes, and other daring spirits of that stirring time, who had personaUy visited the New World, would have inspfred even in his breast some hope of a fairer future for Humanity on earth, — some aspiration, at least, for a Social Order wherein Bank and Wealth should not be everything, and Man notlung, — but no : I cannot recaU even a passing allusion to America, save that most inaccurate one, " the stiU vext Bermoothes," and never once an intimation, a suspicion, that the common lot might be mehorated through the infiuence of the settle ment and civUization of this side of the globe. Of course^ the actor-manager-author meant no disrespect to us Anglo-; Americans in prospect, nor yet to our Franco-American neigh bors just north, nor to the Spanish and Portuguese Americans south of us ; it was only a way he had of viewing everything with an eye which, though it oft, " in fine frenzy rolUng," might " glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven," never penetrated laterally much beyond the fogs of Lon don and the palace of WhitehaU, and not only saw in the mUr lion 'merely the counters wherewith kings and nobles played their gallant game, but refused to see in them the possibihty of becoming anything better. Whether Shakespeare the monarchist or MUton the repub- POETS AND POETRY. 475 Ucan were inteUeotuaUy the greatest EngUshman who ever Uved, I wUl not judge ; but none can doubt that, moraUy, MUton was hy far the superior. His purity of life and noble ness of aim ; his constancy to the repubhcan cause after it had been irretrievably ruined ; in short, his every act and word, prove his immeasurably the nobler nature. Shake speare, the Tory and Courtier, had he hved an age later, could never have dared and suffered for his convictions as MUton did for his. Nor, though he has -written many finer passages, which have found ten times as many delighted readers as aught of MUton's has found, or perhaps wiU ever find, can I recaU one passage from Shakespeare, which does his manhood such honor as is refiected on Milton's by his two sonnets on his blindness, which, however famUiar, I shaU make no apology for citing : — ON HIS BLINDNESS. ¦When I consider how my light .is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide. Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide ; " Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? " I fondly ask : But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need Either man's work or His own gifts ; who best Bear His nuld yoke, they serve Him best : His state Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed. And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; They also serve who only stand and wait." TO CYEIAC SKINNER. Cyriao, this three years, day these eyes, though clear. To outward view, of blemish or of spot. Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot. Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Tet I argue not 476 MISCELLANIES. Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and steer Eight onward. What supports me, dost thon ask ? The conscience, Friend, t' have lost them overplied In Liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask Content, though blind, had I no better guide. Such sentiments, not only uttered but lived, the efflux of a serene, majestic soul, which calamity could not daunt, nor humihation depress, not merely honor our common nature, — they exalt and ennoble it. Shakespeare could no more have written thus of himseff than MUton could have created and gloated over the character of Falstaff. Of later EngUsh poets, prior to those of the reign of George III., I regard Pope alone as deserving of remark ; and he mainly because of the unmeasured eulogies of Byron and others, who certainly should be judges of poetry. For myseff, whUe esteeming him a profound] philosopher and moraUst, and the king of verse-makers, I should hardly account him a poet at aU. " The Eape of the Lock " is undoubtedly a clever poem of the shghter or secondary order ; but very much of Pope's verse, had it been cast in the mould of prose, would never have struck us as essentiaUy poetic. For aU the poetry they contain, some of his satirical verses might better have taken the form of prose, not to speak of those which, for the sake of decency, had better not been -written at aU. And so I say of Goldsmith, Thomson, Cowper, Young, and their British co- temporaries : they understood the knack of verse--writing ; they did weU what they undertook ; their effusions — " The Deserted ViUage," especiaUy — may stUl be read with a mUd and temperate enjoyment ; but a thousand such bards would never have created a National Poetry, — never have produced anything which other nations would eagerly translate and deUghtedly treasure. EssentiaUy, they are not poets, but essay ists, sometimes moraUsts or sermonizers ; at others, romancers or story-teUers ; but they produced nothing which mankind POETS AND POETRY. 477 could not easily spare. Let them glimmer awhUe in their decent, inoffensive mediocrity, then sink into a kind obUvion. The credit of ushering in the brightest era of British Poetry belongs to the Scotch ploughman and rustic, Eobert Bums. This man of many faults and sins, who Uttle deemed himseff summoned to do the work of a literary reformer, was yet fated to brush aside the sickly sentimentalisms and fantastic con ceits of an artificial age, and teach Poetry to speak once more to the soul in accents of Truth and Nature. At the sound of his honest, manly, burly voice, the nymphs and goddesses, the Chloes and Strephons, of a dawdling and unreal generation vanished, and Poetry once more spoke from heart to heart in her own unmuffled, undisguised voice, and was joyfuUy recog nized and welcomed. I know that citations may be made from Burns which would seem to contradict this statement ; but they prove only that he was at times fitfuUy ensnared by the DelUahs whose sorceries he was nevertheless destined to vanquish and conclude. " A man's a man for a' that," " The Twa Dogs," " The Cottar's Saturday Night," and many more such, wUl for generations be read and admired in the gas- hghted drawing-room, and hy the log-cabin fireside, as vindi cations of the essential and proper nobihty of Human Nature, and of the tmth that -\drtue and -vice, worth and worthlessness, fame and shame, are divided by no pecuniary, no social, Une of demarcation, but may each be found in the palace and in the hovel, — under the casque of a noble or the cap of a boor. In the character and works of Eobert Burns is the first answer of the dumb miUions to the taunts and slurs of Shakespeare. The great French Eevolution — if I should not rather say, the great mental world-revolution which preceded and im peUed the French — ushered in a new era in Literature, and especiaUy in Poetry. Bums was the herald or foreranner of this era, but he did not live to mark its advent. I do not rank Walter Scott with the poets of our century. Though chronologicaUy his place is among them, he belongs 478 MISCELLANIES. essentially to another epoch, or at least to the period of tran sition. The morning-star of this era was Keats ; its lurid and oft-clouded sun was Byron. Keats was a dreamy and sensi tive youth, whose soul found in poetry its natural expression ; but who had not attained the maturity of his genius, the per fection of his utterance, when a harsh and ¦withering criticism kiUed him. Byron was a wild and dissolute young lord, who had made one tolerably good, and many weak, if not inexcus ably bad, attempts at poetry, when a severe hut just critique stung him to madness, and his -wrath and bitterness hashed and glowed into enduring verse. His indignation was vol canic ; but the lava it ejected was molten gold, — sulphurous, as volcanic discharges are apt to be. As the death-freighted thunderbolt, which often stuns and slays, has been known to unseal the ears of the deaf and the reason of the idiot, so the harsh discipline which crushed the poet Keats made a poet of the second-rate poetaster Byron. When I assign to Byron a very high, ff not the highest, place among modern English poets, I wUl only ask those who differ from me to instance another whose writings have been so widely read, or have exerted so marked an influence on the age in which they appeared and the generation then in thefr teens. I do not commend that influence, — I reaUze that it does not, on the whole, conduce to a more confiding faith in either God or man. Byron's poems, equaUy -with his hfe, letters, and conversation, excuse, if they do not justify, De Stael's savage characterization, " He is a demon." Bead Cam and Manfred considerately, then take up Goethe's " Faust," and study the rdle of Mephistopheles, and you wiU be tempted to guess, since Goethe could not weU have modelled his demon after Byron's hfe, that Byron must have modeUed his character on that of Goethe's devil. It would be a difficult task to -write an honest life of Byron that would be adapted to the use of Sunday schools, unless you were to do as he promised in the opening of Don Juan, but failed to perform, when he gave out that his story would be a moral one, because, before he ended it, he meant — POETS AND POETRY. 479 " to show The very place where wicked people go." Yes, this sceptical, cynical, irreverent, law-deriding Ubertine Byron has made his mark deeply on our century, and not whoUy for evU. His honest, profound, implacable hatred of tyranny in every shape, where has it been surpassed, either in intensity or in efficacy ? Do you believe Holy Inquisitions and other machinery for torturing and kiUing men and women for the honest avowal of their rehgious convictions could endure another year, ff every one had read " The Prisoner of ChiUon ? " You or I may loathe his way of looking at the great problem of E-vil ; but teU me who ever presented the argument against what is currently termed the EvangeUcal view of this problem more tersely, strongly, startlingly, than he has done in " Cain, a Mystery " ? And his remark that, " if Satan is to be aUowed to talk at aU, you must not expect him to talk Uke a clergyman," is obviously just. You must let him fairly present his view of " the great argument," as Milton does not, as Byron does, but with too manifest a lean ing to the infernal side. Bind up "Paradise Lost" and " Cain " in one volume, and you wiU have therein the best condensed statement of the pro and con of the theology cur rently accounted Orthodox or Evangelical that can be found in the English language. I think Moore has somewhere said before me, that the Third Canto of ChUde Harold contains some of the noblest poetry we have. Waterloo, the Alpine thunder-storm, and scores of passages equaUy vi-vid, wUl at once present them selves to the reader's mind. " Description is my forte," said Byron ; and Bayard Taylor, saihng through the Adriatic and the .^gean, along the rugged coast of Dalmatia, and among the ruin-stro-wn, yet flower-mantled, "Isles of Greece," re marks that he finds himself continuaUy recaUing or repeating the descriptive stanzas of ChUde Harold, suggested by a similar voyage ; for nothing else could so traly, forcibly, aptly, embody his o-wn impressions and emotions. Eemember that Homer and iEschylus had gazed on much of this same pano- 480 MISCELLANIES. rama, and -written from minds fuU of the thoughts it excited, and you are prepared to estimate the tribute paid by our American traveUer to the genius of Bjrron. Let me quote one famUiar passage — how could I quote any that is not famUiar? — from Manfred. I cite that respecting the CoUseum, be cause, having myseff seen the moon rise through its rained arches whUe Itahan devotees were praying and chanting within, and French cavalry prancing and manoeu-vring -with out, its enormous waUs, I feel its force more -vividly than though I had seen this mightiest monument of ancient Eome in imagination only. Yet what could I say of that grandest of ruins to equal this ? " Manfred. " The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful ! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man ; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, ¦When I was wandering, — upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's walls. Midst the chief relics of almighty Eome ; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin : from afar. The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber ; and. More near, from out the Caesars' palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly. Of distant sentinels the fitful song Began and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appeared to skirt the horizon ; yet they stood Within a bowshot. — "Where the Csesars dwelt. And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst A grove which springs through level battlements. And twines its roots with the imperial hearths. Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ; — But the gladiator's bloody circus stands, A noble wreck, in ruinous perfection 1 While Csesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. — And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, npon POETS AND POETRY. 481 All this, and cast a wide and tender light, "Which softened down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 't were anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so. And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old ! — The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who stUl rule Our spirits from their urns." Of Coleridge, Southey, CampbeU, Eogers. and other co- temporaries of Byron, Wordsworth excepted, I shaU say very httle. Each did some things weU ; but, beyond a few stirring lyrics by CampbeU, and perhaps the Christabel and Gene vieve of Coleridge, I think our Uterature could spare them aU without frreparable damage. Wordsworth's ultimate triumph is a striking proof of the -virtue of tenacity. Here is a studious, meditative man, of no remarkable original powers, who quietly says to himself, " In tensity of expression, vehemence of epithet, volcanic passion, profusion of superlatives, are out of place in Poetry, which should embody the soul's higher and purer emotions in the simplest and dfrectest terms which the language affords." So he begins to write and the critics to jeer, but he calmly per severes ; and, when it is settled that he won't stop -writing, the critics conclude to stop jeering, and at length admit that he was a poet aU the while, but that thefr false canons or per verted tastes precluded their discovery of the fact for a quar ter of a century. I do not accept Wordsworth's theory, ^ — I beheve there are ten persons born each year who are fitted to derive both pleasure and instruction from the opposite school to one who can reaUy dehght in and profit by the bare, tame affirmations which are characteristic of Wordsworth (for he, hke the founders of other schools, is not always loyal to his o-wn creed), — but that Wordsworth's protest against the in tensity of the Byronic school was needed and wholesome, I cannot doubt. Yet it was not Wordsworth, not " the Lake school," as it 31 482 MISCELLANIES. was oddly designated, that led and inspired the reaction against " the Satanic school," so caUed, of Poetry, by which the later moming of the XlXth century was so mUdly irra diated. The credit of that reaction is primarUy due to a woman, — to FeUcia Hemans. When Byron, stUl young, was dying in Greece of disappointment, and the remorse which a wasted Ufe engenders, she was just rising into fame among the purest and happiest homes of England, Uke a full moon rising calmly, sweetly, at the de-wy close of a torrid and tem pestuous day. It was her influence that hushed the troubled waves of doubt and deflance and unrest, and soothed the heaving breast into renewed and trusting faith in ¦vfrtue, eter nity, and God. I apprehend that Mrs. Hemans finds fewer readers, with far fewer profound admirers, to-day than she had thfrty years ago ; and in this fact there is a strong presumption that we, who so admired her then, assigned her a higher station than her -writings wUl maintain. A pure and lovely woman, un happy in her domestic relations, and nobly strugghng by ht erature to subsist and educate her chUdren, is very apt to arouse a chivalry, among readers not only, but critics, that is unfavorable to sternness of judgment. I would gladly be Ueve that the girls of 1868 read Mrs. Hemans as generaUy, and esteem her as highly, as their mothers did in their girl hood ; but I fear their brothers, for the most part, neither read nor admire her. Let me venture, therefore, for the sake of my older readers, to cite one of her minor poems, which must recaU to many minds hours of pure and tranquU pleas ure passed in the perusal of the author's fresh effusions. For ty years ago, had you opened a thousand American weekly newspapers, — presuming that so many then existed, — you would have found the " Poet's Corner " of at least one third of them devoted to one of the latest productions of Mrs. Hemans, and not one fourth so many given up to the verses of any other person whatever. Now, you might open three thousand journals without discovering therein even her name. Bryant, Tennyson, LongfeUow, WTiittier, LoweU, Holmes, now POETS AND POETRY. 483 fiU her accustomed place ; as, forty years hence, alas ! some fresher favorites will fiU their places. So flows and ebbs this fransitory world ! But let not us, her old admirers, suffer her name to drfft by us into Oblivion's murky sea without a part ing cup of remembrance. We wUl recaU THE. ADOPTED CHILD. " Why wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child ? Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild, — A straw-roofed cabin, with lowly wall ; Mine is a fair and pillared hall, "Where many an image of marble gleams. And the sunshine of picture forever streams." " 0, green is the turf where my brothers play. Through the long, bright hours of the Summer's day ! They find the red cup-moss where they climb. And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme. And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know ; Lady, kind lady, O let me go." " Content thee, boy ! in my bower to dwell ; Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well : Flutes on the air in the stilly noon. Harps which the wandering breezes tune, And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, "Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountain heard." " O ! my mother sings at the twilight's fall, A song of the hills far more sweet than all ; She sings it under our own green tree, To.the babe half slumbering on her knee ; I dreamt last night of that music low, — Lady, kind lady ! O, let me go." " Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest ; She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast ; Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more. Nor hear her song at the cabin door. Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh. And we '11 pluck the grapes of the richest dye." " Is my mother gone from her home away ¦? But I know that my brothers are there at play : I know they are gathering the foxglove's bell. Or the long fern-leaves by the sparkling well ; 484 MISCELLANIES. Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow, Lady, kind lady ! O, let me go." " Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now ; They sport no more on the mountain's brow ; They have left the fern by the spring's green side. And the streams where the fairy barks were tied. Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot ; For thy cabin home is a lonely spot." " Are they gone, all gone, from the sunny hill ? But the bird and the blue-fly rove over it still ; And the red-deer bound in their gladness free ; And the heath is bent by the singing bee. And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow : Lady, kind lady ! O, let me go ! " I do not know how many ever suspected, during his hfe, that Thomas Hood was a poet of rare and lofty powers. I apprehend, however, that they were, at least tiU near the close of his career, a " judicious few," — fewer, even, than the judi cious are apt to be. For this true bard was nevertheless a man, — though delicate in frame, and for the most part fraU in health, he had physical needs, — more than aU, he had a wife and children, who looked to him for daUy bread, and must not look in vain. Poet as he was, he knew that man kind not only stone their prophets before buUding their tombs, but starve their poets before glorifying them ; and he declined to sacrifice his children's bread to his own glory. The world would not pay cash do-wn for poems, but freely would for fun ; so he chose to mint his golden fancies into current coin that would pass readily at the grocer's and baker's, rather than fashion it daintily into cameos and fiUgree-work, which he must have pledged at ruinous rates with the pawnbroker. And we, generation of blockheads ! thought him a rare buf foon, because he sported the cap and bells in our presence, knowing this, though by no means the best thing he could do, decidedly that for which we would pay him best. If his " Whims and Oddities " imply the degradation of a great fac ulty, is not the fault, the shame, rather ours than his ? If a modern Orpheus could only find auditors by fiddUng for POETS AND POETRY. 485 bacchanal dancers in bar-rooms, could we justly reproach him for his -vulgar tastes and low associations ? We who so long read and laughed at Hood's puns and quips, — read and only laughed, when we should have thought and sighed, ^- we might have seen, ff we had sought instrac- tion, and not mere recreation, that a great moralist, teacher, philanthropist; an earnest hater of tyranny and -wrong; a warrior, with Damascus blade, on cant, and meanness, and ser-vihty, — was addressing us in parables which were only wasted, as others' parables have been, because our ears were too gross, our understandings too duU and sordid, to perceive, or even seek, their deeper meaning. We might have discerned the lesson, but did not, because the laugh sufficed us. Have I seemed to regret or condemn the law whereby the true poet is divorced from the hope of gain by his faculty ? I surely did not mean it. Wisely, kindly devised is that Divine ordinance, "Ye cannot serve God and Mammon." The law is steadfast and eternal, — the seeming exceptions few and factitious. The greatest benefactors of mankind have waited tUl after death for the recognition of their work and their worth. If to speak the highest truths and do the noblest deeds were the sure way to present fame and pelf, what merit would there be in vfrtue, what place for heroism on earth ? If Poetry were the Peimsylvania Avenue to fortune and pres ent fame, how could our earth upbear the burden of her poets ? No : it were better for Poetry that there had never been a Copyright Law, so that the Poet's utterances were divorced from aU hope of pecuniary recompense. We should then have had far fewer poems, perhaps, but not haff the trouble in unburying them from the avalanche of pretentious rhythmical rubbish whereby they are overlaid and concealed. Let aspfring youth evermore understand that -writing Poetry is not among the Divinely appointed means for overcoming a dearth of potatoes. I do not say that potatoes were never gained in this way, though I doubt that any were ever thus earned. Be this as it may, I am quite sure that no one ever undertook to -write Poetry for potatoes, — to satisfy his per- 486 MISCELLANIES. sonal need of potatoes by -writing Poetry, — who thereby traly succeeded. He may have achieved the potatoes, but not the .Poetry. So Hood did manfuUy and weU in -writing "Whims and Oddities" for a livehhood, and Poetry for fame alone. Do you suppose the hope of money could ever have impeUed any man to write " The Song of the Shfrt " ? Let us refresh our remembrance of him -with the simplest and best-kno-wn of his minor effusions, — one ten thousand times quoted, famihar to almost every school-chUd, yet not wom out, because it cannot be : — I EEMEMBER, I EEMEMBEE. I remember, I remember The house where I was bom, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day.; But now I often wish the night Had bome my breath away ! I remember, I remember The roses, red and white. The violets, and the lily-cups, — Those flowers made of light ! The lilacs where the robin built. And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, — The tree is living yet ! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing. And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now. And summer-pools could hardly cool The feyer on my brow ! I remember, I remember The fir-trei's dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance. But now 't is little joy To know I 'm farther off- from heaven Than when 1 was a boy. POETS AND POETRY. 487 How many years is it since he who is England's Laureate first dawned upon us ? It seems to me scarcely twenty ; yet he must have been -writing and printing for nearly twice that. period. It is a slow as weU as arduous labor for even excel lence to make itseff felt across an ocean ; yet I beljeve there are to-day as. many Americans as Englishmen who honor and dehght in the poems of Affred Tennyson. One of their best characteristics is the eareftilness, the evident labor and ex treme polish, -with which they are produced. After thirty years devoted to Poetry, — almost exclusively, I beheve, — his -writ ings may aU be compressed within a moderate volume. In an age when many a by no means old man has turned out his twenty volumes, and many a Miss in her teens has nearly finished her thfrd novel, this is a virtue indeed to be com mended. To one who has achieved the pubhc ear — for whose future issues eager pubhshers have checks of generous amotmt ready to be exchanged for the unread manuscript — the temptation to overwrite is hard to be resisted. Poets are popularly supposed to be, as a class, neither rich nor frugal ; the more honor, then, to one who refuses to dilute his nectar like a milkman to whom the pump is convenient. I was deeply interested in Bayard Taylor's anecdote of the German poet Uhland, when in a green old age, who, to the traveUer's natural inquiry as to what work he was now com posing or meditating, repUed that he had not recently felt consfrained to -write anything, — in other words, that nothing now pressed upon his mind for utterance with irresistible force. Would that authors, as a class, could tmly say that they -write only, under the spur of thoughts burning for ex pression, — not of appetites clamoring for satisfaction. Though Tennyson has ¦written sparingly, he has yet covered much ground. "In Memoriam," "The Princess," "Maud," — I hardly know who in our day has produced three poems so unhke, yet each so excellent. "In Memoriam" is prob ably the best expression of a profound and lasting, yet tem perate and submissive, sorrow to be found in our language. Yet his minor poems had made him a world-wide reputation 488 MISCELLANIES. — made him the Queen's Laureate — before one of these was ¦written, at least before it was pubhshed. And they are worthy of their fame. So rich and pure in imagery, so dainty and felicitous in expression, so musical and mel- Ufluous in thefr rhythm and cadence, — they are rightly ranked among the gems of Enghsh hterature. Let me cite a part of one of them Which is not the most popular, hut which seems to me among the happiest. The fable, ff fable it be, that eating the lotus brings forgetfulness of care, answering almost to the old Greek's draught from Lethe, is not novel ; but who before has ever treated it so weU as this ? THE LOTUS-EATEES. I. " Courage ! " he said, and pointed tow'rd the strand ; " This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon, they came unto a land In wliich it seeme'd always afternoon. AU 'round the coast, the languid air did swoon. Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; And, like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. II. A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke. Slow-dropping vails of thinnest lawn, did go ; And some throngh wav'ring lights and shadows broke, EoUing a slumb'rous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From th' inner land : far off, three mountain-tops. Three silent pinnacles of aged snow. Stood sunset-flushed : and, dewed with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the wovfen copse. III. The charmed sunset lingered low adown In the red West : through mountain-clefts, the dale Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow, set with slender galingale ; A land where aU things always seem'd the same ! And 'round about the keel, with faces pale. Dark faces pale against that rosy flame. The mild-eyed, melancholy Lotus-eaters came. POETS AND POETRY. 489 IT. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, Laden -with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each ; but whoso did receive of them. And taste, to him the gushing of the wave Far, far away did seem to moan and rave On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake. His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ; And deep-asleep he seemed, yet aU awake, And music in his ears his beating heart did make. V. They sat them do-wn upon the yellow sand, Between the sun and moon, upon the shore ; And sweet it was to dream of Father-land, Of child and wife and slave ; but evermore Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar. Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. Then some one said, " We -will return no more'' ; And aU at once they sang, "Our island home Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam." ***** Of Eobert Bro-wning the reading pubhc knows too Uttle ; it shaU yet know more. Even in England, I found few whose dehght in him equaUed my o-wn ; and I fairly startled judicious friends by insisting that he is not inferior, on the whole, to Tennyson. But there are ob-vious reasons why this prophet should be denied honor in his own country of aU others. For Bro-wning's verse too often lacks clearness ; his fancies are pUed one upon another in wUd confusion ; he is fitfuUy fantastic and mystical ; and John Bull has, of all men, the most intense aversion to what is caUed Transcendent alism. There is an anecdote afloat of Douglas Jerrold meet ing a friend in the street soon after Browning's " SordeUo " was issued, and thrusting the book into his hands -with the fierce command, rather than entreaty, " Eead that ! " The puzzled friend read a few lines of the opening, and de sisted, with the remark, " Why, this is rank nonsense ! " " 0, thank God ! " exclaimed Jerrold ; " then I am not mad ! I was sure, if that was sense, that I ought to be sent to Bed lam at once." Another anecdote makes Browning gravely relate to an intimate friend that he had tested in SordeUo a favorite theory, by omitting in the pubhshed copy each alter- 490 MISCELLANIES. nate Une of the poem as written ; but he candidly added, the experiment was a faUure. Bro-wning's best issue was that which opens with "The Blot on the Scutcheon," and contains " Pippa Passes," "Luria," and "Paracelsus." The first-named is one of the purest, sweetest, most affecting dramatic poems in our Utera ture ; the action hastens to its catastrophe as resistlessly as, and more naturaUy than, that of Hamlet or Macbeth ; and the heroine's dying waU over her lost innocence, her early doom, — " I had no mother, — God Forsook me, — and I fell," has a condensed force and pathos rarely exceeded. I am apt to have httle sympathy -with the complaint that an author is obscure. It very often imphes only indolence and lack of earnestness in the complainant. We are prone to read too drowsUy, and expect -writers to speU out their meaning to us, as if we were four-year-olds, stUl busy -with our " a-b-abs '' and " baker." There is an anecdote current to this effect, that when Emerson first began to lecture transcen dental-wise in Boston, one of his most constant auditors was the able and veteran conservative lawyer, Jeremiah Mason, accompanied by his daughters. His brethren at the bar were puzzled by this addiction on the part of so distinguished a conservative, and wonderingly inqufred of him whether he understood what Emerson uttered. He candidly responded that he did not ; but added that his daughters (gfrls of thirteen and fifteen) understood it perfectly. There was probably more fruth in this reply than was intended. The kingdom of heaven stands not alone in being easier of access to httle children than to adults. Comprehension is not the result of knowledge solely, but of receptivity, of sympathy. It was not nearly so easy for the old la-wyer as for the young damsels to attain the same plane of thought with the lecturer, and to travel in the same direction. He might possibly ha-ve learned more hM he been less wise. Yet it is deplorably tme that our newest literature too often lacks simplicity, lucidity, straightforwardness. It speaks POETS AND POETRY. 491 in riddles, when it should be^ natural, dfrect, and open as the day. Carlyle is not haff so obscure as his contemners declare him ; yet his " Sartor Eesartus " cannot be thoroughly mas tered and enjoyed by the average reader short of three or four perusals ; and how many wiU have patience to give it .that number ? "Whatever requires so many involves the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. Emerson, though he is no longer opaque, did formerly try the patience, as weU as the discernment, of his admfrers ; and I can quite credit the story told of one whci stopped him in the street and recited a pas sage from one of his essays, asking what he meant by it ; to which the author of " Brahma " and " The Sphinx," after pondering the passage a moment, cahnly repUed that he cer tainly had a meaning in his mind when he wrote that sen tence, though it had now unfortunately escaped him. But Browning's fault seems to inhere rather in utterance than in conception; his mind is fuU of materials ill stowed, which come rushing against and trampling over each other when summoned to dayhght, and so choke the aperture and prevent egress, or rash forth an incongruous, confused mass, muddily sweeping aU before them. His later -writings are haff spoUed by this chaotic whfrl, and are thence inferior on the whole to their immediate predecessors. Yet what a wealth of aUu sion, a mine of meaning, a daguerreotype of the inteUectual tendencies of the age, are found in "Bishop Blougram's Apology" ! And what have we clearer and purer in our language than this ? — E"V:ELYN HOPE. Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! Sit and watch by her side aq hour. That is her book-shelf," this her bed ; She plucked that piece of geranium flower. Beginning to die, too, in the glass. Little has yet been changed, I think ; The shutters are shut ; no light may pass, Save two long rays through the hinges' chink. Sixteen years old when she died ! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name, — 492 MISCELLANIES. It was not her time to love ; beside. Her life had many a hope and aim ; Duties enough, and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, TiU God's hand beckoned unawares. And the sweet white brow is aU of her. Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ¦? ¦What ! your soul was pure and true ; The good stars met in your horoscope. Made you of spirit, fire, and dew, — And, just because I was thrice as old. And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was nought to each, must I be told T We were fellow-mortals, nought beside ? No, indeed ! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make. And creates the love to reward the love, — I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet. Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few ; Much is to leam and much to forget. Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come, — at last it wiU, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shaU say, In the lower earth, in the years long stiU, That body and soul so pure and gay ; Why your h^r was amber, I shall divine. And your mouth of your own geranium's red, — And what you would do with me, in fine. In the new life come in the old one's stead. I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, Given up myself so many times ; Gained by the gains of various men, Eansacked the ages, spoiled the climes : Yet one thing — one — in my soul's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me, — And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! ¦What is the issue ¦? let us see ! I loved you, Evelyn, all the while, My heart seeraed full as it could hold, — There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush ! — I will give you this leaf to keep — See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand ; There — that is our secret ! go to sleep ; You will wake, and remember, and understand. POETS AND POETRY. 493 I en-vy the biographer of Eobert and Ehzabeth Barrett Bro-wning. Twenty years ago they were poets, unknown to each other, undistinguished ; he poor, and each by no means young. I have heard that their first acquaintance came through thefr pubUshed works, which revealed a sympathy destined 'to make them one forever. Eeversing the usual order, they loved, they became personaUy acquainted, and were married. Thenceforward, each wrote better, more ac ceptably, — in the main, more lucidly, — than before ; wrote, doubtless, by the help of the other's happy suggestions as weU as loving criticisms. And so each won larger and stUl widen ing audience, and more generous appreciation, and ampler recompense ; and a fair son was born to them ; and a wealthy friend, no-wise related to either, left them a modest fortune ; and they spent thefr wedded years partly in thefr native England and partly in their beloved Florence, which inspfred both of them, but especiaUy tlie -wife, with some of her noblest and most enduring poems, — " Casa Guidi Windows " for instance, and " Aurora Leigh," — and there, I believe, she died, leaving her husband and son not to lament, but to rejoice over and thank God for, the abiding memory of her worth and her love. I close this hurried survey -without ha-ving attempted to con sider the claims of any among our countrymen to the character and designation of Poets. I should prefer to consider Amer ican Poetry by itseff, and in its relations to that which pre ceded and that which is cotemporary with it. In so doing, we should find, I judge, that, while it has grave faults, — faults of imitation, of poverty, of crudity, of exaggeration, — it has decided merits and exceUences also, — merits not only emi nent in themselves, but such as give promise of stUl loftier achievement in the future. If we have contributed our fuU share to the bounteous Anglo-Saxon stock of shaUow and sham poetry, we have also contributed our fuU quota — con sidering our youth as a nation, and our prosaic preoccupa tions, our lack of leisure, and of the highest inteUectual cul ture — to that which the world wUl not wiUingly let die. I 494 MISCELLANIES. waive this discussion for the present, however, and close with a more dfrect consideration of the problem, "What is the essential nature and true office of Poetry ? " Of course, I need waste no more time on the pitiable igno rance which confounds Poetry -with Verse, — the eternal es sence with the occasional form or garb, — though this delusion has stiU many votaries, — I might say, ¦victims. The young lady who corrected a friend's aUusion to Shakespeare as a Poet with the smilingly confident assurance that his plays were not poetry, not being rhymed, has stiU sharers in her sad misap prehension. Poetry is at least four thousand years old, — as old as extant Uterature, if not older; whUe Ehyme, I sus pect, can hardly be traced beyond the thne of the Troubadours of westem and southern Europe, in the days of the Crusades, Verse, Metre, or Ehythm is of course much older. I pre sume some rude trace of this may be found in the very oldest writings extant, — the chant or speech in Genesis of Lamech to his wives, for instance, and the oldest Hindoo or Chinese Poems. But, though it may seem natural, and almost neces sary, that poetic utterances should flow into harmonious or rh3d,hmical numbers, this is not ine^vitable. Chateaubriand, one of the greatest poets of the last generation, ¦wrote rarely in verse. Wilhs has written good verses, but his finest poem is " Un^written Music," — in structure, a prose essay. That Ehyme is not essential to Poetry, aU probably know who clearly know anything ; but that measured and duly accented Unes, each beginning with a capital letter, do not constitute Poetry, though it may be generaUy, is by no means universaUy un derstood. But we cannot define by negations alone ; and the question stiU recurs, "What is Poetry ? I understand by Poetry that mode of expression or aver ment which lifts the soul above the region of mere sense, — which reaches beyond the merely physical or mechanical as pects of the truth affirmed, and apprehends that trath in its universal character and aU-pervading relations, so that our o^wn natures are exalted and purified by its contemplation. For instance, I affirm that the Creation was a wondrous, be- POETS AND POETRY. 495 neficent work, which aU intelUgent, moral beings cognizant thereof must have regarded with admfration, but that the plans and purposes of God are entirely above the comprehen sion of Man, — that is plain prose. Now let us see a poetic statement of that same trath, and mark its immensely supe rior vividness and force : — " Then the Lord answered Job out of a whirlwind, and said, — ¦Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth ? Declare, if thou hast understanding ! Who hath laid the measures thereof? if thou knowest 1 Or who hath stretched the line upon it ? "Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened ? Or who laid the comer-stone thereof, — "When the moming stars sang together. And aU the sons of God shouted for joy ? " Or I am impeUed to observe that the creations of the mind, unlike aU corporeal existences, are essentially indestractible, and so fitted to abide and exert influence forever, — that is a prosaic statement of an ob-vious fact ; let us note how Byron presents it in poetry : — " The beings of the mind are not of clay ; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray. And more beloved existence — that which Fate Prohibits to dull life in this our state — ¦ Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied First exiles, then replaces, what we hate, Watering the hearts whose early flowers have died. And with a greener growth replenishing the void." Or I observe that the midnight thunder, during a violent Summer tempest, is echoed from mountain-top to mountain- top, forming a choras of a-wful subhmity ; but the poet seizes the thought, and fuses it in the glowing alembic of his num bers thus : — " Far along. From crag to crag the rattling peaks among. Leaps the live thunder, — not from one lone cloud. But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; And Jura answers, through his misty shroud. Back to the joyous Alps, that caU to her aloud." 496 MISCELLANIES. Such instances speak more clearly than the plainest or the subtlest definitions. They show that, to the poetic concep tion. Nature is no huge aggregation of senseless matter, warmed into fitful -vitahty by sunbeams only to die and be resolved into its elements, but a U-ving, conscious, vital uni verse, quivering with deathless aspiration hecause animated by the breath of God. Nor must we regard Poetry merely as an intellectual achievement, — a trophy of human genius, an utterance from the heart of Nature, fitted to solace its votaries and strengthen them for the battle of Life. Poetry is essentiaUy, ine-vitably, the friend of Virtue and Merit, the foe of Oppression and Wrong, the champion of Justice and Freedom. "Wherever the good suffer from the machinations and malevolence of the evU, — wherever Vice riots, or Corruption festers, or Tyranny afflicts and degrades, there Poetry is heard as an accusing angel, and her breath sounds the trump of impending doom. She cannot be suborned nor perverted to the service of the powers of darkness : a Dante or a Korner, lured or bribed to sing the praises of a despot, or glorify the achievements of an Alva or a Cortes, could only stammer out feeble, halting stan zas, which mankind would first despise, then compassionately forget. But to the patriot in his exile, the slave in his unjust bondage, the martyr at the stake, the voice of Poetry comes freighted with hope and cheer, giving assurance that, whUe EvU is but for a moment. Good is for ever and ever ; that aU the forces of the Universe are at last on the side of Justice ; that the seeming triumphs of Iniquity are but a mirage. Divinely permitted to test our virtue and our faith; and that all things work together to fulfil the counsels and estab lish the kingdom of the aU-seeing and omnipotent God. REFORMS AND REFORMERS. THIS hard, cold, rocky planet, on whose surface we exist, toward whose centre we gravitate, seems to evince hut a ragged and wayward kindness for her step-child, Man. Even to the savage, whom she takes to her rough breast with some show of maternal fondness, she says, "Take your chance with my varying moods, — to-day, sunshine, fiowers, and bounty ; to-morrow, -winfry blasts, bare hiUs, and desti tution." "What wonder if the poor Esquimaux, shivering in his foodless lodge, which bleak wastes of drifting snow envi ron, should misread even the serenely benignant skies, and fancy that diahohc was at least equaUy potent with Divine agency in creating such a world ? — To civihzed man, unless fenced about and shielded by that purely artificial creation we term Property, Nature presents a stUl sterner aspect. He may know, even better than the savage, how to extract sustenance and comfort from the ele ments everywhere surrounding him ; but he finds those ele ments appropriated, — monopohzed, — ¦' tabooed, — the private, exclusive possessions of a minority. To cut in the forest a dead, decaying free, wherewith to warm his shivering, scarce- clad hmbs, — to dig edible roots from the swamp, or gather berries from the beetling crag to stay his gna-wing hunger, — is a teespass on the rights of some proprietor, property-o"wner, landlord, which legaUy subjects him to the assiduous but dis agreeable attentions of the justice and the constable. Doomed to fight his way through this thorny jungle, he finds the weap ons all chained out of his reach, or pointed against him. Bom S2 498 MISCELLANIES. into a state of war, he must first forge or buy the requisite im plements for the fray, though his adversaries are under no sort of obligation to wait tUl he is ready. The fertUe prairie often produces sour, ungenial grasses ; and the giant forest, so luxuriant in its panoply of tender foliage, affords but a grudging subsistence to the few birds and animals which in habit or traverse it. Everywhere is presented the spectacle of diverse species of animated beings strugghng desperately for subsistence, and often devouring each other for food. Into this unchained menagerie Man is thrust, to fight his way as best he can. The forest, the prairie, the mountain, the vaUey, the lakes, and the ocean, must be tamed to hear and heed his voice ere they can be rehed on to satisfy his urgent needs. The river long obstructs his progress ere he learns the secret of making it bear him s-wiftly and cheaply on his course ; the soU that shaU ultimately yield him the amplest harvests is a quaking bog, useless, and hardly passa ble, untu he succeeds in draining and tilling it. The hon or tiger, whom he ultimately regards as a raree-show, and carts about for his diversion, is primarUy quite other than amus ing, and, though exhibiting himseff at less than the "haff price" at which chUdren are elsewhere admitted to the spec tacle, atfracts no curious children of Adam to any exhibition but that of their own heels. The waterfa,U that propels the dvUizee's miU arrests the savage's canoe. ! In short. Nature, though complaisant at seasons, is yet, in the larger -view, grudging and stern toward our race, untU transformed and .vivified by Labor and 'Science. Man, therefore, is by primal necessity a Transformer, — in other words, a Eeformer. He must first, hy resolute effort, fix his bit in the mouth of Nature, his saddle on her back, and his spurs in her sides, ere he is prepared to mn his no bler race and achieve his higher destiny. Though mental development and moral culture be the admitted ends of his mundane existence, yet to begin with the pursuit of these is to court and insure defeat, by invoking frost and starvation. If the phUosopher or divine were to visit the pioneer just REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 499 slashing together his log hut in the wUderness, and accost him with, " Why wear out your Ufe in such sordid, grovel ling, material drudgery, when the gorgeous canopy of heaven overarches you, the glad sun irradiates and warms you, and aU Nature, ministering gratuitously to your gross, bodUy wants, invites to meditation and elevating seff-communion ? " the squatter's proper answer, should he deign to give any an swer at aU, would be : " Sfr, I provide first for my bodily needs, and against the fitful inclemencies of the now genial skies, in order that I may by and by have leisure and oppor tunity for those loftier pursuits you eulogize so justly, though inappositely. I could not fitly meditate on God, the Uni^^ verse, and Human Destiny, -with a shivering wife looking me sadly in the face, nor with the cries of hungry children ring ing in my ears. Nay : I could not so meditate this balmy June morning, in fuU -view of the truth that, if I were con tent -with meditation to-day, such would he the appeals of those dependent on me ere June should greet us again. "What you suggest, then, is exceUent in its time and place ; but I must hew and delve to-day, in order that my seasqnfor contemplation and culture TfaayTultunately .coma" Now, this ob-vious response of the pioneer to the phi losopher is in essence the material or cfrcumstantial Ee- former's answer to the Stoic and the Saint. " Wealth is dross ; Power is anxiety, — is care ; Luxury enervates thebody anJ debases the soul," these remonstrate in chorus: "Know thyieBrii5cM3e-^rt% wise ; chasten your' appetites, and be rich hi the moderation of your physical wants," adds the Stoic; "Know God, and find happiness in adoring and serving Him," echoes the Saint. " True, 0 Plato ! true, divinest CecUia ! but everything in its order. To render fasting meritorious, one should have meat at command ; and_ great spiritual exaltation springs not naturaUy from a body gaunt with enforced hunger. Let me surround myseff with what is needftU for me and mine in the way of food, and clothing, and shelter; not forgetting meantime the nobler ends of my existence, but looking also to these ; - thus will I 500 MISCELLANIES. achieve for myself Opportunity for that loftier plane of being whereto you so justly in-vite me. I am not forgetting nor disobeying the injunction to ' Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness " ; I am only affirming that, untU the legitimate physical needs of those dependent on my exertions are provided for, it would not be righteous, in me to surrender myseff to contemplation, nor even to devotion." And this is substantiaUy the answer of the Eeformer of Man's external circumstances to those who insist that the end he meditates is to be attained from within, rather than from without, — in the apt phrase of Charles Lane, by improvement, not of this or that circumstance, but of the vital cc^i^re-stance. We readily admit this ; but what then ? The question stUl recurs, " How is the desired end to be attained ? " and we hold . that there is no practical cure for the vital woes of the pitiable which does not involve a preliminary change in their outward conditions. You may shower precepts and admoni tions, tracts and Bibles, on the squahd, filthy, destitute thousands who tenant, thick as knotted adders, the ceUars and rookeries of our great cities, and aU wUl run off them like water from a duck's back, leaving them exactiy as it found them. But first take them out of these lafrs and lazar- houses, wash them, clothe them decently, and place them where they may, by honest, useful labor, earn a fair subsist- 6flice ; now you may ply them with catechisms and exhorta tions with a rational hope of advantage. To attempt it sooner, even with seeming success, is only to cover their filthiness with a tenacious varnish of- hypocrisy, rendering it less hate ful to the eye, but more profound and ineradicable. But not the Worker only — the robust, earnest Thinker also — is of necessity a Eadical. He sees his less fortunate brethren oppressed and degraded, debased and enslaved, through the malign influences of selfish Cunning and despotic Force ; and his very soul is stirred within him as was that of Moses by the spectacle of his people's sufferings under the rale of their Egyptian taskmasters. No matter what is the extent or nature of Man's abstract, inherent depravity. REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 501 he cannot faU to see that men are actuaUy better or worse as they have better or worse instructors, rulers, and institutions. Before condemning Human Nature as incorrigible, and there upon justffying those who nevertheless contrive to make its guidance and government a gainful trade, he inquires whether this same abused Nature has not done better under other auspices, and becomes satisfied that it has. Then he says to the banded decriers of Human Nature and to the con servatives of old abuses who take shelter under thefr wing : " You say that Man cannot walk erect ; remove your bandages from his feet, your shackles from his limbs, and let us see ! You say that he cannot take care of himseff ; then why com pel him, in addition, to take such generous care of you ? You say he is naturaUy dishonest and thievish; but how could he be otherwise, when he cannot faU to perceive that you, who set yourselves up for his guides and exemplars, are perpetuaUy and enormously robbing him ? Begin by giving back to bim the earth which you have taken from under his feet, the knowledge you have monopoUzed, the privi leges you have engrossed ; and we can better determine whether he needs anything, and what, from your charity, after he shall have recovered what is rightfuUy his own." It is a fearful gift, this of moral prescience, — the abiUty and the wUl to look straight into and through aU traditions, usages, beUefs, conventionaUties, garnitures, and ask : "What is this /or ? AVhat does it signify ? If it were swept away, what would he reaUy lost to mankind? This baptism, or whatever may be the appUance, — does it really cleanse ? Does it even tend to the desiderated result ? or does it not rather fortify with a vamish of hypocrisy and a crust of con ceit the preexisting impurity and vice ? Is there the old unrighteousness left, with only self-righteousness superadded? WeU does a deep thinker speak of the spirit of reform as walking up and do-wn, " paving the world with eyes," —eyes which not merely inqufre and pierce, but challenge, accuse, arraign also. HappUy was the prophet of old named a seer; for he who rightly and deeply sees thence foresees. Your 502 MISCELLANIES. brawhng demagogue is a very empty and harmless personage, — "a voice, and nothing more" ; but a sUent, unimpassioned thinker, though uttering only the most obvious and uni versal truths, sets the social caldron furiously seething and bubbling. "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth," says the Prince of Peace ; " I am not come to send peace, but a sword." AU the rebels, conspfrators. Messianic impostors, of that turbulent age, were not haff so formidable to Judean conservatism, Eoman despotism, as the Sermon on the Mount. And so in our day, a genuine, earnest re former, no matter in what manger cradled, in what Shaker garb invested, sets aU things spinning and tUting around him. The true Eeformer turns his eyes first inward, scrutinizing himseff, his habits, purposes, efforts, enjoyments, asking, "What signffies this ? and this ? and wherein is its justifica tion ? This daily provision of meat and drink, — is its end nourishment and its incident enjoyment ? or are the poles reversed, and do I eat and drink for the gratification of appe tite, hoping, or trusting, or bhndly guessing, that, since it sa tiates my desires, it must satisfy also my needs ? Is it requi site that all the zones and continents should be ransacked to build up the fieeting earthly tabernacle of this immortal spirit? Is not the soul rather submerged, stified, drowned, in this incessant idohzing, feasting, pampering of the body ? These sumptuous entertainments, wherein the palate has everything, the soul nothing, — what faculty, whether of body or mind, do they brighten or strengthen ? "Why should a score of animals render up their hves to furnish forth my day's dinner, if my own hfe is thereby rendered neither surer nor nobler ? A¥hy gorge myself with dainties which cloud the brain and clog the step, if the common grains and fraits and roots and water afford precisely the same sustenance in simpler and less cloying guise, and are far more conducive to health, strength, elasticity, longevity ? Can a man worthUy surrender his life to the mere acquiring and absorbing of food, thus alternating only from the state of a beast of burden REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 503 to that of a beast of prey ? Above aU, why should I fire my blood and sear my brain with Uquors which give a temporary exhilaration to the spfrits at the cost of permanent depra vation and disorder to the whole physical frame ? In short, why should I Uve for and in my appetites, if these were Di- -vinely created to serve and sustain, not master and dethrone, the spfrit to which this earthly frame is but a husk, a tent, a halting-place, in an exalted, deathless career ? If the life be indeed more than meat, why shaU not the meat recognize and attest that fact ? And thus the sincere Eeformer, in the very outset of his course, becomes a "tee-total" fanatic, repre sented by the knavish and regarded by the -vulgar as a foe to aU enjoyment and cheer, insisting that mankind shall con form td his crotchets, and Uve on bran-bread and blue cold water. Turning his eyes away from himself, he scans the relations of man with man, under which labor is performed and service secured, and finds, not absolute Justice, much less Love, but Necessity on the one hand. Advantage on the other, presiding over the general interchange of good offices among mankind. In the market, on the exchange, we meet no recognition of the brotherhood of the human race. A famine in one coun try is a godsend to the grain-growers and flour-speculators of another. Ajo. excess of immigration enhances the cost of food whUe depressing the wages of labor, adding in both ways to the wealth of the forehanded, who find their only drawback in the increased burdens of pauperism. Thus the mansion and the hovel rise side by side, and where sheriffs are abun dant is hanging most frequent. One man's necessity being another's opportunity, we. have no right to be surprised or in dignant that the general system culminates, by an inexorably logical process, in the existence and stubbom maintenance of Human Slavery. Yes, I insist that Slavery is a logical deduction from prin ciples generaUy accepted, and almost universaUy accounted sound and laudable. For, once admit the premises that I 504 MISCELLANIES. have a right to seek profit from my neighbor's privations and calamities ; that I have a right to consume in idleness the products or earnuigs of haff a dozen workers, if my income wUl justify the outlay ; and that it is better to Uve indo lently on others' earnings than industriously from the pro ceeds of my own, — and the rightfulness of Slavery is a log ical deduction, as plain as that two and two make four. Hence the gambler, the swindler, the pander for gain to oth ers' -vices, is always pro-Slavery, or is only withheld from that side by fear of being himseff enslaved. You would not on three continents find a pirate or gaming-house buUy who would not gladly tramp five nules on a dark, stormy night, to help lynch an Abohtionist. And thus not only have aU Ee forms a sympathetic, even if Ul-understood, relationship, but the enemies of reforms are united by a free-masonry equaUy potent and comprehensive. The negro-trader of Charleston or New Orleans would always help to mob a Temperance lec turer, even though he did not himseff drink; for he hated and dreaded the apphcation of ethical laws to practical hfe. "This particular reform did not interfere with his pursuits or his gains ; but he felt instinctively that aU other reforms were just behind it, — that they were peering over its shoulder, and ready to rush in if this one succeeded in opening the door. So he put his shoulder against it, and held fast, — not that he objected speciaUy to this, but that he would make seasonable resistance to the crowd that came trooping in its train. It was very common, of old, for the members of diverse parties and sects to protest that they were not Abohtionists, — a most superfluous assurance. EssentiaUy, radicaUy, there are just so many AboUtionists as comprehend that it is bet-: ter for themselves, better also for their children, to earn thefr subsistence by fafr, honest service to their kind, than to have it supplied them for nothing. He only is tmly, inflexibly an Abohtionist who realizes that the faculty of producing or earning bread is as much an element of man's happiness as the abUity to consume and relish it. He who idly -wishes REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 505 that Providence had made him hefr of a fortune, so that he might have fared sumptuously and Uved idly, might just as weU sigh outright for John MitcheU's coveted Alabama plan tation and fat negroes. Whether it sliaU ever be found practicable to substitute a more trustful and beneficent social order for that which now prevaUs, the sceptics are fuUy justified in doubting. So many experiments — fafrly tried, so far as they can see — have resulted in so many failures, that they quite rationaUy conclude that the FainUy is the only, or at least the highest, social organization whereof poor, depraved human natur^ is capable. It is aU very weU, they fairly say, to talk of the great economies of some theoretic social system, — how much could be saved in fences and fuel, stowage and lights, produc tion and distribution, by uniting five hundred famUies in one household, on a common domain, rather than scattering them over t-wice as many acres or twenty-score farms ; but, since it is proved that famUies cannot or wiU not Uve and labor in this way, what use in commending it ? You might as weU talk of the superior pavement of the New Jerusalem seen in St. John's vision to that of Broadway or Chestnut Street, and insist that our cities shaU henceforth use the former exclusively. There is much force in this view ; but there is more force in one higher and nobler. It is true that men and women educated in the selfish isolation and antagonism of our current households are not quaUfied — at least, the great mass of them are not — for any better form of society. It is true that this knowledge has been attained through years qf patient exertion and sacrifice, — attained by earnest, ardent, self-denying men and women, who would have given their lives to perfect conclusively a contrary demonstration. And, though it is traly urged that these demonstrations were made under very imperfect and unfavorable circumstances, it is equaUy true that they were the most favorable that could be, and better than can now be, obtained. We stand, then, m the presence of this state of facts : 506 MISCELLANIES. On the one hand, it is proved difficult to create and main tain a more trustful and harmonious social stracture out of such materials as the old social machinery has formed, — or rather, we may say practically, out of such materials as the old machinery has expeUed and rejected ; yet we know, on the other hand, that a more — yes, I wUl say it — Christian Social Order is not impossible. For it is more than half a century since the first associations of the gentle ascetics contemptuously termed Shakers were formed; and no one ¦wiU pretend that they have failed. No : they have steadUy and eminently expanded and increased in wealth, and every element of material prosperity, untU they are at this day just objects of envy to thefr neighbors. They produce no paupers; they excrete no beggars ; they have no idlers, rich or poor ; no purse-proud nabobs, no cringing slaves. So far are they from pecuniary faUure, that they alone have known no such word as faU since, amid poverty and odium, they laid the foundations of their social edifice, and inscribed " Hohness to the Lord " above thefr gates. They may not have attempted the highest nor the wisest achievement ; but what they attempted they have accomphshed. And, if- there were no other success akin to thefrs, — but there is, — it would stiU be a demonstrated truth that men and women can hve and labor for general, not selfish, good, — can banish pauperism, servitude, and idleness, and secure general thrift and plenty, by moderate cooperative labor and a complete identity of interests. Of this truth, each year offers added demonstra tions ; but, if all were to cease to-morrow, the fact that it had been proved would remain. Perhaps no Plato, no Scipio, no Columbus, no Milton, now exists ; but the capacity of the Eace is stiU measured and assured by the great men and great deeds that have been. Man can work for his brother's good as well as his own : an unbroken, triumphant experience of haff a century has estabhshed the fact, so that fifty cen turies of contrary experience would not disprove it. But we are not required to prove the capacity, the adapta- bUity, of Man to a social accord so extreme as Communism. REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 507 The practicabUity of this involves that of every social recon struction less radical, just as a bushel of grain contains every lesser measure thereof; but the truth of the reverse does not foUow. A bank on which every human being, or even every stockholder, inight fiU up and draw checks at discretion, would soon be broken ; but it does not foUow that a weU- managed joint-stock bank must inevitably faU. Man may yet, in far distant ages, become -wise enough, good enough, to reahze that Labor is needful to him as food, and that frugal ity and temperance are essential to long hfe and sustained enjoyment. But, far this side of that, he may become con- ¦vinced that he wars on himseff in seeking a selfish good, and that only in conjunction -with others' happiness can his own be secured. It needs not that he be -wilUng to share his earn ings with others, in order that he may reahze that every in voluntary idler saps the general weU-heing, and that it is the interest of each to see that there is work and fair recompense for aU. I write in sad and chUl November. The skies are suUen and weeping ; the ground is reeking mire ; and the fierce northwester Ungers just behind the Highlands, ready to rush upon the tattered and thin-clad hke a pack of famished wolves. Adown the street pace crowds of weary seekers, — seekers once of fame, perhaps, or power, or wealth ; but now of food and raiment, — of work and wages. The shop-win dows and doors are choked with ship-loads of wares adapted to thefr urgent physical needs, — everything requisite to eat, • and bum, and wear. All these were produced by labor ; and the needy are most wiUing to give labor in exchange for them. The o-wners, on the other hand, want to seU them, — bought them for that purpose, and must break ff the end is- not attained. Yet here the two classes stand facing, eyeing each other, — a thin plate of glass di-viding them, — the man with in anxious to sell, and he without eager to buy, — yet some mahgnant speU seems to keep them stiU blankly, helplessly staring at each other. Perhaps a mere combination of the hungry, thin-clad thousands who ¦wishfuUy, fruitlessly gaze 508 MISCELLANIES. into those windows, would secure the desired result ; for here are persons of aU kinds as weU as grades of abUity anxiously peeking work, — that is, seeking opportunity to coin thefr o^wn exertions into the bread and clothes and shelter they so press ingly need. Say there is no work for them, and their own hunger and rags give you the he : they themselves coUec- tively afford that very market for their labor for want of which they severaUy shiver and famish. But the carpenter' cannot live on timber, even if he had it ; he cannot even buUd him self the dwelhng for want of which his children shiver in some damp basement ; and thus the seedy taUor grows daUy' more ragged, and the unemployed shoemaker despairingly sees his own feet come more and more fuUy in contact ¦with the frosty, flinty pavement ; whUe the seamstress out of work creeps to her bare garret and prays God that starvation, rather than infamy, may end her long battle, now so nearly lost, for the coarsest and scantiest bread. Legislators ! phUanthro- pists ! statesmen ! there must be some way out of this social labyrinth ; for God is good, and has not created men and wo men to starve for want of work. The precept " Six days shalt thou labor'' imphes and predicts work for aU; where is it? and what shaU supply it ? If you cannot or wUl n-ot solve this problem, at least do not defame or impede those who earnestly seek its solution ! I The great, the aU-embracing Eeform of our age is therefore the Social Eeform, — that which seeks to Uft the Laboring Class, as such, — not out of labor, by any means, — but out of ignorance, inefficiency, dependence, and want, and place them in a position of partnership and recognized mutual helpful ness with the suppliers of the Capital whicli they render / fruitful .and efficient. It is easily said that this is the case ^nbw ; but, practicaUy, the fact is otherwise. The man who has only labor to barter for wages or bread looks up to the buyer of his sole commodity as a benefactor ; the master and joumeyman, farmer and hired man, lender and borrower, mistress and servant, do not stand on a recognized footing of reciprocal benefaction. True, seff-interest is the acknowl- REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 509 edged impulse of either party; the lender, the employer,, parts with his money only to increase it, and so, it would \ seem, is entitled to prompt payment or faithful service, — J not, speciaUy, to gratitude. He who pays a bushel oT fair wheat for a day's work at sowing for next year's harvest has simply exchanged a modicum of his property for other prop erty, to him of greater value ; and so has no sort of claim to an unreciprocated obeisance from the other party to the bar gain. But so long as there shaU be ten who would gladly . borrow to one disposed and able to lend, and many more anxious to be hired than others able and wiUing to employ them, there always "wiU be a natural eagerness of competition for loans, advances, employment, and a resulting deference of borrower to lender, employed to employer. He who may hire .or not, as to him shaU seem profltable, is independent ; whUe he who must be hired or starve exists at others' mercy. Not tUl Society shaU be so adjusted, so organized, that who ever is ¦wiUing to work shaU assuredly have work, and fair recompense for doing it, as readily as he who has gold may exchange it for more portable notes, wiU the laborer be placed on a footing of jtistice and rightful independence. He who is able and ¦wUUng to give work for bread is not essentiaUy a pauper; he does not desire to abstract without recompense from the aggregate of the world's goods and chattels ; he is not rightfuUy a beggar. Wishing only to convert his own muscular energy into bread, it is not merely his but every man's interest that the opportunity should be afforded him, — nay, it is the clear duty of Society to render such ex change at aU times practicable and convenient. A community or Uttle world wherein aU freely serve and aU are amply served, — wherein each works according to his tastes or needs, and is paid for aU he does or brings to pass, — wherein education is free and common as air and sunshine, — wherein drones and sensualists cannot abide the social atmosphere, but are expelled by a quiet, wholesome fermen tation, — wherein humbugs and charlatans necessarUy find 510 MISCELLANIES. thefr level, and nought but actual service, tested by the severest ordeals, can secure approbation, and none but sterhng quahties ¦win esteem, — such is the ideal world of the Social ist. Grant that it is but a dream, — and such, as yet, it for the most part has been, — it by no means foUows that it has no practical value. On the contrary, an ideal, an iUusion, ff a noble one, has often been the inspfrer of grand and beneficent efforts. Moses was fated never to enter the Land of Promise he so longingly viewed from afar ; and Columbus never found — who can now wish that he had ? — that unimpeded sea- route westward to India that he sought so -wisely and so daringly. Yet stiff the world moves on, and by mysterious and unexpected ways the great, brave soul is permitted to subserve the benignant purposes of God contemplating the elevation and blessing of Man. And so, I cannot doubt, the unselfish efforts in our day for the meUoration of social hard ships, though their methods may be rejected as mistaken or defective, wiU yet signaUy conduce to thefr contemplated ends. FaU not, then, humble hoper for "the Good Time Coming," to lend your feeble sigh to swell the saUs of whatever bark is freighted -with earnest efforts for the mitigation of human woes, nor doubt that the Di-vine breath shaU waft it at last to its prayed-for haven ! TimewiU not suffice to speak fuUyof the efforts, but yester day so earnest and active, now so languid and unapparent, for the abohtion of the legal penalty of Death. 'Perhaps this effort has afready succeeded so far as it was best it should succeed at present, — that is, so far that some States in the West, as others in the East, have absolutely, and others virtuaUy, abolished the Death Penalty. If we could now forget the whole subject for ten years, we might, at the close of that period, compare carefully and searchingly the preva lence of capital crime in the States respectively which have abohshed and those which have retained the Gallows, and strike an instructive balance between them. For the present, let it suffice that no one appears now to be seriously contend- REFORMS AND .REFORMERS. 511 ing that life is less safe or crime more prevalent in the States which destroy no human lives than in others. And, when Society shaU for a generation have set a consistent example -of reverencing the inviolabiUty of this life, regarding it as a sacred gift from God, which He only may warrantably take away, — we may rationaUy hope that the example wiU not be lost, even- on those coustitutionaUy prone to outrage, violence, and crime. Nay, let me venture one more suggestion. The nations, races, ages, most advanced in civUization and knowledge have ever been most reluctant to quench the hght of life. Despots and oligarchies have mowed down men by wholesale, where repubhcs and popular governments have generaUy been for bearing and humane. Every trial of popular sovereignty in Eui'ope has been attended or foUowed by a mitigation or ditninution of sanguinary penalties ; and the glorious uprising of '48 would ere this have nearly dismissed the hangman or headsman from the pubhc service, if Eoyal treachery, courtly conspfracy, and popular le-vity had not crushed it. And now, I in the heyday of Eeaction, we hear from time to time of one despot after another, ha-ving recovered his throne and his presence of mind, reestabhshing or reinvigorating the GaUows. I rejoice in the hope that the progress of Christianity, civi lization, and hberty, wiU yet drive it altogether from the earth. I wiU barely glance at the great problem of Educational Eeform, — of the blending of Labor with Study, so as to pre serve health of body and vigorous activity of muid, enable the student nearly or quite to work his way through academy and coUege, and send him out better quaUfied to wrestle with adversity, instract the uneducated, and maintain a healthful mdependence, than he otherwise could be. Not to ai^ue or commend, but sunply to state the position of the Eeformers, shaU be the point of my aim. ^- The old division of mankind into a numerous, unlearned, or workmg, and a thinly sown but powerful thuikuig, di- 512 MISCEJ'..L.iNIES. recting, educated, governing class, is no longer possible, save in approximation. The principle underlying the Brahminical system of caste is ahen to our laws and our inteUectual con dition. The masses have at least a smattering of knowledge, and more than a shadow . of power; They may he educated badly, imperfectly, superficiaUy ; they wiU never again con sent to be not educated at aU. Ever-increasing miUions wiU be spent on their instruction : shall they thereby be taught what they need to know, or what is adapted to other needs than theirs ? An argument wUl hardly be necessary to show that the training required to make an able and efficient doc tor, lawyer, or clergyman, is not that which is essential to the development of a capable and well-informed farmer, me chanic, or civil engineer. Nobody contends that the routine of our coUeges is that which is best calculated to fit a youth for eminence as a military or naval commander : why, then, _shQuhL it be deemed_ appropriate for our embryo captams erf industry ? TTbne arejnore apt to inveigh ag^stjhe shaUow-._ ness or quackery of our current apphcations of science to agriculture, than they who bar the way to our advance to the acquisition of a science of agriculture which shaU be neither shallow nor empirical. The time when to know how to read was proof presump tive of an education for the priesthood can never be recaUed. ^The supposition that methodized knowledge js not as impar- tant to flie cultivator as to the clergyman^ no longer en tertained. No""lvise' champion of classical^ediication to-^- sadly or sneeringly inquires, with the Apocryphal writer, of Ecclesiasticus, "How can he get wisdom that holdeth the plough, that glorieth in the goad, that driveth oxen, and is oc cupied with the care of buUoclcs ?" The spirit that dictated those questions may stUl linger in some cloistral recesses, some sepulchral caverns, but it no longer stalks abroad out spoken and defiant. It is in otu age a thing of night, and must vanish with the da-wning of the day. Well, then : we need and must have a system of higher education which recognizes the truth that Man is by nature a REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 513 worker, — a fashioner and raler of matter, — that to be indus-' trious is dictated to him by a beneficent law of his being, and that daily muscular as weU as mental effort is among the con ditions of his healthful and joyful existence. We need an education which recognizes that God has placed men on earth that they may work, and that every attempt to escape this destiny paraUels the original offence of Jonah, and subjects the offender to calanuties hke to his. We need an educatiou_ which shaU not only regard as an end the forming of more' instructed and efficient farmers and artisans than we now have, but the ultimate training of the great mass of our youth to degrees of skUl in the choice and use of implements hith erto uhkno^wn. To this end, we must have seminaries which not merely provide work for their pupils, but require it in flexibly from aU, — which educate the head and the hand to gether, each to be the aUy and the complement of the other ; which shaU teach our aspiring youth, not only how to do bet ter than thefr fathers did in every field of blended intellect ual and indusfrial effort, but why this way is better than any other, and in what direction further improvement is to be made. Thus, and thus only, may we expect to elevate our indusfrial pursuits to that position which they are justly en titled to hold, and render them attractive to our aspiring and noble youth. Every useful vocation is respected in propor tion to the measure of inteUect it requires and rewards, and never can rise above this level. You may eulogize the Dig nity of Labor tUl doomsday, -without making a boot-black's calling as honorable as that of an engineer or a draughtsman ; and, so long as an ignorant and stupid boor shaU be esteemed -wise enough, learned enough, for a competent farmer or me chanic, aU spread-eagle glorification of Manual Labor wUl be demagogue cant and office-seeking hypocrisy. Only through a truer and nobler education can the working masses ever attain the position and the respect which the genius of our institutions predicts and requires for them. And that Educa tion has yet its seminaries to found and its professors to train or discover. 33 514 MISCELLANIES. But I must not dweU longer on special Eeform movements, though many others chaUenge our attention. If the few bricks taken almost at random give any- fafr idea of the character and proportions of the edifice, you wUl thence per ceive, — what many of you, doubtless, have not waited tiU now to learn, — that what the Eeform Spirit of our age labors pri marily and generaUy to estabUsh is the equality of Human Eights, regardless of aU disparities of strength, or knowledge, or caste, or creed, or color, — an equahty based on the aU- embracing moral obligation to consecrate every faculty, every impulse, to the highest good of Humanity. Through aU its selfishness, rapacity, foUy, and sin, the Genius of our Age speaks to us in tones which the discerning hear and the thoughtful heed ; and the burden of its message runs thus : " It is nobler and better to teach the chUd than to hang the man ; — it is wiser to remove temptation fr-om the path of the weak than to punish them because they have stumbled and faUen, — easier to find the vagrant orphan a home, and teach him a trade, than to watch him as a rogue and punish him as a thief, — cheaper and better for Society to find work for all who need and seek it than to support the needy in idleness as paupers, vagrants, or criminals, — nobler to warn than to doom, — more godhke to hft up than to crush down, — and far safer to he surrounded and shield ed by gratitude and love than to be waUed in -with batter ies and hedged about by spears." Thus testifies the age of Steam-Presses, EaUroads, and Lightning Telegraphs to States men, Legislators, and Eulers ; when shaU it be fuUy under stood and heeded ? But I have proposed to speak, not only of Eeforms, but of Eeformers, — a theme somewhat less grand and inspiring. For, indeed, the contrast between the work proposed and the man who proposes and undertakes it is often so broad as to partake of the ludicrous. I have met several in my day who were quite confident of their ability to correct Euclid's Geometry or upset Ne-wton's theory of Gravitation; but I REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 515 doubt whether one of them could have earned or borrowed two hundred doUars in the course of a year, and nothing stumps an average Eeformer of things in general so complete ly as to be asked to settle his board-bUl. I can guess with what awed apprehension the green disciple comes up fronT some rural hamlet or out-of-the-way -viUage to the metropohs, there to meet for the first time the oracle of some great move ment for the regeneration of the world, whose writings he has devoured with wondering admfration; and with what blank surprise he finds himseff introduced, at some club house or restaurant, to said oracle, — a spindhng, chattering, personaUy insignificant entity, who discourses volubly and disjointedly of the times, the crops, and the weather; and never even blunders on a pithy saying, unless when, in the fervor of good feUowship, he orders " Pork Chops for two." But it were hardly fair to ride do-wn Eeformers in a body, as a brigade of hea-vy cavalry might sweep over a pulk of Cos sacks ; let us analyze the mass with searching and patient discrimination. The first or lowest class among them I take to be the envious. The -wide disparity between most men's estimate of themselves respectively, and thefr neighbors' valuation of the very same article, has been abundantly observed. The num ber who suppose themselves enormously underrated in the world's opinion is very great ; and each believes that he would have long since acqufred a fortune or achieved eminence if he had only passed current for aU he was worth. The ambitious and conceited, thus stamped in the mint of Society at what they consider a ruinous depreciation, are naturally rebels against the authority which thus disranks and degrades them, — they know that the Social edifice is -wrong end up, from the fact that they are so near the bottom of it. And thus thousands fancy themselves Eeformers, while their real ob jection to the world as it is relates not at aU to the fashion of the structure, but solely to thefr own place in it. " Akin to this class is that of the devotees of Sensual Appe- 516 MISCELLANIES. ' tite, whose prospective miUennium is a period of general license, wherein everybody may do with impunity whatsoever his desires may prompt, — or, at least, they may. This class sees the Social world so covered, fettered, interpenetrated, hy laws, customs, beUefs, which plant themselves firmly across the path whereon its members are severaUy pressing forward to the gratification of every impulse, that it is plain that either Society is or they are sadly in the wrong ; and im perious Appetite forbids the conclusion that they are. If the world as it is would only concede them wealth without in- "dustry, enjoyment without obedience, respect without virtue, it would be as good a world now as they could ask for ; but since it wUl not (indeed, cannot) do thus, they make desper ate fight against it, just as a vicious and indiscreet buU, it is said, wUl sometimes butt heads with a locomotive. Byron speaks to us out of the heart of this class, and so forcibly that his statement wiU hardly be improved. The diction of this school is often nervous ; its logic in-vincible, ff only its premises be granted ; and its rhetoric reaUy fascinating to those who are in the heyday of youth and its passions ; but the understanding is only clouded, it is not convinced, by the inculcations thus incited, and the cooUng of the blood gives conscience an opportunity to reassert her long-ignored sovereignty. The free songs, so dehciously warbled and heartily dehghted in by bachelor Little, become a scandal and a nuisance to respectable Mr. Thomas Moore, husband of a worthy wffe, and father of piano-playing daughters ; and thus Social Order, without directly replying to the sophistries or resisting the vagaries of her revolting sons, awaits patiently the inevitable hour when they shall voluntarily kneel at her feet to abjure their treason, beg her forgiveness, and seek absolution. I think there is a small class whom mere force of wiU, or, rather, a spirit of antagonism, impels into the service of Ee form. These mark how unequal is the battle ever waged between the contending hosts, and are prompted by a chival rous sentiment to couch a lance on the weaker side. They REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 517 see how royalties, hierarchies, aristocracies, bourgeoises, aU support each other and overbear the opposing array, — how the victory so grandly won by Eadicahsm to-day only results at last in widening the hase and increasing the power of Con servatism ; and they mentaUy say, " Here goes for the side which must triumph, ff at aU, against immense odds, yet can never enjoy the fruits of a victory ! " — and so rush in, to be cut down, thrust back, or metamorphosed, as chance or Provi dence may determine. For indeed the argument for Conservatism is intrinsicaUy so strong, that only the maddest unwisdom, the most prepos terous displays of selfishness, on the part of its champions, could possibly overthrow it. No monarchy was ever under mined or overturned except through some monarch's o-wn blunders or crimes, and none ever wiU be. If ever man of wealth were so timorous as to fear that the houseless, shiver ing -wretches in the streets would eject the possessors of stately, comfortable mansions, and sit down securely in their places, he e-vinced a want of sagacity at least equal to his want of nerve. If a city could be sacked by its desperate denizens, the first set who effected a lodgement in its palaces would make haste to shoot the residue of the rabble horde for their own security, and so would weaken themselves be yond the possibiUty of maintaining thefr dizzy altitude. Eadicahsm is the tornado, the earthquake, which comes, acts, and. is gone for a century ; Conservatism is the granite, which may be chipped away here or there to buUd a new house, or let a raifroad pass, but which will substantially abide forever. The argument for Conservatism appeals resistlessly to aU who have good digestive organs which they cherish, with anything satisfactory whereon to employ them. The natural presumption that whatever has stood the shocks and muta tions of centuries is deeply grounded in Nature and the Di-vine purpose, is weUnigh invincible. "I grant you," says the Conservative, " that many things seem rather out of tune ; but what then ? Is it my duty to upset what so many great and good men have left untouched, and some of them 518 MISCELLANIES. have expressly commended? That the world is fuU of ignorance and -wrong, crime and woe, is very true ; but / cannot help that ; and it wUl do no good to shed gaUons of tears over it, and try to put others into mourning. No : let us take things as we find them; reheve distress when we can afford it, and float along as nearly with the current as will answer. Bad as the world is, a man -with good fortune, (which includes health,) a reasonable self-control, a tolerably clear .conscience, a well-filled store-house, and a fair balance with his banker, may extract a good deal of enjoyment from it, if he wUl wisely improve his opportunities, and not in sist on making himself miserable by dabbhng too deeply in the miseries of others." MUUons live aU of this, who do not say more than haff of it. Perhaps one of the most instractive spectacles is that of the impulsive young Eadical undergoing a gradual trans formation, or coohng off, into a staid, respectable Conserva tive, with property to care for, a position to maintain, and a reputation to cherish. He was honest of yore, and is honest (as the world goes) now; but cfrcumstances alter cases. "When he declaimed against the monopoly or aggregation of lands, he had none of his o-wn ; but he has since become " seized," as the la^wyers say, of a snug estate, and he would not Uke to have any one seize it away from him. It may be larger than one man absolutely needs ; but he wants to im prove it, and it wiU cut up nicely among his rather numerous children or nephews. So he builds him an elegant mansion, surrounds and fills it with evidences of taste and ministers to luxury, and sits do^wn to contemplate matters in general more calmly and philosophically than he did in his impulsive, headlong youth. And the great world without takes on a very different aspect when viewed through his elegant shrub bery, adown his velvet lawn, and colored rosily by the bumper of generous juice which often gets between his eyes and the distant prospect, from that it wore when viewed ¦wdth naked optics, or with only a cup of crystal water between him REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 519 and the sun. " Yes," he says, slowly and languidly, " there is need of Eeform ; but let it be effected prudently and deco rously. These modern Eadicals are different from those of my young days : they are rash, reckless, destructive, infidel ; I can have no sympathy, no feUowship, with such." True, 0 Plutus ! you can have none. But " pradently," did you say, sir ? Ah no ! Eeforms of any depth wUl never be urged prudently and cautiously ; for, if their advocates were pru dent, they would not be Eeformers at aU. Very likely. Prudence may step in at the opportune moment, and mediate successfuUy between heedless Innovation and stubborn Ee action ; but to wait for Prudence to impel a Eeform is to wait* for Death to originate Life. And, indeed, the embarrassment of headlong alhes is one of the chief sorrows of the Beformer's lot. He can never say " A " ¦without some one else foUowing with a " B " which he is sure does not belong to the same alphabet ; but this the other as confidently denies ; and the whole Conservative party backs the latter with aU its force. Luther's career was per petuaUy made thorny by this sort of unwelcome allies, and Bossuet knew exactly from what armory to draw the most deadly shafts to hurl against the advancing hosts of the Eeformation. " If you assert this, how wUl you defend your position against Mm who wUl manifestly assert that ? If you put the Bible above the Church, how answer him who puts Eeason above the Bible ? If you insist that every man shaU be aUowed to vote, how resist the demand that every wornan be equaUy enfranchised ? If you repudiate vindictive pun ishments, how justffy punishment at aU ? " I think it was Brougham who observed, that there never yet was a Eeform proposed that might not have been defeated by giving ade quate weight to the question, " If you go so far, why not farther ? If this be right, is not more equally right ? And where can you consistently stop ? " And thus many a fiery Eadical has been cooled down into placid (or acrid) Con servatism, by discovering that the character of his associates. 520 MISCELLANIE^. the tendency of their doctrines, the ends which they con templated, were such as he could never approve. I I presume there are not many Eeformers worthy of the designation who ever anticipated fame or wealth as a result of their labors in the cause of Humanity. Yet I recoUect m appUcation once made to me by a particularly green j^outh, who wished employment as a -writer or journalist, furging as an inducement that he thought he could indite /some forcible essay in favor of the Eeforms wherein I was / deeply interested. " My friend," I felt consfrained to reply, '~^1 can very easily write myseff quite as much in favor of those Eeforms as the pubhc wUl bear ; another such hand at the beUows would ruin me." Conservatism hasmaig- faults, but Jtjs_a_goodjgaymaster ; whUe EadicaUsm isconstitution^ aUy out at the elbows, and may toss you its purse with ever so lordly an air, but aU you take by the motion is a poor six penny worth of dried eelskin. True, now and then a Ee former hves to fight out his special battle, and secure the hard-won triumph of his well-directed, persistent effort. But by this time Conservatism has taken the bantling into her snug house, there to fondle and cherish it as her own ; whUe EadicaUsm has swept on to new efforts, new struggles, per haps ultimately new triumphs : so the forlorn Eeformer stands shivering at the remorseless door which has en gulfed his darling ;' he cannot hope to overtake the rushing host, which is now far on its eager way, and indeed he has no heart for the attempt ; so he commonly ends by begging admittance into the mansion, and the privUege of now and then fondling the baby, which cooUy eyes the queer, old, seedy codger, and wonders how he ever wormed his way into the haUowed precincts of Eespectability and Elegance. He says nothing, for his heart is too fuU; but gathers up his tattered garments and dies, looking fondly, sadly, on that cold, averted face to the last. To the earnest, true Eeformer, Ufe is indeed no hoUday REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 521 feast, and earth no Eden garnished -with singing-birds and flowers. The most sanguine, buoyant soul, once fairly en tered on this career, is not long in learning how much stronger is old Adam than young Melancthon. Not merely that his bread is apt to be coarse and his couch somewhat rugged, — he was prepared for this, — but the intractihUity of ignorance, the stubbornness of prejudice, the thanklessness of those arrested in a downhUl career, the inefficiency of effort, and " the heart-sickness of hope deferred," are indeed appaUing. Doubting, irresolute Hamlet may weU be dis tracted, not so much by the fact that " the times are out of joint," as that he seems to have been "born to set things right." For the^ moral dangers of the Beformer's calhng are even more disheartening .than its pecuniary discouragements. " Do you know," said a broken-down ex-lecturer for Temper ance, Anti-Slavery, &c., &c., once to me, in a tone and -with a look of deep meaning, " that there is no Ufe so unhealthy as that of a popular agitator?" The "patriot to a brewery" may even enjoy it ; but for the proud, shy, home-bred man, who would rather see the smile on the face of the loved one than be the subject of a civic ovation, and rather hear the idle prattle of his babes than the shouts of clustered thou sands responsive to his burning words, it is a cold, stem hfe that he leads ; and he labors under constant apprehensions that, whUe .he is striving to diffuse sentiments of benignity, generosity, and mercy, the mUk of human kindness, by rea son of those very efforts, is slowly drying up in his o-wn breast, and he, whUe stiU sfruggUng earnestly, though some what mechanicaUy, to redeem the human race, is coming graduaUy to dislike and despise them. The most striking, perhaps the only general, tribute ever paid to the position and merits of the trae Eeformer is that embodied in the universal jeer and shout which announces the e?;posure of the fallen aspirant or false pretender. As there was never a vUlain who did not hail with hearty exul tation the exposure of a priest's lechery or a morahst's 522 MISCELLANIES. knavery, so the lazy, sensual, luxury-loving, money-grasping ¦million enjoy nothing more keenly than the tidings that one who has reproved their selfishness and made them uncomfort able by his projects of social meUoration or homihes on human brotherhood has at length been tempted into sin, or turned inside out by some casual revelation, and proved as selfish and venal as themselves. As the news is rapidly dis seminated, the face of sensualism and seff-seeking broadens into one universal grin, — peal after peal of " unextinguished laughter" disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere, — you might suspect from hearing it that everybody's uncle had died, and left him heir to a bounteous fortune. The grandest Hebrew prophet, looking on such a spectacle, might forcibly say, as of old : " HeU from beneath is stirred up to meet thee ; it stirreth up its denizens to inquire exultingly, ' Art thou also become as one of us ? ' " And thus the Eeformer who, whUe he stood erect, seemed beneath the meanest, — more hated, reviled, and despised, — shaU prove by his faU that he was dreaded, and reaUy honored, as weU; that the devils contemplated his efforts in the spfrit which beheves and trembles ; that, those who most defamed and misrepre sented, yet secretly respected and ¦wished themselves -virtuous enough to be almost, if not altogether, such as he. And thus a career which in its progress seemed despised and repro bated shaU yet in its defeat and ruin prove to- have been reaUy admired and honored, even by those who lacked -virtue to imitate or even commend it. Yet this shout from the nethermost hades is by no means justified by the fact on which it is based. Men are often weak and faUible in action, even though their intellectual perception of the right is of the deepest and clearest. Ba con's philosophy is sound and valuable, though Bacon was a corrupt chancellor, a bribed judge. The earth does move, in accordance with Galileo's hypothesis, though GaUleo himself was induced by ghostly fulminations and personal perils to recant it. Peter might have denied and blasphemed tUl doomsday -without beUttUng or confounding that salvation of REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 523 which he had been chosen a -witness and an apostle, Few men are equal in their daily Uves to the moral altitude of thefr highest perceptions ; and aU the confessors and martyrs might apostatize, and heap shame on their own heads, with out detracting one iota from the worth of philanthropy or Christianity. Man is a reed which the slightest breeze de flects, the feeblest step prostrates ; but Truth is adamant and eternal. Yes, it is a great thing to be traly a Eeformer, even one misinterpreted and scorned through life, as what genuine Eeformer ever failed to be. The tombs of the dead prophets are buUt only of the stones hurled at them while living ; and thus may we accurately measure the greatness of their daring, the force and truth of their unprecedented utterances. To speak firmly the word destined ultimately to heal Man's dead- hest maladies, yet certain instantly to evoke his direst curses — this is a heroism whereof no other forlorn hope than that of Humanity is capable. Idly, weakly, shaU the timidly per spicacious hope to speak the great truth, yet not offend the beneficiaries of current falsehoods ; to declare the true God, yet excite no uproar among Diana's silversmiths. The world was never created, and is not governed, so that Pohcy and • Principle, Time and Eternity, God and Mammon, can aU be served together. If they could be. Virtue would be merely shrewdness, and bUndness the physical synonyme of evU. But what then ? Do we say that the path of Eectitude is thorny and craggy, and that the only verdure and balmy sun shine that approach it are those of the adjacent, aUuring by ways of Luxury and Ease, leading down to the garden of Sen sual Pleasure ? By no means. What is affirmed is not that .Tmth's service is necessarily one of privation and suffering, but that the true soldiers never choose it as the way of ease, of ambition, or from any selfish consideration whatever, but because it is the way of Eight. " Necessity is upon me," says the trae Apostle ; his course is one dictated to him by 524 MISCELLANIES. considerations higher than any hopes of heaven, deeper than any fears of heU. Doubtless, to the eye of sense, his career seems dwarfish, his aspirations baffled, his Ufe a defeat and a faUure. But he has never appealed to the ordeal of sense, and feels under no obhgation to accept its judgments. "Who shaU say that Nebuchadnezzar on his throne is happier than Daniel in his prison ? or that Herod in his palace, gorged -with Epi curean dainties, and gloating over voluptuous music and dan cing, is more blest than the uncouth, stem-souled Baptist, striding in soUtary hunger over sun-scorched deserts of rock and sand, — very far from luxury, but very near to God, — or contemplating his s-wiftly approaching death in a malefactor's dungeon ? Jerusalem and the Temple, the Palace and its gardens, are the possessions of the former ; but what are they to the celestial splendors, the eternal verities, which are present to the rapt, adoring gaze of the latter, and gild the visions of his rocky couch with a glory inconceivable to the apprehen sion of the Sadducee ? These' two can never understand each other while they remain essentiaUy, as now. The unbehef that questions, and ca-vils, and scruples, and doubts, and denies, seems to him incomparably less -vfrulent and fearful than that which makes mitres and triple-crowns counters of a sordid ambition, and shakes the keys of eternal bliss or woe in the face of long- ¦ suffering milhons, to make them bow thefr necks passively to the yoke of a soul-crushing despotism. For, indeed, to the Beformer's apprehension, nothing can be more absurd than the dread of frrehgion professed by men whose daily Uves are a proclamation of indifference to the wants and wrongs of the benighted and destitute, — who are so mtent on havmg the Poor evangehzed, that they do not ask how they are to be fed, — and who act as though a plen tfful distribution of tracts and Bibles would alone suffice to banish evil from the earth. To the Conservative, EeUgion would seem often a part of the subordinate machuiery of PoUce, having for its mam REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 525 object the instUling of proper humUity uito the abject, of contentment into the breasts of the down-trodden, and of endumg -with a sacred reverence for Property those who have no personal reason to think weU of the sharp distinction of Mine and Thuie. The Eeformer, on the other hand, insists on Humanity as the ine-vitable manifestation of aU trae EeU gion, presses the best-beloved Apostle's searching question, " If a man love not his brother, whom he has seen, how can he love God, whom he has not seen " ? or, as a poet of our own day has phrased it, affirms that there " are infidels to Adam worse than infidels to God," and that the effective answer to an unperfect, halting faith, is a devoted, loving Ufe. This earnest, angry strffe shaU yet be composed, — this stormy clamor be hushed, — not through the absolute defeat of either party, but through the recognition by each of the trath af&rmed by the other, so that Conservatism and Eeform shaU take thefr places side by side on the same platform, and Faith ahd Life, Humanity and Christianity, be recognized by our enlarged vision as halves of the same unit, planets re- vol-ving around and hghted in turn by the same sun of Ever lasting Truth. Meantime, let us cherish the Eeformer ! for his, and not the Conservative's, is the active, aggressive force through which this ultimate harmonization of the Eeal -with the Ideal is to be achieved. Harsh and sweeping, rash and destructive, he may seem, and often is ; but his fire, however bhnd and indiscriminate its rage, -wiU be found at last to have left unconsumed aU that was really worth preserving. With him, whUe we respect the proper force and legitimate ftmction of Conservatism, we must say — " Standing still is childish folly ; Going backward is a crime ; None should patiently endure Any ill that he can cure : Onward ! keep the march of Tirae ! Onward ! while a wrong remains To be conquered by the right. 526 MISCELLANIES. While Oppression lifts a finger To affront us by his might. While an error clouds the reason Of the universal heart. Or a slave awaits his freedom. Action is the wise man's part." And to him our final word of gratitude and cheer shaU fitly be— " We thank thee, watcher on the lonely tower, For all thou tellest of the coming hour When Error shall decay aud Tmth grow strong, And Right shall rule supreme and vanquish Wrong." And, indeed, though the hfe of the Eeformer may seem rugged and arduous, it were hard to say considerately that any other were worth Uving at aU. "Who can thoughtfuUy afSrm that the career of the conquering, desolating, subju gating warrior, — of the devotee of Gold, or Pomp, or Sensual Joys ; the Monarch in his purple, the Miser by his chest, the wassailer over his bowl, — is not a Ubel on Humanity and an offence against God ? But- the earnest, unselfish Ee former, — born into a state of darkness, evil, and suffering, and honestly striving to replace these by Ught, and purity, and happiness, — he may fall and die, as so many have done before him, but he cannot faU. His vindication shaU gleam from the walls of his hovel, his dungeon, his tomb ; it shaU shine in the radiant eyes of uncorrupted ChUdhood, and faU in blessings from the hps of high-hearted, generous Youth. As the untimely death of the good is our strongest moral assurance of the Eesurrection, so the life wearUy worn out in doubtful and perUous conflict with Wrong and Woe is our most conclusive evidence that Wrong and Woe shaU "yet vanish forever. Luther, dying amid the agonizing tears and wUd consternation of aU Protestant Germany, — Columbus, bome in regal pomp to his grave by the satellites of the royal miscreant whose ingratitude and perfidy had broken his mighty heart, — Lovejoy, pouring out his hfe-blood beside the Press whose freedom he had so gallantly defended, — yes, and not less majestic, certainly not less tragic, than either, the REFORMS AND REFORMERS. 527 lowly and lonely couch of the dying ' Uncle Tom,' whose whole Ufe had been a brave and Christian battle against monstrous injustice and crime, — these teach us, at least, that aU true greatness is ripened, and tempered, and proved, in hfe-long struggle against -vicious beUefs, traditions, practices, institutions ; and that not to have been a Eeformer is not to have truly Uved. Life is a bubble which any breath may dissolve ; Wealth or Power a snow-flake, melting momently into the freacherous deep across whose waves we are floated on to our unseen destiny ; but to have h-ved so that one less orphan is caUed to choose between starvation and infamy, — one less slave feels the lash applied in mere wantonness or cruelty, — to have Uved so that some eyes of those whom Fame shaU never know are brightened and others sufPused at the name of the beloved one, — so that the few who knew bim truly shaU recognize him as a bright, warm, cheering presence, which was here for a season and left the world no worse for his stay in it, — this surely is to have reaUy lived, — and not whoUy in vain. THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION.* Me. President and Eespected A"crDiTOES : — IT has devolved on me, as junior advocate for the cause of Protection, to open the discussion of this question. I do this "with less diffidence than I should feel in meeting able opponents and practised disputants on almost any other topic, because I am strongly confident that you, my hearers, "wUl regard this as a subject demanding logic rather than rhetoric, the exhibition and proper treatment of homely tenths, rather than the indulgence of flights of fancy. As sensible as you can be of -my deficiencies as a debater, I have chosen to put my -views on paper, in order that I may present them in as con cise a manner as possible, and not consume my hour before commencing my argument. You have nothing of oratory to lose by this course ; I wiU hope that something may be gained to my cause in clearness and force. And here let me say that, while the hours I have been enabled to give to preparation for this debate have heen few indeed, I feel the less regret in that my life has heen in some measure a preparation. If there be any subject to which I have devoted time, and thought, and patient study, in a spirit of anxious desire to learn and foUow the trath, it is this very question of Protection; if I have totaUy misapprehended its character and bearings, then am * Speech at the Tabernacle, New York, -February 10, 1843, in public debate on this resolution : — Resolved, That a Protective Tariff is conducive to our National Prosperity. Afiirmative : Joseph Blunt, Negative : Samuel J. Tilden, Horace Greeley. Parke Godwin. THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 529 I ignorant, hopelessly ignorant indeed. And, whUe I may not hope to set before you, in the brief space allotted me, aU that is essential to a fuU understanding of a question which spans the whole arch of PoUtical Economy, — on which abler men have -written volumes without at aU exhausting it, — I do entertain a sanguine hope that I shaU be able to set before you considerations conclusive to the candid and imbiassed mind of the policy and necessity of Protection. ¦ Let us not waste our time on non-essentials. That unwise and unjust measures have been adopted under the pretence of Protection, I stand not here to deny; that laws intended to be Protective have sometimes been injurious in thefr tendency, I need not dispute. The logic which would thence infer the futUity or the danger of Protective Legislation would just as easUy prove all laws and aU poUcy mischievous and destruc tive. Pohtical Economy is one of the latest-born of the Sciences; the very fact that we meet here this evening to discuss a question so fundamental as this proves it to be yet in its comparative infancy. The sole favor I shaU ask of my opponents, therefore, is that they wiU not waste their efforts and your time in attacking positions that we do not maintain, and hewing do-wn straw giants of their o-wn manufacture, but meet directly the arguments which I shaU advance, and which, for the sake of simphcity and clearness, I wiU proceed to put before you in the form of Propositions and thefr IUus trations, as foUows : — Proposition I. A Nation which would be prosperous, MUST PROSECUTE VARIOUS BRANCHES OF INDUSTRY, AND SUPPLY ITS VITAL Wants mainly by the Labor oe its own Hands. Cast your eyes where you -wiU over the face of the earth, frace back the History of Man and of Nations to the earhest recorded periods, and I think you wUl find this rule uniformly prevaUing, that the nation which is eminently Agri cultural and Grain-exporting, — which depends mainly or principaUy on other nations for its regular suppUes of Manu factured fabrics, — has been comparatively a, poor nation, and 34 530 MISCELLANIES. ultimately a dependent nation. I do not say that this is the instant result of exchanging the rade staples of Agriculture for the more dehcate fabrics of Art ; but I maintain that it is the ine-vitable tendency. The Agricultural nation falls in debt, becomes impoverished, and ultimately subject. The palaces of " merchant princes " may emblazon its harbors and overshadow its navigable waters ; there may be a mighty Alexandria, but a miserable Egypt behind it ; a fiourishing Odessa or Dantzic, hut a rude, thinly peopled southern Eussia or Poland ; the exchangers may flourish and roU in luxury, but the producers famish and die. Indeed, few old and civilized countries become largely exporters of grain untU they have lost, or by corruption are prepared to surrender, their independence ; and these often present the spectacle of the laborer starving on the fields he has tUled, in the midst of their fertihty and promise. These appearances rest upon and indicate a law, which I shaU endeavor hereafter to ex plain. I pass now to my Proposition II. There is a natural tendency in a com paratively new Country to become and continue an" Exporter of Grain and other rude Staples and an Im porter of Manufactures. I think I hardly need waste time in demonstrating this proposition, since it is Ulustrated and confirmed by universal experience, and rests on obvious laws. The new country has abundant and fertUe soil, and produces Grain -with remarkable facUity ; also. Meats, Timber, Ashes, and most rude and bulky articles. Labor is there in demand, being required to clear, to build, to open roads, &c., and the laborers are comparatively few ; while, in older countries. Labor is abundant and cheap, as also are Capital, Machuiery, and all the means of the cheap production of Manufactured fabrics. I surely need not waste words to show that, in the absence of any counteracting pohcy, the new country will import, and continue to import, largely of the fabrics of older counfries, and to pay for them, so far as she may, with her Agricultural staples. I -wiU THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 531 endeavor to show hereafter that she will continue to do this long after she has attained a condition to manufacture them as cheaply for herself, even regarding the money cost alone. But that does not come under the present head. The whole history of our country, and especiaUy from 1782 to '90, when we had no Tariff and scarcely any Paper Money, — proves that, whatever may be the Currency or the internal condi tion of the new country, it will continue to draw its chief supphes from the old, — large or smaU according to its meas ure of abiUty to pay or obtain credit for them ; but still, putting Duties on Imports out of the question, it wiU con tinue to buy its Manufactures abroad, whether in prosperity or adversity, inflation or depression. I now advance to my Proposition III. It is injurious to the New Country THUS to continue DEPENDENT FOR ITS SUPPLIES OF CLOTHING AND Manufactured Fabrics on the Old. As this is probably the point on which the doctrines of Protection first come directly in coUision "with those of Free Trade, I wUl treat it more deUberately, and endeavor to iUus trate and demonstrate it. I presume I need not waste time in pro"ving that the ruling price of Grain (as of any Manufacture) in a region whence it is considerably exported, will be its price at the point to which it is exported, less the cost of suxih transportation. For instance: the cost of transporting "Wheat hither from large grain-growing sections of lUinois was last faU sixty cents ; and. New York being thefr most available market, and the price here ninety cents, the market there at once settled at thirty cents. As this adjustment of prices rests on a law obvious, immutable as gravitation, I presume I need not waste words in estabUshing it. I proceed, then, to my next point. The average price of Wheat throughout the world is something less than one dollar per bushel; higher where the consumption largely exceeds 532 MISCELLANIES. theadjacent production, — lower where the production largely exceeds the immediate consumption (I put out of view in this statement the inequahties created by Tariffs, as I choose at this point to argue the question on the basis of universal Free Trade, which is of course the basis most favorable to my opponents). I say, then, if aU Tariffs were abohshed to-mor row, the price of Wheat in England -^ that being the most considerable ultimate market of surpluses, and the chief sup plier of our manufactures — would govern the price in this country, -while it would be itseff governed by the price at which that staple could be procured in sufficiency from other grain-growing regions. Now, Southern Eussia and Central Poland produce "Wheat for exportation at thirty to fifty cents per bushel ; but the price is so increased by the cost of frans- portation that at Dantzic it averages some ninety and at Odessa some eighty cents per bushel. The cost of importa tion to England from these ports being ten and fifteen cents respectively, the actual cost of the article in England, aU charges paid, and allo"wing for a smaU increase of price con sequent on the increased demand, would not, in th§ absence of aU Tariffs whatever, exceed one doUar and ten cents per bushel; and this would be the average price at which we must seU it in England in order to buy thence the great bulk of our Manufactures. I think no man wiU dispute or seriously vary this calculation. Neither can any reflecting man seri ously contend that we could purchase forty or fifty miUions' worth or more of Foreign Manufactures per annum, and pay for them in additional products of our Slave Labor — in Cot ton and Tobacco. The consumption of these articles is now pressed to its utmost limit, — that of Cotton especiaUy is borne down by the immense weight of the crops annuaUy thrown upon it, and almost constantly on the verge of a glut. If we are to buy our Manufactures principally from Europe, we must pay for the additional amount mainly in the pro ducts of Northern Agricultural industry, — that is universaUy agreed on. The point to be determined is, whether we could obtain them abroad cheaper — really and positively cheaper. THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 533 aU Tariffs being abrogated — than under an efficient system of Protection. Let us closely scan this question. lUinois and Indiana, natural grain-gro-wing States, need Cloths ; and, in the absence of aU Tariffs, these can be transported to them from England for two to three per cent, of their value. It foUows, then, that, in order to underseU any American competition, the Brit ish Manufacturer need only put his cloths at his ia.ctorj five per cent, below the wholesale price of such cloths in IlUnois, in order to command the American market. That is, aUo-wing a fafr broadcloth to be manufactured in or near lUinois for three doUars and a quarter per yard, cash price, in the face of British rivalry, and paying American prices for materials and labor, the British manufacturer has only to make that same cloth at three doUars per yard in Leeds or Huddersfield, and he can decidedly underseU his American rival, and drive him out of the market. Mind, I do not say that he would supply the IlUnois market at that price after the American rivafry had been crushed ; I know he would not ; but, so long as any serious effort to buUd up or sustain Manufactures in this country existed, the large and strong European estabUshments would struggle for the additional market which our growing and plenteous country so in-vitingly proffers. It is weU known that in 1815 — 16, after the close of the Last War, British Manufac tures were offered for sale in our chief markets at the rate of "pound for pound" — that is, fabrics of which the first cost to the manufacturer was $ 4.-44 were offered in Boston market at $ 3.33, duty paid. This was not sacrifice, — it was dictated by a profound forecast. WeU did the foreign fabri- cants know that their seff-interest dictated the utter over throw, at whatever cost, of the young rivals which the war had built up in this Country, and which our Govemment and a majority of the People had bhndly or indolently abandoned to thefr fate. Wilham Cobbett, the celebrated Eadical, but with a sturdy EngUsh heart, boasted upon his first retum to England that he had been actively engaged here in promoting the interests of his country by compassing the destruction of 534 MISCELLANIES. American Manufactories in various ways which he specified, — " sometimes (says he) hy Fire." We aU know that great sacrifices are often submitted to by a rich and long-estabhshed stage-owner, steamboat proprietor, or whatever, to break down a young and comparatively penniless rival. So in a thousand instances, especiaUy in a rivalry for so large a prize as the supplying with Manufactures of a great and growing Nation. But I here put aside aU calculations of a temporary sacrifice ; I suppose merely that the foreign manufacturers wiU supply our Grain-growing States with Cloths at a trifling profit so long as they encounter American rivalry ; and I say it is per fectly obvious that, ff it cost three doUars and a quarter a yard to make a fafr broadcloth in or near IlUnois, in the infancy of our arts, and a hke article could be made in Europe for three doUars, then the utter destruction of the American manufacture is inevitable. The Foreign drives it out of the market and its maker into bankruptcy ; and now our farmers, in purchasing thefr cloths, " buy where they can buy cheapest," which is the first commandment of Free Trade, and get their cloth of England at three doUars a yard. I maintain that this would not last a year after the American factories had been silenced, — that then the British operator would begin to think of profits as weU as bare cost for his cloth, and to adjust his prices so as to recover what it had cost him to put down the dangerous competition. But let this pass for the present, and say the Foreign Cloth is sold to Ilhnois for three doUars per yard. We have yet to ascertain how much she has gained or lost by the operation. This, says Free Trade, is very plain and easy. The four simple rules of Arithmetic suffice to measure it. She has bought, say a mUUon yards of Foreign Cloth for three doUars, where she formerly paid three and a quarter for American ; making a clear saving of a quarter of a milUon doUars. But not so fast, — we have omitted one important element of the calculation. We have yet to see what effect the pur chase of her Cloth in Europe, as contrasted with its manufac ture at home, wUl have on the price of her Agricultural sta- THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 535 pies. We have seen afready that, in case she is forced to seU a portion of her surplus product in Europe, the price of that surplus must be the price which can be procured for it in England, less the cost of carrying it there. In other words : the average price in England being one doUar and ten cents, and the average cost of bringing it to New York being at least fifty cents and then of transporting it to England at least twenty-five more, the net proceeds to lUinois cannot ex ceed thfrty-five cents per bushel I need not more than state so obvious a truth as that the price at which the surplus can be sold governs the price of the whole crop ; nor, indeed, ff it were possible to deny this would it at aU affect the argument. The real question to be determined is, not whether the Amer ican or the British manufacturers wUl furnish the most cloth for the least cash, but which wiU supply the requisite quan tity of Cloth for the least Grain in Illinois. Now we have seen already that the price of Grain at any point where it is readUy and largely produced is governed by its nearness to or remoteness from the market to which its surplus tends, and the least favorable market in which any portion of it must be sold. For instance : if IlUnois produces a surplus of five million bushels of Grain, and can seU one miUion of bushels in New York, and two miUions in New England, and another mUhon in the West Indies, and for the fifth miUion is com peUed to seek a market in England, and that, being the remot est point at which she sells, and the point most exposed to disadvantageous competition, is naturaUy the poorest market, that farthest and lowest market to which she sends her sur plus wiU govern, to a great extent ff not absolutely, the price she receives for the whole surplus. But, on the other hand, let her Cloths, her Wares, be manufactured m her midst, or on the junctions and waterfalls in her vicinity, thus affording an immediate market for her Grain, and now the average price of it rises, by an irresistible law, nearly or quite to the aver age of the world. Assuming that average to be one doUar, the price in Ilhnois, making aUowance for the fertUity and cheapness of her soU, could not faU below an average of sev- 536 MISCELLANIES. enty-five cents. Indeed, the experience of the periods when her consumption of Grain has been equal to her production, as weU as that of other sections where the. same has been the case, proves conclusively that the average price of her Wheat would exceed that sum. We are now ready to calculate the profit and loss. IlUnois, under Free Trade, with her " workshops in Europe," -wiU buy her cloth twenty-five cents per yard cheaper, and thus make a nominal saving of two hundred and fifty thousand doUars in her year's supply ; but, she thereby compels herseff to pay for it in "Wheat at thirty-five instead of seventy-five cents per bushel, or to give over nine and one thfrd bushels of "Wheat for every yard under Free Trade, instead of four and- a third under a system of Home Production. In other words, whUe she is making a quarter of a miUion doUars by buying her Cloth " where she can buy cheapest," she is losing nearly Two Milhons of DoUars on the net product of her Grain. The striking of a balance between her profit and her loss is cer tainly not a difficult, but rather an unpromising, operation. Or, let us state the result in another form : She can buy her cloth a httle cheaper in England, — Labor being there lower. Machinery more perfect, and Capital more abundant ; but, in order to pay for it, she must not merely seU her o-wn products at a correspondingly low price, but enough lower to overcome the cost of transporting them from lUinois to Eng land. She wiU give the cloth-maker in England less Grain for her Cloth than she would give to the man who made it on her own soU; but for every bushel she sends him in payment for his fabric, she must give two to the wagoner, boatman, shipper, and factor, who transport it thither. On the whole product of her industry, two thirds is toUed out by carriers and bored out by Inspectors, untU but a beggarly remnant is left to satisfy the fabricator of her goods. And here I tmst I have made obvious to you the law which dooms an Agricultural Country to inevitable and rain- ous disadvantage in exchanging its staples for Manufactures, THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 537 and involves it in perpetual and increasing debt and depend ence. The fact, I early aUuded to ; is not the reason now apparent ? It is not that Agricultural communities are more extravagant or less industrious than those in which Manufac tures or Commerce preponderate, — it is because there is an ine-vitable disadvantage to Agriculture in the very nature of aU distant exchanges. Its products are far more perishable than any other ; they cannot so weU await a future demand ; but in thefr excessive bulk and density is the great evil We have seen that, whUe the EngUsh Manufacturer can send his fabrics to IlUnois for less than five per cent, on their first cost, the Ilhnois farmer must pay two hundred per cent, on his Grain for its transportation to Enghsh consumers. In other words : the Enghsh manufacturer need only produce his goods five per cent, below the American to drive the latter out of the lUinois market, the lUinoian must produce wheat for one third of its Enghsh price in order to compete with the EngUsh and PoUsh grain-grower in Bfrmingham and Shef field. And here is the answer to that scintUlation of Free Trade -wisdom which flashes out in wonder that Manufactures are etemaUy and especiaUy in want of Protection, whUe Agricul ture and Commerce need none. The assumption is false in any sense, — our Commerce and Navigation cannot live with out Protection, — never did hve so, — but let that pass. It is the interest of the whole country which demands that that portion of its Industry which is most exposed to ruinous foreign rivafry should be cherished and sustained. The wheat-grower, the grazier, is protected by ocean and land ; by the fact that no foreign article can be introduced to rival his except at a cost for transportation of some thirty to one hundred per cent, on its value ; while our Manufactures can be inundated by foreign competition at a cost of some two to ten per cent. It is the grain-grower, the cattle-raiser, who is protected by a duty on Foreign Manufactures, quite as much as the spinner or shoemaker. He who talks of Manufactures being protected and nothing else, might just as 538 MISCELLANIES. sensibly complain that we fortify Boston and New York, and not Pittsburg and CincinnatL Again : You see here our answer to those philosophers who modestly teU us- that thefr views are liberal and enhghtened, whUe ours are benighted, selfish, and un-Christian. They tell us that the foreign factory-laborer is anxious to exchange with us the fruits of his labor, — that he asks us to give him of our surplus of grain for the cloth that he is ready to make cheaper than we can now get it, while we have a superabun dance of bread. Now, putting for the present out of the question the fact that, though our Tariff were abolished, his could remain, — that neither England, nor France, nor any great manufacturing country, would receive our Grain untaxed though we offered so to. take thefr. goods, — especiaUy the fact that they never did so take of us while we were freely taking of them, — we say to them, "Sirs, we are wiUing to take Cloth of you for Grain : but why prefer to trade at a ruinous disadvantage to both ? Why should there he haff the diame ter of the earth between him who makes coats and him who makes bread, the one for the other ? We are wilhng to give you bread for clothes ; but we are not wiUing to pay two thfrds of our bread as the cost of transporting the other third to you, because we sincerely believe it needless and greatly to our disadvantage. We are -willing to work for and buy of you, but not to support the useless and crippling activity of a falsely dfrected Commerce ': not to contribute hy otu sweat to the luxury of your nobles, the power of your kings. But come to us, you who are honest, peaceable, and industrious ; bring hither your machinery, or, if that is not yours, bring out your sinews ; and we -wUl aid you to reproduce the imple ments of your skill. We -wiU give you more bread for your cloth here than you can possibly earn for it where you are, ff you wUl but come among us and aid us to sustain the pohcy that secures steady employment and a fair reward to Home Industry. We will no longer aid to prolong your existence in a state of semi-starvation where you are ; but we are ready THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 539 to share with you our Plenty and our Freedom here." Such is the answer which the friends of Protection make to the demand and the imputation : judge ye whether our pohcy be indeed selfish) uu-Christian, and insane. I proceed now to set forth my Proposition TV. That Equilibrium bet-ween Agriculture, Manufactures and Commerce, which we need, can only be maintained by means of Protective Duties. You -wUl have seen that the object we seek is not to make our country a Manufacturer for other nations, but for herseff, — not to make her the baker and brewer and taUor of other people, but of her own household. If I understand at aU the first rudiments of National Economy, it is best for each and aU nations that each should mainly fabricate for itseff, freely purchashig of others aU such staples as its own soU or chmate proves ungenial to. We appreciate quite as weU as our opponents the impoUcy of attempting to grow coffee in Greenland or glaciers in Malabar, — to extract blood from a turnip or sunbeams from cucumbers. A vast deal of wit has been expended on our stupidity by our acuter adversaries, but it has been quite thrown away, except as it has excited the hoUow laughter of the ignorant as weU as thoughtless. All this, however sharply pushed, falls wide of our true position. To aU the fine words we hear about " the impossibiUty of counteracting the laws of Nature," " Trade regulating itseff," &c., &c., we bow -with due deference, and wait for the sage to resume his argument. What we do affirm is this, that it is lest for every nation to make at home all those articles of its own consumption that can just as well — that is, with nearly or quite as little labor — be made there as anywhere else. We say it is not wise, it is not weU, to send to France for boots, to Germany for hose, to England for knives and forks, and so on ; because the real cost of them would be less, — even though the nominal price should be shghtly more, — if we made them in our own country ; while the facUity of paying 540 MISCELLANIES. for them would be much greater. We do not object to the occasional importation of choice articles to operate as speci mens and incentives to our own artisans to improve the quality and finish of their workmanship, — where the home competition does not avaU to bring the process to its per fection, as it often wiU. In such cases, the rich and luxurious wUl usuaUy be the buyers of these choice articles, and can afford to pay a good duty. There are gentlemen of extra polish in our cities and -viUages who think no coat good enough for them which is not woven in an Enghsh loom, — no boot adequately transparent which has not been fashioned by a Parisian master. I quarrel not -with thefr taste : I only say that, since the Government must have Eevenue and the American artisan should have Protection, I am glad it is so fixed that ihese gentlemen shaU confribute handsomely to the former, and gratify their aspirations with the least possible detriment to the latter. It does not invahdate the fact nor the efficiency of Protection that foreign competition -with American workmanship is not entirely shut out. It is the general result which is important, and not the exception. Now, he who can seriously contend, as some have seemed to do, that Protective Duties do not aid and extend the domestic production of the articles so protected might as weU under take to argue the sun out of the heavens at mid-day. AU experience, aU common sense, condemn him. Do we not know that our Manufactures first shot up under the stringent Protection of the Embargo aiid War ? that they -withered and crumbled under the comparative Free Trade of the few suc ceeding years ? that they were revived and extended by the Tariffs of 1824 and '28 ? Do we not know that Germany, crippled by British policy, which inundated her with goods yet excluded her grain and timber, was driven, years since, to the estabhshment of her " ZoU-"Verein " or Tariff Union, — a measure of careful and stringent Protection, under which Manufactures have grown up and flourished through all her many States ? She has adhered steadily, firmly, to her Pro tective PoUcy, whUe we have faltered and osciUated; and THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 541 what is the result ? She has created and estabUshed her Manufactures ; and in doing so has vastly increased her wealth and augmented the reward of her industry. Her pubhc sen timent, as expressed through its thousand channels, is almost unanimous in favor of the Protective Policy ; and now, when England, finding at length that her cupidity has overreached \ itself, — that she cannot supply the Germans with clothes yet '' refuse to buy their bread, — talks of relaxing her Corn-Laws in order to coax back her ancient and profitable customer, the answer is, " No ; it is now too late. We have buUt up Home Manufactures in repelUng your rapacity, — we cannot destroy them at your caprice. What guaranty have we that, should we accede to your terms, you would not return again to your pohcy of taking aU and giving none so soon as our factories had crumbled into ruin? Besides, we have found that we can make cheaper — reaUy cheaper — than we were able to buy, — can pay better wages to our laborers, and secure a better and steadier market for our products. We are con tent to abide in the position to which you have driven us. Pass on ! " But this is not the sentiment of Germany alone. AU Europe acts on the principle of seff-Protection ; because aU Europe sees its benefits. The British journals complain that, though they have made a show of relaxation in their own Tariff, and thefr Premier has made a Free Trade speech in Parhament, the chaff has caught no birds ; hut six hostile Tariffs — all Protective in theii- character, and aU aimed at the supremacy of British Manufactures — were enacted with in the year 1842. And thus, while schoolmen plausibly talk of the adoption and spread of Free Trade principles, and their rapid advances to speedy ascendency, the practical man knows that the trath is otherwise, and that many years must elapse before the great Colossus of Manufacturing monopoly -wUl find another Portugal to drain of her Iffe-blood under the delusive pretence of a commercial reciprocity. And, while Britain continues to pour forth her specious treatises on PoUtical Economy, proving Protection a mistake and an un- 542 MISCELLANIES. possibiUty through her Parhamentary Eeports and Speeches in praise of Free Trade, the shrewd statesmen of other nations humor the joke with aU possible gra-vity, and pass it on to the next neighbor ; yet aU the time take care of thefr own interests, just as though Adam Smith had never speculated nor Peel soberly expatiated on the blessings of Free Trade, looking round occasionaUy -with a curious interest to see whether anybody was reaUy taken in by it. I have partly anticipated, yet I wiU state distinctly, my Proposition V. PROTECTION IS necessary and PROPER TO sustain as well as TO CREATE A BENEFICENT ADJUSTMENT OF OUR National Industry. " "Why can't our Manufacturers go alone ? " petulantly asks a Free-Trader; "they have had Protection long enough. They ought not to need it any more." To this I answer that, ff Manufactures were protected as a matter of special bounty or favor to the Manufacturers, a single day were too long. I \ would not consent that they should be sustained one day longer than the interests of the whole Country required. I think you have already seen that, not for the sake of Manu facturers, but for the sake of all Productive Labor, should Protection be afforded. If I have been inteUigible, you -wiU have seen that the purpose and essence of Protection is Labor- Sa-ving, — the making two blades of grass grow instead of one. This it does by " planting the Manufacturer as nearly as may be by the side of the Farmer," as Mr. Jefferson ex pressed it, and thereby securing to the latter a market for which he had looked to Europe in vain. Now, the market of the latter is certain as the recurrence of appetite ; but that is not all. The Farmer and the Manufacturer, being virtuaUy neighbors, will interchange their productions directly, or with but one intermediate, instead of sending them reciprocally across haff a continent and a broad ocean, through the hands of many holders, until the toll taken out by one after another has exceeded what remains of the grist. " Dear-bought and THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 543 far-fetched" is an old maxim, containing more essential truth than many a chapter by a modern Professor of Pohtical Econ omy. Under the Protective policy, instead of having one thousand men making Cloth in one hemisphere, and an equal number raising Grain in the other, -with three thousand facti tiously employed in transporting and interchanging these products, we have over two thousand producers of Grain, and as many of Cloth, leaving far too httle employment for one thousand in making the exchanges between them. This con sequence is ine-vitable : although the production on either side is not confined to the very choicest locations, the total pro duct of their labor is twice as much as formerly. In other words, there is a double quantity of food, clothing, and aU the necessaries and comforts of hfe, to be shared among the pro ducers of wealth, simply from the diminution of the number of non-producers. If aU the men now enroUed in Armies and Navies were advantageously employed in Productive Labor, there would doubtless be a larger dividend of comforts and necessaries of Ufe for all, hecause more to be divided than now and no greater munber to receive it : just so in the case before us. Every thousand persons employed in needless Transportation and in factitious Commerce are so many subtracted from the great body of Producers, from the pro ceeds of whose labor aU must be subsisted. The dividend for each must, of course, be governed by the magnitude of the quotient. But, ff this be so advantageous, it is queried, why is any legislation necessary ? Why would not aU voluntarUy see and embrace it ? I answer, because the apparent individual advantage is often to be pursued by a course directly adverse to the general weffare. We know that Free Trade asserts the contrary of this ; maintaining that, if every man pursues that course most conducive to his individual interest, the general good -wiU thereby be most certainly and signaUy promoted. But, to say nothing of the glaring exceptions to this law which crowd our statute-books with injunctions and penalties, we are everywhere met with pointed contradictions of its assump- 544 ¦ MISCELLANIES. tion, which haUows and blesses the pursuits of the gambler, the distiUer, and the libertine, making the usurer a saint and the swindler a hero. Adam Smith himseff admits that there are avocations which enrich the indi-vidual but impoverish the community. So in the case before us. A B is a farmer in lUinois, and has much grain to s§U or exchange for goods. But, whUe it is demonstrable that, if all the manufactures consumed in lUinois were produced there, the price of grain must rise nearly to the average of the world, it is equaUy cer tain that A B's single act, in buying and consuming Ameri can cloth, wiU not raise the price of grain generaUy, nor of his grain. It wUl not perceptibly affect the price of grain at aU. A solemn compact of the whole community to use only American fabrics would have some effect; but this could never be established, or never enforced. A few Free-Traders standing out, seUing thefr grain at any advance which might accrue, and buying "where they could buy cheapest," would induce one after another to look out for No. 1, and let the pubhc interests take care of themselves : so the whole com pact wotild faU to pieces Uke a rope of sand. Many a one would say, " Why should I aid to keep up the price of Pro duce ? I am only a consumer of it," — not reaUzing or caring for the interest of the community, even though it less pal pably involved his own ; and that would be an end. Granted that it is desfrable to encourage and prefer Home Production and Manufacture, a Tariff is the obvious way, and the only way, in which it can he effectively and certainly accomplished. But why is a Tariff necessary after Manufactures are once established ? " You say," says a Free-Trader, " that you can Manufacture cheaper ff Protected than we can buy abroad : then why not do it without Protection, and save aU trouble ? " Let me answer this cavil : — I -wiU suppose that the Manufactures of this Country amount in value to One Hundred MUlions of Dollars per an num, and those of Great Britain to Three Hundred MilUons. Let us suppose also that, under an efficient Protective Tariff, THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 545 ours are produced five per cent, cheaper than those of Eng land, and that our o-wn markets are suppUed entfrely from the Home Product. But at the end of this year, 1843, we, — con cluding that our Manufactures have been protected long enough and ought now to go' alone, — repeal absolutely our Tariff, and commit our great interests thoroughly to the guid ance of " Free Trade." Well : at this very time the British Manufacturers, on making up the account and review of thefr year's business, find that they have manufactured goods cost ing them Three Hundred MUUons, as aforesaid, and have sold to just about that amount, lea-ving a residue or surplus on hand of Fifteen or Twenty MUUons' worth. These are to be sold; and thefr net proceeds wiU constitute the interest on thefr capital and the profit on their year's business. But where shaU they be sold ? If crowded on the Home or thefr estabUshed Foreign Markets, they -wUl glut and depress those markets, causing a general decline of prices and a hea-vy loss, not merely on this quantity of goods, but on the whole of thefr next year's business. They know better than to do any such thing. Instead of it, they say, " Here is the American Market just thro-wn open to us by a repeal of their Tariff: let us send thither our surplus, and seU it for what it wiU fetch." They ship it over accordingly, and in two or three weeks it is ratthng off through our auction stores, at prices first five, then ten, fifteen, twenty, and do-wn to thirty per cent, below our previous rates. Every jobber and dealer is tickled with the idea of buying goods of novel pattems so wonderfuUy cheap ; and the sale proceeds briskly, though at constantly dechnmg prices, tUl the whole stock is disposed of and our market is gorged to repletion. Now, the British Manufacturers may not have received for the whole Twenty MiUions' worth of Goods over Fourteen or Fffteen Millions ; but what of it ? Whatever it may be is clear profit on thefr year's business in cash or its fuU equiva lent. AU thefr estabUshed markets are kept clear and eager ; and they can now go on vigorously and profitably with the busmess of the new year. But more : they have crippled au 35 546 ' MISCELLANIES. active and growing rival ; they have opened a new market, which shaU erelong be thefrs also. Let us now look at our side of the question : — The American Manufacturers have also a stock of goods on hand, and they come into our market to dispose of them. But they suddenly find that market forestaUed and depressed by rival fabrics of attractive novelty, and seUing in profusion at prices which rapidly ran down to twenty-five per cent, be low cost. "What are they to do ? They cannot force sales at any price not utterly ruinous ; there is no demand at any rate. They cannot retaliate upon England the mischief they must suffer, — her Tariff forbids ; and the other markets of the world are fuUy suppUed, and -wiU bear but a Umited pres sure. The foreign infiux has created a scarcity of money as weU as a plethora of goods. Specie has largely been exported in pajrment, which has compeUed the Banks to contract and deny loans. StUl, thefr obligations must be met ; ff they can not make sales, the Sheriff -wiU, and must. It is not merely thefr surplus, but their whole product, which has been depre ciated and made unavaUable at a blow. The end is easily foreseen : our Manufacturers become bankrupt and are broken up ; their works are brought to a dead stand ; the Laborers therein, after spending months in constrained idleness, are driven by famine into the Westem wilderness, or into less productive and less congenial vocations ; thefr acqufred sMU and dexterity, as weU as a portion of their time, are a dead loss to themselves and the community ; and we commence the slow and toUsome process of rebuUding and rearranging our industry on the one-sided or Agricultural basis. Such is the process which we have undergone twice afready. How many repetitions shaU satisfy us ? Now, wiU any man gravely argue that we have made Five or Six MiUions by this cheap purchase of British goods, — by " buying where we could buy cheapest ? " WUl he not see that, though the price was low, the cost is very great ? But the apparent saving is doubly deceptive ; for the British man* trfacturers, ha-ving utterly crushed thefr American rivals by THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 547 one or two operations of this kind, soon find here a market, not for a beggarly surplus of Fifteen or Twenty MiUions, but they have now a demand for the amount of our whole con sumption, which, making aUowance for our diminished abiUty to pay, would probably stUl reach Fifty MUUons per annum. This increased demand would soon produce activity and buoy ancy in the general market ; and now the foreign Manufac turers would say in their consultations, " We have sold some mUlions' worth of goods to America for less than cost, in order to obtain control of that market ; now we have it, and must retrieve our losses," — and they would retrieve them, -with in terest. They would have a perfect right to do so. I hope no man has understood me as implying any infringement of the dictates of honesty on their part, stUl less of the laws of trade. They have a perfect right to seU goods in our markets on such terms as we prescribe and they can afford ; it is we, who set up otu own -vital interests to be bowled down by thefr rivalry, who are alone to be blamed. Who does not see that this sending out our great Industrial Interests unarmed and unshielded to battle against the maU- clad legions opposed to them in the arena of Trade is to in sure their destmction ? It were just as -wise to say that, be cause otu people are brave, therefore they shaU repel any invader -without fire-arms, as to say that the restrictions of other nations ought not to he opposed by us because our arti sans are skilful and oux manufactures have made great ad vances. The very fact that our manufactures are greatly extended and improved is the strong reason why they should not be exposed to destmction. If they were of no amount or value, their loss would be less disastrous ; but now the Five or Six Millions we should make on the cheaper importation of goods would cost us One Hundred MiUions in the destruc tion of Manufacturing Property alone. Yet this is hut an item of our damage. The Manufacturing classes feel the first effect of the blow, but it would paralyze every muscle of society. One hundred thousand artisans and laborers, discharged from our ruined factories, after being 548 MISCELLANIES. some time out of employment, at a waste of millions of the National wealth, are at last driven by famine to engage in other avocations, — of course, with inferior skUl and at an in ferior price. The farmer, gardener, grocer, lose them as cus tomers to meet them as rivals. They crowd the labor-markets of those branches of industry which we are stUl permitted to pursue, just at the time when the demand for their products has faUen off, and the price is rapidly declining. The result is just what we have seen in a former instance : aU that any man may make by buying Foreign goods cheap, he loses ten times over by the decline of his own property, product, or labor ; while to nine tenths of the whole people the result is unmixed calamity. The disastrous consequences to a nation of the mere derangement and paralysis of its Industry which must foUow the breaking down of any of its great Producing Interests have never yet been sufficiently estimated. Free Trade, indeed, assures us that e-very person thrown out of employment in one place or capacity has only to choose another ; but almost every working-man knows from experi ence that such is not the fact, — that the loss of a situation through the faUure of his business is oftener a sore calamity. I know a worthy citizen who spent six years in leaming the trade of a hatter, which he had just perfected in 1798, when an immense importation of foreign hats utterly paralyzed the manufacture in this country. He traveUed and sought for months, but could find no employment at any price, and at last gave up the pursuit, found work in some other capacity, and has never made a hat since. He Uves yet, and now com fortably, for he is industrious and frugal ; but the six years he gave to learn his trade were utterly lost to him, — lost for the want of adequate and steady Protection to Home Industry. I insist that the Government has failed of discharging its proper and rightful duty to that citizen, and to thousands and tens of thousands who have suffered from hke causes. I insist that, if the Govemment had permitted without com plaint a foreign force to land on our shores and plunder that man's house of the savings of six years of faithful industry. THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 549 the neglect of duty would not have been more flagrant. And I firmly beheve that the people of this country are One Thousand MilUons of DoUars poorer at this moment than they would have been had thefr entfre Productive Industry been constantly protected, on the principles I have laid down, from the formation of the Government tUl now. The steadi ness of employment and of recompense thus secured, the comparative absence of constrained idleness, and the more efficient appUcation of the labor actually performed, would have vastly increased the product, — would have improved and beautified the whole face of the country ; and the Moral and InteUectual advantages thence accruing would alone have been inestimable. A season of suspension of labor in a com munity is usuaUy one of aggravated dissipation, drunkenness, and crime. But let me more clearly iUustrate the effect of foreign com petition in raising prices to the consumer. To do this, I wiU take my own calling for an example, because I understand that best ; though any of you can apply the principle to that •with which he may be better acquainted. I am a publisher of newspapers, and suppose I afford them at a cheap rate. But the abihty to maintain that cheapness is based on the fact that I can certainly seU a large edition daily, so that no part of that edition shaU remain a dead loss on my hands. Now, ff there were an active and formidable Foreign compe tition in newspapers, — ff the edition which I printed during the night were frequently rendered unsalable by the arrival of a foreign ship freighted with newspapers early in the mom ing, — the present rates could not be continued : the price must be increased or the quaUty -would decline. I presuine this holds equaUy good of the production of calicoes, glass, and penknives as of newspapers, though it may be somewhat modified by the nature of the article to which it is applied. That it does hold tme of sheetings, nails, and thousands of articles, is abundantly notorious. I have not burdened you -with statistics, — you know they are the rehance, the stronghold, of the cause of Protection, 550 MISCELLANIES. and that we can produce them by acres. My aim has been to exhibit not mere coUections of facts, however pertinent and forcible, but the laws on which those facts are based, — not the immediate manffestation, but the ever-Uving necessity from which it springs. The contemplation of these laws assures me that those articles which are suppUed to us by Home Production alone are relatively cheaper than those which are rivaUed and competed with from abroad. And I am equaUy confident that the shutting out of Foreign competition from our markets for other articles of general necessity and Uberal consumption which can be made here with as httle labor as anywhere would be foUowed by a corresponding result, — a reduction of the price to the consumer at the same time -with increased employment and reward to our Producing Classes. But, Mr. President, were this only on one side trae, — were it certain that the price of the Home product would be permanently higher than that of the Foreign, I should stUl insist on efficient Protection, and for reasons I have sufficient ly shown. Grant that a British cloth costs but $ 3 per yard, and a corresponding American fabric $ 4, 1 still hold that the latter would be decidedly the cheaper for us. The Fuel, Tim ber, Fraits, "Vegetables, &c., which make up so large a share of the cost of the Home product, would be rendered com paratively valueless by ha-ving our workshops in Europe. I look not so much to the nominal price as to the comparative facihty of payment. And, where cheapness is only to be at tained by a depression of the wages of Labor to the neigh borhood of the European standard, I prefer that it should be dispensed with. One thing must answer to another ; and I hold that the farmers of this country can better afford, as a matter of pecuniary advantage, to pay a good price for manu factured articles than to obtain them lower through the de pression and inadequacy of the wages of the artisan and laborer. You -wiU understand me, then, to be utterly hostile to that idol of Free Trade worship, known as Free or uiUimited Com- THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 551 petition. The sands of my hour are running low, and I can not ask time to examine this topic more closely ; yet I am confident I could show that this Free Competition is a most delusive and dangerous element of Pohtical Economy. Bear -with a brief iUustration : At this moment, common shuts are made in London at the incredibly low price of three cents per pair. • Should we admit these articles free of duty and buy them because they are so cheap ? Free trade says Yes ; but I say No ! Sound Pohcy as weU as Humanity forbids it. By admitting them, we simply reduce a large and worthy and suffering class of our population from the abUity they now possess of procuring a bare subsistence by thefr labor to unavoidable destitution and pauperism. They must now subsist upon the charity of relatives or of the community, — unless we are ready to adopt the demoniac doctrine of the Free Trade philosopher Malthus, that the dependent Poor ought to be rigorously starved to death. Then what have we gained by getting these articles so exorbitantly cheap ? or, rather, what have we not lost ? The labor which formerly produced them is mainly struck out of existence ; the poor widows and seamstresses among us must stUl have a subsist ence ; and the imported garments must be paid for : where is the profits of our speculation ? But even this is not the worst feature of the case. The labor which we have here thrown out of employment by the cheap importation of this article is now ready to be employed again at any price, — if not one that wiU afford bread and sfaaw, then it must accept one that wUl produce potatoes and rabbish ; and with the product some Free-Trader proceeds to break do-wn the price and destroy the reward of similar labor in some other portion of the earth. And thus each depres sion of wages produces another, and that a thfrd, and so on, making the cfrcuit of the globe, — the aggravated necessities of the Poor acting and reacting upon each other, increas ing the omnipotence of Capital and deepening the dependence of Labor, sweUing and pampering a bloated and factitious Commerce, grinding down and gruiding down the destitute. 552 MISCELLANIES. untu Malthus's remedy for Poverty shaU become a grateful specific, and, amid the splendors and luxuries of an aU- devouring Commercial Feudahsm, the squahd and famished MiUions, its dependants and -victims, shaU welcome death as a deUverer from their sufferings and despafr. I wish time permitted me to give a hasty glance over the doctrines and teachings of the Free Trade sophists, who esteem themselves the Pohtical Economists, christen thefr own -views Uberal and enUghtened, and complacently put ours aside as benighted and barbarous. I should delight to show you how they mingle subtle faUacy -with obvious truth, — how they reason acutely from assumed premises, which, being mis taken or incomplete, lead to false and often absurd conclu sions, — how they contradict and confound each other, and often, from Adam Smith, thefr patriarch, down to McCuUoch and Eicardo, either make admissions which undermine their whole fabric, or confess themselves ignorant or in the dark on points the most vital to a correct understanding of the great subject they profess to have reduced to a Science. Yet even Adam Smith himseff expressly approves and justifies the British Navigation Act, the most aggressively Protective measure ever enacted, — a measure which, not being under stood and seasonably counteracted by other nations, changed for centuries the destinies of the World, — which silently sapped and overthrew the Commercial and PoUtical great ness of Holland, — which sUenced the thunder of "Van Tromp, and swept the broom from his mast-head. But I must not detain you longer. I do not ask you to judge of this matter by authority, but from facts which come home to your reason and your daily experience. There is not an observing and strong-minded mechanic in our city who could not set any one of these Doctors of the Law right on essential points. I beg you to consider how few great practical Statesmen they have ever been able to -win to their standard, — I might almost say none ; for Huskisson was but a nominal disciple, and expressly contravened thefr THE GROUNDS OF PROTECTION. 553 whole system upon an attempt to apply it to the Corn Laws ; and CaUioun is but a Free-Trader by location, and has never yet answered his own powerful arguments in behaff of Pro tection. On the other hand, we point you to the long array of mighty names which have Ulustrated the annals of States manship in modern times, — to Chatham, WiUiam Pitt, and the Great Frederick of Prussia ; to the whole array of memo rable French Statesmen, including Napoleon the first of them aU; to our own Washington, Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison ; to our two Clintons, Tompkins, to say nothing of the eagle-eyed and genial-hearted living master-spirit* of our time. The opinions and the arguments of all these are on record ; it is by hearkening to and heeding their counsels that we shaU be prepared to walk in the light of experience and look forward to a glorious National destiny. My friends ! I dare not detain you longer. I commit to you the cause of the Nation's Independence, of her StabUity and her Prosperity. Guard it wisely and shield it weU ; for it involves your o-wn happiness and the enduring weffare of your countrymen ! * Henry Clay. SUNDRY LECTURIIO REimS CEIICES. A DAY'S RIDE IN MAINE. Augusta, Maine, March 24, 1849. THEEE days had gUded away rapidly, and pleasantly, and not very idly, among the heartiest of friends in Bangor, — days bright as Italy, and pure as the breath of mountains. The stUl abtmdant snow graduaUy melted into the rivulets from the streets, the adjacent roads, and the southern exposures, in'the beams of the ascendant sun; but the nights were crisp and bracing, and the frequent appear ance of lighter sleighs in the streets bespoke the obstinacy with which Winter's fleecy mantle stiU held its ground in the surrounding country. The ice stUl bound the Penobscot nearly to Frankfort, fourteen iniles below ; holding the busi ness of Bangor and -vicinity in its ragged embrace, and even tempting the foolhardy to travel with teams on its now treacherous surface. But on Tuesday the clear azure of several preceding days was graduaUy obscured by the portents of a coming storm, which, in the course of the foUo-wing night, became quite unequivocal, and the pattering of rain on the roof of the Hatch House through the smaU hours gave pre monition of a moist ride to WaterviUe on the morrow. It was not, however, tUl the stage-coach (a naked, open wagon) drew up at the door, between six and seven in the morning ("Wednesday, 21st), that the fun of it became entirely palpable. The wind came strong from the southwest; the skies were black , the rain was coining faster and faster ; in short, a Down-East Equinoctial was upon us. A DAY'S RIDE IN MAINE. 555 There were six of us passengers, not forgetting the driver, the best roadsman of aU, whom no obstacle could daunt and no botheration disconcert, and who, protected in part by his rabber over-aU, looked the day's driving wind and driven ram m the face with buoyant philosophy. The six amused themselves, when they could stay in the wagon, by turning a part of the water from one to the other by means of four umbreUas, which would have been of some account had. not the course of the descending fluid been so greatly deflected from the perpendicular by the sweeping gale, and had there not been entirely too much of it. Even as it was, the man in a red-flannel shfrt and glazed outer garments, who occupied the most sheltered position (leeward of the um breUas), and seemed to have been taught by some bfrd the secret of oiling himseff, contrived to maintain a comparatively dry look to the end. Ten mUes — mainly of mud — had slid rapidly and merrUy behind us, hefore we encountered the first formidable snow drift stUl occupying the road, over which hundreds of teams had traveUed securely for weeks, but into which, softened by the rain, ours plunged, and in it waUowed. The next moment, the leaders were do-wn in a tangled pUe ; the off one roUed clear over the nigh one, and was extricated, and got up on the near side. The passengers (the heaviest having been thro"wn out rather suddenly as we came to a halt, the wagon barely not upsetting) walked ahead in quest of help and shelter; (perhaps it didn't pour!) the wheel-horses were also taken off, and four oxen obtained to draw the wagon out of the drfft, and on to the changing-place, not far distant. Soon, aU were on board again, — aU as good as before, except that the buffaloes were wet on both sides, and the seats had rather a clammy feehng ; and we went on merrUy as ever — meeting few decided obstacles for the next twelve mUes — to the second changing-place (North Dixmont). So far, we had made good time, in spite of wind and weather. " And now," said the driver, " you may expect to see some had going." The testimony was confirmed by others, but 556 MISCELLANIES. we did not need thefr assurance. Two mUes more were got over pretty weU, one bad place being avoided by letting do-wn the fence, and making a detour through the field ; but soon we were brought to a dead halt again. The horses were floundering in a rather profound drfft ; the wagon was "stuck"; and no resource remained but to beat up "the neighborhood for oxen to draw it on, whUe the passengers went ahead in quest of dinner. The porthest of the number (weighing good two hundred), who had afready twice taken his o-wn portrait by a flying-leap into a snow-drfft, and had received some severe contusions and a hard -wrench in the later operation, when he narrowly missed breaking a leg in clearing the wagon, alone Ungered behind to pick up some bits of rides between the worst snow-drffts, of which, I thiiik, there were a hundred within that next two mUes. Yet, the wagon was, by six oxen, got through or around them some how in a httle more than two hours, — the horses foUowing behind, and coming through -with a beaten and sorry look. I had no idea it could be done so soon by an hour. Dinner (at Troy) in a hurry, and aU aboard again ; and hence forward to WaterviUe we were enabled to take the rain sitting instead of walking for nearly all the time. Some drffts had to be walked over, of course ; some snow had to be shoveUed away from before the wheels ; once or t-wice, we had to' take hold and help propel the wagon through a drfft, that need not have been so deep, so far as any practical utUity was re garded in its construction ; and twice more our solid friend was haff thro-wn, half jumped, into the snow-drffts, as the wagon keeled up on one side, and seemed intent on going over. The last time, one arm went through the drift into about two feet of coohsh water, and he, already racked and sore; was on the point of losing temper. The others were more nimble, or, rather, more lucky ; generaUy making a clean jump, and aUghting perpendicularly and right end up. FinaUy, at 6 p. M., we drove rapidly into WaterviUe, — fifty good miles from Bangor, — and found warm rooms and various comforts awaiting us. Lecturmg that evening was a httle A RIDE ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES. 557 up hill ; but, since the hearers did not audibly complain, I sha' n't. I thought the viUage dancing-school at our hotel ought to have broken up at nudnight, considering that some of us were to be caUed for the Augusta stage at 5 a. m. ; but the young folks seemed to enjoy it to a much later hour ; and, ff thefr parents don't object, I probably should he quiet. StiU, I do say that dancing — which ought to be a healthful, mnocent, and approved recreation for aU — is made unpopular -with the grave and devout by the outrageously late hours to which mere infants in years are kept up by it, in hot and crowded rooms, whence they are suddenly transferred, when utterly exhausted, to the outdoor cold and their fireless homes. It was not the creaking of that fiddle, the hea-vy pounding of unskilled feet on the baU-room floor, and the annoying rattle of my door-latch in consequence, tUl some time this morning, that put this into my head ; but these served to confirm me in my earUer conviction. A RIDE ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES. Washington, Monday, Decemher 3, 1851. It was 10 o'clock on Saturday morning when our steam boat reached "Wheeling, in two days from Cincinnati That was a bad sample of Westem steamboat management. I had promised at home to be here the evening before the Session opened ; and it was essential that I should be punctual. - I ought to have stopped but one day instead of two at Cincin nati. I ought to have traveUed by land from that city, and so been at "WheeUng six hours sooner. The boat ought to, and inight have been there some hours earlier. But here it was 10 o'clock, and the stages to connect at Cumberland -with the Baltimore and Ohio train next morning had aU been gone some four hours. No other train would leave Cumberland tUl Monday morning, — twenty-four hours later. I jumped ashore with my baggage, and sped to the stage-office. One 558 MISCELLANIES. of the Members of Congress, for self and company, got there at the same moment, and spoke : " Can you send us through to Cumberland m time for to-morrow's train ? " " No, sir, it is too late." The Congressman returned to report progress. Not comprehending the impossibUity of dri-ving 193 mUes in 22 hours, even over a hUly road, -with relays of good horses every ten or twelve mUes, I hung on, and had the resident proprietor summoned. I put the question to him, varied as foUows: "Will money put us through to Cumberland in time for to-morrow's cars ? " " Yes, money wUl, — money enough." " How much ? " " If five of you -wUl pay for a fuU stage (nine seats) and twenty doUars extra, you shaU be taken through." I hurried do-wn to the boat in search of the Congressmen, but looked it over without finding them. At last, I discovered one of the Senators : " Mr. E., caU your friends ; we can be taken to Cumberland in season, for about twenty doUars each." He would not hsten, — said it could not be done, — he had tried it once, and faded. (I suspect he did not try the extra price, " No cure, no pay.") He turned away, and the boat put off. I went back to the stage-office alone. " Mr. S., what is your price for taking me through to Cumberland in sea son ? " " Eegular fare to Baltimore, eleven doUars ; forty doUars extra for gaining time, — in aU, $51." I put down the change, and he got up his horses. In ten minutes we were on the road. The gentleman who drove stands at the head of his profession. He understood, by experience or in stinct, that the perfection of dri-ving is not to seem or need to drive at all By a slight and easy motion of his wrist, he thridded his way through a drove of cattle, around a carriage, and among the piles of broken or to be broken stone every where encumbering the road, now on one side, then on the other, and again in the middle or on both. He knew just when to hold in, and when to let out, but seemed to do more of the former than of the latter ; hardly using a persuasion to speed in the course of the ride. He drove at no time over eleven, nor under ten, miles per hour. The day was bright. A RIDE ACROSS THE ALLEGHANIES. 559 though cool ; the air crisp and bracing. We had a hght car riage, with fresh horses every ten to twelve mUes. "Whatever craft we espied ahead was sure to be huU do-wn astern in the course of five minutes. We drove sixty-two mUes in a trifle short of six hours, but lost nearly an hour more in making changes, as we were not expected at the stations. It was 10.40 (Baltunore time) when we started. At haff past 5 we overhauled the MaU Stages haff-way between BrownsvUle and Uniontown, Pa., 62 mUes from Wheehng. I threw my baggage upon one, and foUowed it ; bidding a hearty fareweU to my driver, who turned back to BrownsvUle for the night, on his way to WheeUng. We were in Uniontown to tea 15 minutes past 6 ; left at 7 ; and drove straight ahead over the AUeghanies, only stopping to change or water, and making the five changes in less than twenty minutes, aU told. The night was cold, and snow contrived to fall from about mid- night; though less profusely than on the plains this side. I think the cold prevented. But each stage was just fuU of passengers, and Uttle discomfort was felt from the cold. I don't consider riding through a cold night -without a halt the summit of human feUcity ; but it does very weU, if you don't waste your time and strength in trying to go to sleep. That is absurd. We drove into Cumberland at 7 A. M. ; had break fast, and abundant time for outward renovation, before the cars started at half past 8. The storm continued through the day, changing froin snow to sleety haU and almost rain as we neared the coast. We met -with a bad accident at 4 P. M., — when 45 mUes from Baltimore, our snow-scraper catching against some part of the track, so that it was broken and turned under the "forward engine, which was thro-wn off the track, and the one behind it partly followed the example. Both were disabled and considerably injured. HappUy, we had stUl a thfrd engine, pushing behind, which was detached and ran hack to Frederick for help to clear away the wreck and mend the track, which had been torn up by our disaster. After four hours' delay, we got under headway again, but came on very slowly, and only made the Eelay House at 560 MISCELLANIES. 11 P. M., — too late for any chance to reach this city tUl I moming. But we were in here before 9 A. M., three hours before Congress convened, and -in ample season to look into whatever was going on. Governor Brown of Mississippi, whom I left on the boat at WheeUng, incredulous as to the practicability of getting through to Cumberland in season, was of course not here to vote for his friend, HoweU Cobb, when even one vote was no shght consideration. I presume he is in, via Pittsburg, to-night. A NIGHT-RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES. South Bend, Indiana, Octoher 18, 1853. I LEFT New York on Monday-morning of last week, reached Lafayette, via Erie EaUroad, . Buffalo City, the steamboat Queen of the West to Cleveland, and the raUroad thence by GaUon, BeUefontaine, and IndianapoUs, at noon on Wednes day. Having given the residue of that day and aU the next to the State Agricultural Fafr, and fulfilled the engagement that drew me to Indiana, I retumed to Indianapohs on Friday moming, spoke there in the evening, and started back via Lafayette, on Saturday moming, to fulfil a promise to speak on the evening of that day at Laporte, where I should reach the Northern Indiana and Southern Michigan Eoad, and set my face homeward. How we were delayed on our way back to Lafayette, and how, on reaching that smart young viUage, I was misled, by the kind guidance of a zealous friend, into waiting for the Northern cars at a place half a mUe distant from that where they then actuaUy were ; how I at last broke over aU assurances that they always started from this point, and must come here before leaving, and made for their out-of-the-way station just in time to be too late, — it were a fruitless vexation to recaU. Suffice it that at noon I stood on the platform where I might and should have been twenty minutes before, just in time to see the line of smoke A NIGHT-RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES. 561 hovering over the rapidly receding train, to reaUze that any seasonable fulfilment of my promise to Laporte was now impossible, and to learn that the next regular train would leave on Monday, and take me to Laporte just two days after I should have been there. I wandered back to the viUage, in no enviable mood, to telegraph my mishap to Laporte, and had the privUege of cooUng my heels for an hour and a quarter on the steps of the office, whUe the operators were leisurely discussing and digesting thefr dinner. They came at last, just too late to enable me to stop the sending of a carriage eleven mUes from Laporte to meet me at WestvUle ; and I retraced my steps to the out-of-town depot, to see what chance remained or inight turn up. Aa quite a number had been deceived and left as I was, o-wing to the recent change in raifroad arrangements, the agent said he would send out an extra train that afternoon, if he could procure an engine ; but none came jn that could be spared, and at four o'clock our extra train was adjourned to next morning at ten ; and I returned to the telegraph office to apprise Laporte that I would speak there for Temperance the next (Sunday) evening, and then walked over to the Bramble House, and laid in a stock of sleep for future con tingencies. I was at the depot in ample season next morning ; but the train that was to start at ten did not actuaUy leave tUl noon, and then with a body entirely disproportioned to its head. Five cars closely packed -with Uve hogs, five ditto with wheat, two ditto -with lumber, three or four with Uve stock and notions retuming from the Fair, and two or three cattle-cars containing passengers, formed entirely too hea-vy a load for our asthmatic engine, which had obviously seen its best days in the service of other roads, before that from New Albany to Michigan City was constructed. StUl, we went ahead; crossed the Wabash ; passed the Tippecanoe Battle-ground ; ran our engine partly off the track, and got it back again ; and by three o'clock had reached Brookston, a station four teen mUes from Lafayette, -with a fafr prospect of travers- 36 562 MISCELLANIES. ing our whole ninety-odd mUes by the da-wn of Monday morning. But here we came to a long halt. The engine was in want of both wood and water ; and, though woods and sloughs were in sight in various directions, neither were accessible. So our engine was detached, and ran ahead some five miles for water, and stiU farther for wood, and a weary two hours were tediously whUed away before its return. It came at last, hitched on, and started us ; but, before it had moved us another haff-mUe, the discharge-cock of the boUer flew out, letting off aU our water and steam, and ren dering us hopelessly immovable for hours to come. We got out to take an observation. The viUage of Brook ston consists of three houses and no bam, -with a weU (almost dry) for the use of the raUroad ; but neither of the houses is a tavern, nor more than one-story high ; and thefr aggregate of accommodation feU far short of the needs of the hungry crowd so unexpectedly thrown upon their hospitahty. Two or three more houses of like or inferior caUbre were gleaming in the rays of the setting sun at various distances on the prauies ; but these were already surfeited -with raU road hands as boarders, not to speak of sick women or chU dren in nearly every one ; for disease has been very rife this season on these prairies. StiU, a friend found an old ac quaintance in one of the nearest residents, whose sick -wife spread a generous table forth-with for as many of us as could sit around it ; and, ha-ving supped, we tumed out on the prafrie to make room for a family party, including two wo men, one of them quite sick, — as she had been aU the way up, and at Lafayette for some days before. Our conductor had started a hand-car back to Lafayette in quest of the only engine there, — a weak, old one, needing some repafrs before it could be used. It was calculated that this engine would be up about eleven o'clock, and would then drag us back to Lafayette to spend the remainder of the night, and take a fafr start in the morning. This I, for one, had resolved not to submit to, though the only alternative were a camp-fire on the prairie. A NIGHT-RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES. 563 But how a bright thought stmck the engineer, for which I think he was indebted to my good angel. He recoUected that a good engine was stationed at a point named Culver- to-wn, forty-three mUes ahead; and he decided to take a hand-car and make for this, so that our bow should have two strings to it. The hand-car was dragged over the rough prairie around our long train, and launched, — I foUow ing -with my carpet-bags, on the lookout for chances. In a trice, it was duly manned ; I had coaxed my way to a seat upon it; and we were off. The ftdl moon rose bright over the eastem woods as, -with the north star straight ahead, we bade adieu to the embryo City of Brookston. We were seven of us on the hand-car ; four propelling by twos, as ff turning a hea-vy, two-handed grindstone ; but we let off one passenger after traversing a few miles. The engi neer and I made up the party ; and the car — about equal in size to a wheelbarrow and a haff — just managed to hold us and give the propellers working-room. To economize space, I sat a good part of the time facing backward, -with my feet hanging over the rear of the car, knocking here and there on a tie or bridge-timber, and often tickled through my boots by the coarse, rank weeds growing up at intervals between the ties, and recently stiffened by the hard Octoher frosts. As a constant effort to hold on was required, the position was not favorable to slumber, however it might be to cogitation. Our Irish steam was evolved from Yankee muscles, and proved of capital quaUty. We made our first five mUes, heavily laden as we were, in twenty- five minutes ; our first ten mUes in an hour ; but our propellers grew graduaUy weary ; we stopped twice or thrice for oil, water, and perhaps one other Uquid ; so that we were five hours in making the forty-three mUes, or from 7 P. m. tiU midnight. I only tried my hand at pro pelling for a short mile, and that experience sufficed to con- ¦vince me that, however it may be as a business, this spe cies of exercise cannot be conscientiously commended as an amusement. The night was chiUy, though clear ; the dead- 564 MISCELLANIES. ahead breeze, though Ught, was keen, and I, by no means dressed for such an afry ride, felt it most sensibly. Our course lay across the east end of Grand Prafrie, which stretches westward from the bank of the Wabash across Indi ana and lUinois, to the Mississippi, and thence through Iowa and Nebraska, perhaps to CouncU Bluffs and the Eocky Mountains. The ground we traversed was nearly level, often marshy, and for the most part clear of wood; but we fre quently crossed belts or spurs, on higher, dryer soU, of the great forest on our right, -with occasional clumps of sturdy oaks, — islets of timber in the prairie sea, — to which the belts aforesaid served as promontories. Four prairie-fires, — two on either hand, — at intervals of •miles, burned brightly but lazily ; for the -wind was not strong enough, nor the vege tation dry and crisp enough, to impel a rapid, roaring, sweep ing fire. Now a flock of geese flew by, murmuring suhduedly ; then a great heron rose before us, and flew heavUy over the marshes ; an opossum was frightened by our noisy approach, and fled eagerly into the prafrie, under an evident mistake as to the nature of our business ; and again an odorous skunk, keeping his carcass unseen, gave pungent e-vidence of his close proximity. FinaUy, a little after midnight, chiUed and weary, we reached the one-horse vUlage of Culvertown, and found the engine missing, — run do-wn to Michigan City for repairs, — so that my companions had had thefr rugged ride for nothing. The landlady of the only house in sight got up and made a fire; the engineer decided to await the return of the fugitive engine ; and I began to dram up the means of farther conveyance; for I was stiU twenty-odd miles from any pubhc conveyance that would speed me on my way. Horses, I learned, were not easUy to be had ; and, even ff I had a team, the roads across the great marsh and smaU river just north of us were rather shy. But the engineer lent me the hand-car which had already done such good service, and I evoked from slumber two Dutchmen, who were persuaded to act as my crew ; and by 1 A M. I was again under head- A NIGHT-RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES. 565 way northward ; the afr keener, and I more -vulnerable to its assaults in my loneUness, than when six of us were so closely huddled together. But my Dutchmen propeUed with a -wUl, and my good craft sped briskly onward. From Culverto-wn, a prafrie-marsh stretches thirteen iniles northward, and I think no buUding, and hardly a cultivated acre, were -visible through aU that distance. The dense fog, beaten down by the cool afr, lay low on this marsh, and was heavUy charged with prairie-smoke for a part of the way. Three mUes from C, we crossed, on a pokerish bridge of naked timbers, the slough-like bed wherein the Kankakee oozes and creeps sluggishly westward to join the Fox and form the lUinois. They say the Kankakee has a rapid current, and dry, in-viting banks, from the point where it crosses the lUinois line, which might tempt one to regret that it did not cross that hne forty mUes higher up. Happily, the keen air had done for the mosquitoes, so that we had no more music than I had fafrly bargained for ; but Bunyan might have improved his description of the Slough of Despond had he been favored with a vision of the Kankakee marshes. At 4 a.m., my good craft brought up at WestvUle, and I was gratified by the sight of haff a dozen houses at once for the first time since leaving Lafayette, seventy-eight miles below. I doubt that aU the houses visible on that seventy-eight miles would amount to a hundred ; and I am sure they would he dear at two hundred doUars each, on the average. Yet there are much fine timber and exceUent land on that route, and he who passes over the raUroad ten years hence -^*iU see a very different state of things. If efficient plans of drauiage can but be devised and - executed, that region wUl yet be one of the most productive in the world. StiU, the financiering which conjured up the means of buUding that New Albany and Michigan City EaU road is worthy of a brazen monument. At WestviUe, I was but eleven mUes from Laporte, and four from the crossing of the great Northem Indiana Eoad from Chicago : so, having accomphshed sixty-four mUes by hand-car since dark, and arrived within striking distance of a civUized raUroad, I went 566 MISCELLANIES. to bed tiU breakfast-time ; took passage by wagon at 7 ; was in Laporte by 9 ; spoke for Temperance at 1 ; took the raU road at 3 ; and came here to fulfil my engagement to lecture last evening ; and thus, having reopened my communications, I close this hurried account of A Night Bide Across the Prau'ies. A WINTER PLOOD IN ILLINOIS. Galesburg, Illinois, Pebruary 7, 1857. I LEFT the train from Chicago on this (the Burlington) Eoad at 7 A.M. yesterday at " Oquawka Junction," the last station this side of the Mississippi, and took the stage in due season for Oquawka (5^ nules north), on the bank of the great river, and the shfre to-wn of Henderson County. It had been rain ing and thawing for a day or so hereabout ; and, though there was little snow to melt, the hard-frozen earth threw off the water Uke a glass roof The creeks were aU over their banks, wandering at their own sweet wiU, — " South Hender son," "Main Henderson," and "North Henderson" vying -with each other in encroachments on the people's highway, and aU the " sloughs " and depressions transformed into tem porary lakes; but our stage crossed them aU safely, — there being a sohd frost bottom to each, — and reached Oquawka in due season. But the rain poured harder as the day wore on, and the evening was as inclement and forbidding as could weU be ' imagined. I said my say to a rather thin house, — yet a large gathering for such a night, — and then looked about for the means of making good my promise to be in Galesburg (only 33 miles distant, 27 of it railroad) this evening. The prospect was not cheering. The rain was pouring, the wind howhng, and the creeks rising. Already, the stage had been stopped by the creeks on its evening trip to the cars ; and it was plain that to wait tiU morning was to prolong my stay indefinitely. Now, Oquawka is a nice place, as its meUi- A WINTER FLOOD IN ILLINOIS. 567 fluous name would mdicate, and has many exceUent people whose acquaintance I should have been glad to improve; but the telegraph is not among its advantages^ and I could not let the people of Galesburg, and other to-wns to which I was due, know what had become of me, nor why I disap pointed them ; so I resolved to dig out, if possible ; and, as- the creeks were stUl risuig rapidly, the only course was to start at once. A cotmcU of wise friends decided that I could not reach Oquawka Junction, ff I were ever so bent upon it, and should find no tram there ff I did ; and that the only hopeful course was to take the highest or eastem road, and steer for Monmouth (haff-way to Galesburg) at once. By taking this course, I should tum several vicious creeks, leav mg only "Main Henderson" reaUy formidable. So a buggy and capital span were procured from a Uvery-stable, with thefr shrewd and capable o-wner as pUot, and, at a Uttle past 10 o'clock, we put out into the storm, resolved to see Mon mouth (18 mUes, by our route) before dayhght, if possible. Though the clouds were thick, the wind blew, and the rain poured, there was a good moon above aU, which, though ob scured, gave about aU the hght that was reaUy necessary. Though Oquawka is buUt on the sand, we crossed wide sfretches of water hefore we had cleared it ; and, of the nules of high sand-ridge that intervened between it and "Main Henderson," I judge that fuUy a fourth lay under water. StUl, hoofs and wheels brought up on frost ; and it was not tUl we descended into the bottom of " Main Henderson " that matters began to wear a serious aspect. Forty rods west of the ordinary channel of the creek, we- plunged into the water, which grew graduaUy deeper, untU our boots and baggage had drank of it to satiety. Just at this point, the driver's quick and wary eye caught sight of some plank or timber which had formed part of a bridge over one of the ordinary side-cuts of the stream when over its hank, — said plank or timber-head being even with the sur face of the flood, with such an angle of incUnation as indi cated that the bridge was a -wreck, and had probably in good 568 MISCELLANIES. part floated off. He reined up his horses before reaching it, and tumed them face about^ and in a minute we were haff- way back, — not to dry, but to unflooded land. Here we took sweet counsel together, and I offered to return to Oquawka ff he considered it foolhardy to persist in going forward. He studied a moment, and concluded to make another attempt ; which he did, and went through above the treacherous bridge, though I don't beUeve any man could have done it two hours later. We were soon in shaUower water, found the main bridge aU right, and no deep water east of it, though " Smith's Creek " (a tributary which enters " Main Henderson " just below the bridge) set back upon and covered our road -with a s-wfft current for perhaps a quarter of a mUe. The driver was familiar -with the road, and thought it had never been so covered before. Soon, however, we ascended a long, badly gulhed hUl of the very worst clay, and breathed more freely on the high, level prairie, covered in good part -with water, and not pretty wheehng, but never threatening to float us bodUy off, Uke that raving " Main Henderson." Having reached " Stringtown," five or six mUes on our way, the driver caUed up a wayside friend, and borrowed dry socks, whUe I made researches in my baggage for a Uke creature- comfort, but with very unsatisfactory results. " Main Hen derson " had been there before me, and had made everything fit for his wear, and unfit for mine. I closed vahse and leathem bag with a shiver, and we resumed our weary way. I do hke the prairies, though their admirers won't admit it ; and I cheerfuUy certffy that the best going we found was on the virgin turf. True, the " sloughs " were many and wide ; yet, there was frost and ice at the bottom of them, which seldom cut through; but, whenever it did, it gave horses, fcuggy, and riders, a racking. My pUot picked our way with great judgment, and we were nevermore stopped, and hardly checked, until we came out on the main road westward from Monmouth, three miles distant. That three miles of dense prafrie was the heaviest travelUng I ever underwent ; and, ff our jaded horses traversed it in an A WINTER FLOOD IN ILLINOIS. 569 hour and a quarter, they did passing weU. On the naked prairie, we felt Uttle anxiety ; for, ff the slough seemed too deep straight ahead, we could sheer right or left ad libitum, only taking care to keep some landmark in view, if possible. But roads imply bridges over the water-courses ; and these bridges were far more perUous than the water-courses them selves. StiU the wind blew, stiU the rain feU, in spite of our re peated predictions that it would soon hold up ; and stUl our horses' plodded slowly onward, until those three mUes seemed to me interminable! Our main business was to watch the bridges just ahead, and see that they had not been washed out; and they generaUy seemed to stand remarkably weU. At last, Monmouth was in sight ; the last bridge was passed; no, not the last, for our horses were in a deep guUy this instant. A second more, and they sprang out, and jerked the buggy in -with a crash that is stiU audible. The nigh fore-wheel snapped its tfre, and went down, an armful of oven- wood ; the tongue spht, but held on, and the driver was pitched across my knees head do-wnward into the deep mortar-bed termed the road. I went forward on my face, but clung to the wreck, with my feet entangled in apron and blankets ; and, as the horses started to run, the look ahead for an instant was not flattering. Only for an instant, however. The idea of mnning with that -wreck through such mud, after a heavy night-drag of eigh teen mUes, was so essentiaUy ridiculous that no weU-hred horse could have entertained it. Ours perceived this instinctively, and soon slacked up, while the driver recovered his feet and his reins, if he had ever ftiUy lost the latter. I cannot say how I came out of the dUapidated vehicle, nor could the driver give me any hght on the subject ; but I soon found myseff resum ing the perpendicular, and facing rearward in quest of my hat, which I found in a wayside pond several rods back, two thuds fuU of water, but stiU floating. My blanket I fished out of the semi-Uquid mud about midway between my goal and my starting-point, and, for the first time on my journey, found its company disagreeable. 570 MISCELLANIES. Men never know when they are weU off. Five minutes before, I had been industriously cherishing my cold, wet feet, fencing off the dri-ving rain, and fancying myseff an object of just compassion ; now, I saw clearly that, so long as the car riage remained sound, I had been in an enviable state of ease and enjoyment. Throwing my soUed blanket over one arm, and taking my vaUse in the opposite hand, I puUed one foot after another out of the deep, tarry mud, losing both my weU- fastened overshoes therein -without knowing it, and pushed through to a tavern at the rate of a mile and a haff per hour, in a state of general bedragglement and desperate jolUty which Mark Tapley could not have bettered. It was 4 A. M. when a hospitable roof overshadowed us. The house was fuU, and my petition for a pafr of sUppers, and a room with a fire in it, could not be granted. But a bar room fire was got up, and a bed in due time provided, thbugh a baU that night in the viUage — no, city — had absorbed most of the accommodations. But our noble horses fovmd what they needed, and we had an hour's sleep or more, though I did not incline to sleep at aU. I got up to breakfast, and to find aU as I expected about the raUroad. The Chicago night-train went down nearly on time, but did not reach Oquawka Junction, finding the track aU washed out at the crossing of "South Henderson," ten mUes below. But its engine came back about 9 A.M., took on board haff a dozen of us, and backed up to Galesburg (seventeen nules) in less than an hour ; saving me another dreaded carriage-ride of at least six hours. We crossed one washed-out place, which threatened to throw us off, but did not. I guess I am the last person who -wiU have left Oquawka for several days, and suspect Burhngton (Iowa) has parted company -with the world eastward of the Mississippi for at least as many. Moral. — We are none of us half grateful enough for the blessings of raifroads, — when the trains run, and the cars don't fly the track. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. A DISCUSSION BETWEEN HORACE GEEELEY AND EOBEEI DALE OWEN. DIYORCE. — WOMAN'S RIGHTS.* OUE Legislature is again importuned to try its hand at increasing the facUities of divorce. We trast it -wUl ponder long and carefuUy before it consents. That many per sons are badly mated is true ; but that is not the law's fault. The law of our State says plainly to aU the unmarried, " Be very careful how you marry ; for a mistake in this regard is irrevocable. The law does not constrain you to marry, does not hurry you to marry, but bids you be first sure that you know intimately and love devotedly the person -with whom you form this irrevocable union. We rectffy no mistakes ; it rests -with you not to make any. If you do, bear the penalty as you ought, and do not seek to transfer it to the shoulders of the community." And this, we think, is, in the broad view, right, though in special cases it involves hardship. The paradise of free-lovers is the State of Indiana, where the lax principles of Eobert Dale Owen, and the utter want of principle of John Pettit (leading revisers of the laws), combined to estabUsh, some years since, a state of law which enables men or women to get unmarried nearly at pleasure. A legal friend in that State recently remarked to us, that, at one County Court, he obtained eleven divorces one day before dinner ; " and it was n't a good morning for divorces either." In one case -within his knowledge, a prominent citizen of an Eastem manufacturing city came to Indiana, went through * Editorial in The Tribune of March 1, 1860. 572 MISCELLANIES. the usual routine, obtained his divorce about dinner-time, and, in the course of the evening was married to his new inamorata, who had come on for the purpose, and was staying at the same hotel with him. They soon started for home, having no more use for the State of Indiana ; and, on arriving, he introduced his new wife to her astonished predecessor, whom he notified that she must pack up and go, as there was no room for her in that house any longer. So she went. How many want such faciUty of divorcing in New York ? We tmst not one in a hundred. If we are right in this judg ment, let the ninety-nine make themselves heard at Albany as weU as the one. The discontented are always active ; the contented ought not to sleep evermore. We favor whatever may be done to mitigate the hardships endured by mismated persons in perfect consistency with the maintenance of the sanctity and perpetuity of Marriage. Cases are constantly occurring in which a vfrtuous and wor thy gfrl persists in marrying a dissolute scapegrace, in spite of the most conclusive demonstrations of his worthlessness. Five years hence, when he has become a miserable loafer and sot, she -wiU wish herseff divorced from him ; but the law says No, and we stand by it. But the law ought to aUow her to earn for herself and her httle ones, and not enable him to appropriate and squander her few hard- won shiUings. This is asked for, and ought to be granted. So the law should aUow the woman who is Uving wholly separate from her hus band, by reason of his brutality, cruelty, or profligacy, to have the same control over her property and earnings as ff she had never married. This is not now the case. Nay; we know an instance in which a woman, long since separated from her worthless husband, and trying hard to earn a meagre h-ving for their chUdren, was disabled and crippled by a raUroad accident ; yet the law gives her no right of action against the culpable company ; her broken ankles are legally her runa way husband's, not her own ; and he would probably seU them outright for a gaUon of good brandy, and lef the com pany finish the job of breaking them at its convenience. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 573 We heartily approve of such changes in our laws as would make this deserted wife the legal owner of her own ankles • but we would not dissolve the marriage obligation to constancy for any other cause than that recognized as sufficient by Jesus Christ. MR. OWEN'S RESPONSE.* To THE EniTOR OF THE New Yoek Teibune : Sir : Eetired from poUtical Ufe, and now disposed to ad dress the pubhc, ff at all, through a calmer medium than the columns of a daUy paper, stiU, I cannot read the aUusion in this moming's Tribune, made in connection with an im portant subject, to my adopted State and to myself by name, without feeling that justice to both, and, what is of more con sequence, the fafr statement of a question involving much of human morahty and happiness, requfre of me a few words. You say : — " The Paradise of free-lovers is the State of Indiana, where the lax principles of Eobert Dale Owen, and the utter want of princi ple of John Pettit (leading revisers of the laws), combined to establish, some years since, a state of law which enables men and women to get unmarried nearly at pleasure." You are usuaUy, I think, correct in your statements of fact, and doubtless always intend to be so. That in this en deavor you sometimes faU, we have a proof to-day. So far as I recoUect, the Indiana law of divorce does not owe a single section to Mr. Pettit. Be that, however, as it may, it owes one of its provisions, and one only, to me. I found that law thirty-four years ago, when I first became a resident of the State, in substance nearly what it now is ; in deed, with aU its essential features the same. It was once referred to myseff, in conjunction with another member of the Legislature, for re-vision ; and we amended it in a single point; namely, by adding to the causes of divorce "habit- * From The Tribune of March 5, 1860. 674 MISCELLANIES. ual drankenness for two years." In no other particular, either by vote or proposition, have I been instrumental in framing or amending the law in question, dfrectly or in- dfrectly. Do not imagine, however, that I seek to avoid any respon sibUity in regard to that law as it stands. I cordiaUy ap prove it. It has stood the test for forty or fifty years among a people whom, ff you knew them as intimately as I do, candor would compel you to admit to be, according to the strictest standard of moraUty you may set up, not one whit behind those of sister States, perhaps of more pretensions. I approve the law, not on principle only, but because, for more than half a hfetime, I have witnessed its practical workings. I speak of its influence on our own citizens. It is much to be regretted that any one shotUd ever be compeUed to seek a divorce out of his own State. But, even in aUuding to abuses which have occurred in this connection, you failed to teU your readers, what perhaps you did not know, that our law has of late years been so changed that the cases you state cannot possibly recur. No one can now sue for a divorce in Indiana, until he has been during one year, at least, a resident of the State ; and the provision regarding timely notice to the absent party is of the strictest kind. You speak of Indiana as " the Paradise of free-lovers." It is in New York and New England, refusing reasonable divorce, that free-love prevaUs ; not in Indiana. I never even heard the name there. You locate the Paradise, then, too far west. And does it not occur to you, when a miUion of men, — chiefiy plain, hardy, industrious farmers, with wives whom, after the homely old fashion, they love, and daughters whose chastity and happiness are as dear to them as if their homes were the wealthiest in the land, — does it not occur to Horace Greeley that, when these men go on deUberately for haff a century maintaining unchanged (or, if changed at aU, made more liberal) a law of divorce which he denounces as breed ing disorder and immorahty, — that the mUUon, with their MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 575 long experience, may be right, and that Horace Greeley, with out that experience, may be -wrong ? You talk of my "lax principles." I think that, by my past Iffe, I have earned the right to be beheved -when I say what are my principles and what are not. On this subject, they go just so far as the Indiana law, and no further. I have given proof of this. I have had a hun dred opportunities, and never used them, to move its amend ment. I was chafrman of the Eevision Committee of our Constitutional Convention ; but in our Constitution we incor porated nothing in regard to divorce, except a prohibition against aU divorces by the Legislature. To that, I think you wUl not object. At the next session, I was chairman of the committee to revise the laws ; but we merely reenacted the old divorce law, of which experience had taught us the bene fits. It grants divorce for other causes than the one your law selects, — as for abandonment ; for cruel treatment ; for habit ual drunkenness ; and for any other cause for which the court may deem it proper that a divorce should be granted. Are these " lax principles " ? I claim to have them judged according to a Christian rule. " By their fruits ye shall know them." You have elopements, adultery, which your law, by rendering it indispensable to release, -virtuaUy encourages; you have free-love, and that most terrible of aU social evils, prostitution. We, instead, have regulated, legal separations. You may feel disposed to thank God that you are not as other men, or even as these Indianians. I think that we are justified in His sight, rather than you. Or is it, perhaps, the amendment I did propose and carry which seems to you lax in principle? — the pro-vision, namely, that a -wffe should not be compelled to Uve with one who has been, for years, an habitual drankard. You have told us that she ought to be so compeUed. It constantly occurs, you say, that a "-virtuous and worthy girl" marries a man who "becomes a miserable loafer and sot"; and you add: " She wiU -wish herself divorced from him ; but the law says No, and we stand to it." 576 MISCELLANIES. Think, for a moment, what this actuaUy involves ! Let us take the " single captive," lest the multipUcity of images dis tract us. See the young creature, "vfrtuous and worthy," awaiting, late in the sohtary .night, the fate to which, for hfe, you consign her ; and that for no sin more heinous than that her gfrl's heart, beUe-ving in human goodness, had trusted the vows and promises of a scoundrel Is it her home where she is sitting ? Let us not so desecrate the haUowed word. It is the den of her sufferings and of her shame. A bloated Avretch, whom daily and nightly debauch has degraded below humanity, has the right to enter it. In what temper he wUl arrive, God alone knows, — all the animal within him, proba bly, aroused by drink. WUl he beat her, — the mother of his children, the one he has sworn to love and protect ? Likely enough. Ah ! weU ff that be aU ! The scourge, though its strokes may cause the flesh to shudder, cannot reach the soul. But the possible outrages of this " miserable loafer and sot " may. He has the command of torments, legaUy permitted, far beyond those of the lash. That bedchamber is his, and the bed is the beast's own lafr. It depends, too, on the brute's drunken wiU whether it shaU be shared or not. Cahban is lord and master, by legal right. There is not a womanly in stinct that he cannot outrage; not a holy emotion that he may not profane. He is authorized to commit what more resembles an infamous crime — usuaUy rated second to mur der, and often punished with death — than anything else. And in this foul pit of degradation you would leave to a fate too horrible for infamy itseff, a pure, gentle, blameless. Christian wife ! Her cry thence may ascend to heaven ; but, on earth, you think it should be stifled or contemned. She entreats for relief, — for escape from the pollution she ab hors ; you look down upon her misery, and answer her, " The law says No, and we stand to it." God forgive you, Horace Greeley, the inhuman sentiment ! I beUeve you .to be a good man, desiring human improvement, the friend of what you deem essential to social morahty. God send that you may never, in the person of a daughter MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. . Z11 of your own, and in the recital of her tortures, practically leam the terrible lesson how far you have strayed from the right ! Further to argue the general question would be an unwar rantable infrusion on your columns. Suffice it to say, that, if I differ from you as to the expediency of occasionaUy dissolv ing misery-bringing unions, it is precisely because I regard the marriage relation as the holiest of 'earthly institutions. It is for that very reason that I seek to preserve its purity, when other expedients fail, by the besom of divorce. No human relation ought to be suffered so to degenerate that it defeats the purpose of its institution. God imposes no laws on man merely to have the pleasure of seeing them obeyed ; but, on the contrary, with special reference to His creatures' weffare and improvement. Marriage itseff, like the Sabbath, was made for man ; not man for marriage. It fulfils God's intentions so long as the domestic home is the abode of pu rity, of noble sentiment, of loving-kindness, or, at least, of mutual forbearance. But it defeats His purpose, and violates the Divine economy, when it becomes the daily cause of griev ous words and heartless deeds, — of anger, strifes, selfishness, cruelty, ruffianism. That it should ever be thus degraded and perverted, aU good men must lament; and aU ought earnestly to seek the most effectual remedy. In no country have I found the marriage obligation so Uttle binding as in the nation * near whose court, as minis ter, I recently spent five years, — a country where Marriage is a sacrament and Divorce an impossibihty ; and where, indeed, on account of thefr "lax principles," the inhabit ants neither need nor care for it. In no country have I seen marriage and its vows more strictly respected than in my adopted State, where the relation, when it engenders immorahty, may be terminated bylaw. For the rest, divorces m Indiana are far less frequent than strangers, reading our divorce law, might be led to imagine. We fipd Jefferson's words to be as trae of married persons as of the rest of man- * Naples. 37 578 MISCELLANIES. kind. They " are more disposed to suffer while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by aboUshing the forms to which they have been accustomed." The question remains, whether it be more pleasing in the sight of God, and more conducive to virtue in man, to part decently in peace, or to Uve on in shameful discord. I am, sir, your obedient servant, Egbert Dale Owen. New Yobk, March 1, 1860. REPLY Bt MR. GREELEY.* To THE Hon. Robert Dale Owen, op Indiana : — My dear Sir : I had not expected to provoke your letter this day pubhshed; but the subject is one of the highest and widest importance, and I am very -wiUing to aid in its further elucidation. I do not think the issues of fact raised by you need long detain us. The country knows that you have for the last thirty years and more been a leading member of the generaUy dominant party in Indiana, — almost the only member who could with propriety be termed a poUtical phUosopher. As such, you have naturally exerted a very great influence over the legislation and internal pohcy of that State. Often a member of her Legislature as weU as of Congress, and one of the revisers of her laws, you admit that the Law of Marriage and Divorce came at one time directly and distinctly under re-view before you, and that you ingrafted thereon a provi sion adding another — habitual drunkenness — to the pre existing grounds on which divorce might legaUy be granted. As to "lax principles," I need not say more than that I cite your letter now before me as a sample and illustration. But let me^brush away one cobweb of your brain. You picture the case of a pure and gentle woman exposed to the * From The Tribune of March 6, 1860. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 579 bratahties and cmelties of a beastly sot of a husband. For such cases, our laws grant a separation from bed and board, — not a dismption of the marriage tie, with liberty to marry again. I think this is just right. I would not let loose such a wretch as you have depicted to delude and torture anotTier " pure and vfrtuous girl." Let one victim suffice him. Your reference to the " blameless Christian -wife," and to what is " more pleasing in the sight of God," impels me to say that I must consider Jesus of Nazareth a better au thority as to what is Christian and what pleases God than you are. His testimony on this point is express and un equivocal (Matt. xix. 9), that a marriage can be rightfuUy dissolved because of adultery alone. You weU know that was not the law either of Jews or Eomans in his day; so that he cannot have been misled by custom or tradition, even were it possible for him to have been mistaken. I beheve he was whoUy right. For what is Marriage ? I mind the Apostolic injunction, " Hold fast the form of sound words." Dr. Webster's great dictionary says : — " Marbiagb : The act of uniting a man and woman for life ; wedlock • the legal union of a man and woman for life. Marriage is a contract both civil and religious, by which the parties engage to five together in mutual affection and fidelity till death shall So Worcester : — " Marriage : the act of marrying, or uniting a man and woman for life as husband and wife," &c., &c. I surely need not quote to you the language of the mar riage ceremony, — the mutual and solemn promise to " take each other for better, for worse," and "to Uve. together till death do part',' &c., &c. You must be aware that the entire Christian, and I think most of the partiaUy civihzed pagan world, regard this solemn contract to cleave to each other till sdeath as the very essence, the vital element, of Marriage. Now it is not here necessary that I should prove this better 580 MISCELLANIES. than a.ny possible substitute: suffice it that I insist that whoever would recommend a substitute should clearly, spe cificaUy, set forth its nature and conditions, and should caU it by its distinctive name. There may be something better than Marriage ; but nothing is Marriage but a solemn engage ment to hve together in faith and love till death. Why should not they, who have devised something better than old-fashioned Marriage, give thefr bantling a distinctive name, and not appropriate ours ? They have been often enough warned off our premises ; shaU we never be able to shame them out of their unwarrantable poaching ? I am perfectly wUUng to see aU social experiments fried that any earnest, rational being deems calculated to promote the weU-being of the human family ; but I insist that this matter of Marriage and Divorce has passed beyond the rea sonable scope of experiment. The ground has aU been travelled over and over,: — from Indissoluble Monogamic Marriage down through Polygamy, Concubinage, easy Divorce, to absolute Free Love, mankind have tried every possible modification and shade of relation between Man and Woman. If these multiform, protracted, diversified, infinitely repeated, experiments have not estabUshed the superiority of the union of one man to one woman for hfe — in short. Marriage — to aU other forms of sexual relation, then History is a deluding mist, and Man has hitherto lived in vain. But you assert that the people of Indiana are emphaticaUy moral and chaste in their domestic relations. That may be ; at aU events, / have not yet caUed it in question. Indiana is yet a young State, — not so old as either you or I, — and most of her adult population were born, and I think most of them were reared and married, in States which teach and maintain the Indissolubility of Marriage. That population is yet sparse ; the greater part of it in moderate circumstances, engaged in rural industry, and but shghtly exposed to the temptations *borh of crowds, luxury, and idleness. In such circumstances, continence would probably be general, even were Marriage unknown. But let Time and Change do thefr MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 581 work, and then see ! Given the population of Italy in the days of the Caesars, -with easy divorce, and I beheve the result would be like that experienced by the Eoman EepubUc, which, under the sway of easy divorce, rotted away and perished, — blasted by the mildew of unchaste mothers and dissolute homes. If experiments are to be tried in the dfrection you favor, I insist that they shaU be tried fairly, — not under cover of false promises and baseless pretences. Let those who -wUl take each other on trial ; but let such unions have a distinct name as in Paris or Hayti, and let us know just who are married (old style), and who have formed unions to be main tained or terminated as circumstances shall dictate. Those who choose the latter wiU of course consummate it without benefit of clergy ; but I do not see how they need even so much ceremony as that of jumping the broomstick. " I 'U love you so long as I 'm able, and swear for no longer than this," — what need is there of any solemnity to haUow such a union ? What hbertine would hesitate to promise that much, even if fuUy resolved to decamp next morning ? If man and woman are to be tme to each other only so long as they shaU each find constancy the dictate of their several inclinations, there can be no such crime as adultery, and mankind have too long been defrauded of innocent enjoyment by priestly anathemas and ghostly maledictions. Let us each do what for the moment shaU give us pleasurable sensa tions, and let aU such fantasies as God, Duty, Conscience, Eetribution, Eternity, be banished to the moles and the bats, ¦with other forgotten rabbish of bygone ages of darkness and unreal terrors. But if — as I firmly beUeve — Marriage is a matter which concerns not only the men and women who contract it, but the State, the community, mankind, — if its object be not merely the mutual gratification and advantage of the husband and wffe, hut the due sustenance, nurture,and< education of their chUdren, — if, in other words, those who voluntarily mcur the obUgations of parentage can only discharge those 582 MISCELLANIES. obUgations personaUy and conjointly, and to that end are bound to hve together in love, at least untU thefr youngest child shaU have attained perfect physical and inteUectual maturity, — then I deny that a marriage can be dissolved save by death or that crime which alone renders its continu ance impossible. I look beyond the special case to the gen eral law, and to the reason which underUes that law ; and I say, — No couple can innocently take upon themselves the obhgations of Marriage until they know that they are one in spirit, and so must remain forever. If they rashly lay pro fane hands on the ark, theirs alone is the blame ; be thefrs alone the penalty ! They have no right to cast it on that pubhc which admonished and enfreated them to forbear, but admonished and entreated in vain. Yours, Horace Greeley. New Yokk, March 5, 1860. MR. OWEN'S REJOINDER.* To THE Hon. Horace Greeley : — My dear Sir : In one matter w^e shaU not differ, and that is in the opinion that Jesus of Nazareth should be considered better authority as to what is Christian — and I wUl add as to what is conducive to public morals — than either you or I. The longer I live, the more I settle do-wn to the conviction that the one great miracle of history is, that a system of ethics so far in advance as was the Christian System, not only of the semi-barbarism of Jewish hfe eighteen hundred years ago, but of what we term the civUization of our o-wn day, should have taken root, and hved, and spread, where every opinion seemed adverse and every influence hostile. But, before we take Christ's opinion on the subject in hand, let us go a httle further back. You teU us that " the very essence of marriage " is, that * From The Tribune of March 12, 1860. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 583 the married should " cleave to each other tiU death." And, as a coroUary, you insist that, ff this condition is ever violated (as hy the action of a divorce law), then it is not Marriage which prevaUs, but only a substitute. You add : — " I insist that whoever would recommend such substitute should clearly, specificaUy set forth its nature and conditions, and should call it by its distinctive name. There may be something better than Marriage, but nothing is Marriage but a solemn engagement to live together till death. Why should not they who have de vised something better than old-fashioned Marriage give thefr banthng a distinctive name, and not appropriate ours? They have been often warned off our premises ; shall we never be able to shame them out of their unwarrantable poaching ? " [The Itahcs are yours.] This is plain. If the law regards Marriage as a contract which, under any circumstances, may be terminated, then (you aUege) men and women Uve together under what is but a substitute for marriage, — under what should go by the name of concubinage, or some simUar term. Such is the state of things, you infer, under the present Indiana law. I do not think you reflected what a sweeping assertion you were here making. For there is not a State in the Union — not even New York — which is without a divorce law. In every State of the Union, therefore. Marriage is a contract of such a nature that contingencies may arise under which the married may not " hve together untU death them do part." If, then, the possible contingency of separation, legaUy admitted,' annuls " the very essence of marriage," and con verts it into concubinage, in what condition, I pray you, are married people hving throughout the United States ? The same state of things prevaUs in aU Protestant countries. Only in those which acknowledge the Pope as their rehg ious head is Marriage an indissoluble sacrament. Is it your opmion that CathoUcs only are reaUy married ? But this is a mere instalment of the difficulties which in here in your proposition. Moses, of whom we are told (Deu teronomy V. 31) that God said to him : " Stand thou here by 584 MISCELLANIES. me, and I -wiU speak unto thee aU the commandments, and . the statutes, and the judgments which thou shalt teach my people," promulgated to the Jews a law of divorce. Our divorce-law in Indiana must be, even in your eyes, a moral statute, compared to that of the Je-wish lawgiver; for the latter provided : " When a man hath taken a wffe and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favor in his eyes, then let him write her a bUl of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house. And when she is departed out of his house, she may go and be another man's wife." (Deuteronomy xxiv. 1.) This, unless you deny the record, you must admit to be God's o-wn law. It was first declared, according to the usual chronology, about 1450 years before the Christian era. It remained unchanged tUl Christ's day. Joseph and Mary were married under it ; and the former, when he doubted Mary's fidehty, was " minded to put her away privily.'!. For fourteen centuries and a haff, then, God's chosen people, U-ving under His law, had, according to you, a mere substitute for marriage. Wliat distinctive name the " bantUng " deserves, I leave to your judgment. We have been accustomed to regard it as "old-fashioned mar riage." It is certain, however, that the contract, under such a law, was, " I wUl be your husband just as long as you find favor in my eyes ; and, as soon as you cease to do so, you shall have a bill of divorcement, and be sent out of my house. Then you may marry whom you please." Jesus tells us that this law was given "because of the hardness of their hearts " ; or, as we should now express it, hecause of the low grade of morahty then existing in Judea. Nevertheless, if it reaUy be God's own law, how can you aUege that it is -wrong in itself ? But, if it be not -wrong, then divorce, even of the easiest attainment, must, in a certain state of society, be right. And hence results another impor tant principle; namely, that there is no absolute right or wrong about this matter of divorce ; but that it may proper ly vary in its details at different stages of civilization. It is certain that, under the Divine Economy, our modern sense of MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. g85 propriety and moraUty has been so developed, that we should not tolerate the Jewish statute giving uncontroUed Ucense to the husband, but no right of rehef whatever to the wffe. Jesus, discarding the old law, is stated to have proposed (as you remmd us) to the people of his day a substitute where there was but a suigle cause for divorce, — the same recognized by the New York statute. But his idea of conjugal infideUty was not that entertamed hi our courts of law. He looked, beyond surface-moraUty, to the heart. In his pure eyes, the thought and the act were of equal criminahty. His words were : " Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her afready in his heart." (Mat thew V. 28.) The fafr inference seems to be, that the proper cause for divorce is, not the mere physical act of infideUty, but that adultery of the heart which quenches conjugal love ; thus destroying that which, far more justly than your cohabi tation tUl death, may be regarded as " the very essence of Marriage." I do not aUege that Jesus so connected his two teachings, — that regarding divorce and that defining adultery, — that the Jews of his day, gross-minded as they were, might detect the connection and perceive its inference. If the Hebrews, in Moses' time, were so steeped in barbarism that nothing better than the bUl-of-divorcement privUege was suitable for them, we may readUy imagine that, even after fourteen cen turies had elapsed, enough of the hardness of heart would remain to justify a law, in advance of the other, indeed, but stiU only adapted to a hard, material race, — a race who had not learned that the letter kiUeth, but the spirit giveth life, — a race who cannot be supposed to have been capable of appre ciating, hardly of comprehending, a morality of standard so exalted that the thought is brought to judgment though the deed disclose it not. I wiU go further and admit that, if the words of Jesus, in the text quoted by you, have come down to us reported with strict accuracy, he may have intended the men of his day to put upon them, as best adapted to thefr social status, the Ut- 586 MISCELLANIES. eraUy material interpretation which seems to have suggested itseff to the framers of the New York divorce law. Jesus was not one who urged reform, as some modern innovators do, rashly or prematurely. Prudence was one of his distin guishing characteristics. He said not aU that was in itseff true and proper to be said at some time, but only aU the truths which the people to whom he addressed himseff were prepared to receive. That he kept back a part, we have his o-wn words to prove : " I have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now ; howbeit, when He, the Spirit of Truth, is come, he wUl guide you into all trath." (John xvi 12, 13.) Yet, even if your law-makers but received the same impres sion that was produced on the Jews by Jesus' words, it by no means follows that it is the one adapted to our wants and progress. It by no means foUows that we should not look be yond the dead letter to the Uving spirit. If the divorce law promulgated from Mount Sinai was no longer adapted to a world gro-wn fifteen hundred years older, are we to suppose that eighteen hundred years more,' passed away, have brought -with them no need for another advance and a more enUght ened interpretation ? Thus, I think, I have sho-wn you : — First. That it wiU not do to warn us who think Divorce a morahzing engine, as poachers, off your seff-enfeoffed prem ises; or to bid us seek some name other than Marriage where with to designate our legal unions. The Bible teUs us that the ancestors of Christ were reaUy married; and I never heard this denied, tiU your doctrine denied it. Second. That, according to the Old Testament, easy divorce was expressly permitted, three thousand years ago, by the Deity himself Third. That divorce laws may properly vary, in different stages of civilization. And Fourth. That the language of Jesus, fairly construed, des ignates the proper cause of divorce to he, that infidehty of the heart which defeats the true purpose of marriage. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 587 In conclusion, permit me to say, as to the quasi-divorce to which, under the name of " separation from bed and board," you refer, and which you think "just right," that of aU the various kinds of divorce it has been found, in practice, to be the most immoral in its tendency. The subjects of it, in that nondescript state which is neither married nor single, are exposed — as every person of strong affection must be who takes a vow of cehhacy yet mixes with the world — to pow erful temptations. Unable to mairy, the chances are, that these law-condemned cehbates may do worse. I think that those members of your bar with whom the procurement of legal separations is a specialty could make to you some startling disclosures on this subject. But, be this as it may, what becomes of the " mutual and solemn vow to Uve together tUl death them do part " ? What becomes of the dictionary definitions which you adduce about being " united for Ufe," and about " affection and fideUty tUl death shaU separate them " ? Does not your pohcy of " sep aration from bed and board " as effectuaUy extinguish these, and thus, according to your view, as completely convert Mar riage into a concubinal substitute, as my remedy of Divorce ? I am, my dear sfr, faithfuUy yours, Eobert Dale Owen. New Yokk, March 6, 1860. MR. GREELEY AGAIN.* To the Hon. Eobert Dale Owen op Indiana : — Dear Sir : In my former letter, I asserted, and I think proved, that I. The established, express, unequivocal dictionary meaning of Marriage is union for life. Whether any other sort of union of man and woman be or be not more rational, more beneficent, more morah more Christian, than this, it is cer- * From The Tribune of March 17, 1860. 688 MISCELLANIES. tain that this is Marriage, and that that other is some thing else. II. That this is what we who are legaUy married — at aU events, if married by the ministers of any Christian denomi nation — uniformly covenant to do. I distinctly remember that my marriage covenant was " for better, for worse," and " untu death do part." I presume yours was the same. III. That Jesus of Nazareth, in opposition to the ideas and usages current in his time, alike among Jews and GentUes, expressly declared Adultery to be the only vaUd reason for dissolving a marriage. IV. That the nature and inherent reason of Marriage in exorably demand that it be indissoluble except for that one crime which destroys its essential condition. In other words, no marriage can be innocently dissolved ; but the husband or wife may be released from the engagement updn proof of the utter and fiagrant violation of its essential condition by the othier party. And now, aUow me to say that I do not see that your second letter successfuUy assails any of these positions. You do not, and cannot, deny that our standard dictionaries define Marriage as I do, and deny the name to any temporary ar rangement ; you do not deny that I have truly stated Christ's doctrine on the subject (whereof the Christian ceremonial of Marriage, whether in the Cathohc or Protestant Churches, is a standing evidence) ; and I am willing to let your criticism on Christ's statement pass without comment. So with regard to Moses : I am content to leave Moses's law of divorce to the brief but pungent commentary of Jesus, and his unquestion ably correct averment that " from the beginning, it was not so." But you say that, if my position is sound, I make "a sweep ing assertion" against the vaUdity of the marriages now existing in Indiana and other divorcing States. 0 no, sir ! Nine tenths of the people in those States — I trust, ninety- nine hundredths — were married by Christian ministers, under the law of Christ. They solemnly covenanted to remain faithful untu death, and they are fulfilling that promise. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 589 Your easy-divorce laws are nothing to them ; their conscience and their Uves have no part in those laws. Your State might decree that any couple may divorce themselves at pleasure, and stUl those who regard Jesus as their Divine Master and Teacher, would hold fast to his Word, and live according to a " higher law " than that re-vised and relaxed by you. I dissent entirely from your dictum that the words of Jesus relative to Marriage and Divorce may have been intended to have a local and temporary application. On the contrary, I beheve he, unlike Moses, promulgated the eternal and univer sal law, founded, not in accommodation to special circum stances, but in the essential nature of God and man. I admit that he may sometimes have withheld the truth that he deemed his auditors unable to comprehend and accept, but I insist that what he did set forth was the absolute, unchanging fact. But I did not cite him to overbear reason by authority, but because you referred flrst to Christianity and the wiU of God, and because I beUeve what he said respecting Marriage to be the very truth. Can you seriously imagine that your personal exegesis on his words should outweigh the uniform tradition and practice of all Christendom ? You understand, I presume, that I hold to separations "from bed and board" — as the laws of this State aUow them — only in cases where the party thus separated is in danger 'of bodUy harm from the ferocity of an insane, intemperate, or otherwise brutahzed, infuriated husband or -wife. I do not admit that even such perU can release one from the vow of continence, which is the vital condition of Marriage. It may possibly be that there is " temptation " involved in the posi tion of one thus legaUy separated ; but I judge this evU far less than that which must result from the easy dissolution of Marriage. For here is the -vital trath that your theory overlooks : The Di-vine end of Marriage is parentage, or the perpetuation and increase of the Human Eace. To this end, it is indispensable — at least, eminently desirable — that each chUd should en joy protection, nurture, sustenance, at the hands of a mother 590 MISCELLANIES. not only, but of a father also. In other words, the parents should be so attached, so devoted to each other, that they shaU be practicaUy separable but by death. Creatures of appetite, fools of temptation, lovers of change, as men are, there is but one tahsman potent to distinguish between genuine affection and its meretricious counterfeit; and that is the solemn, searching question, " Do you know this woman so thoroughly, and love her so profoundly, that you can assuredly promise that you wiU forsake aU ^others and cleave to her only untU death ? " If you can, your union is one that God has hal lowed, and man may honor and approve ; but, ff not, wait tUl you can thus pledge yourself to some one irrevocably, invok ing heaven and earth to witness your truth. If you rush into a union with one whom you do not thus know and love, and who does not thus know and love you, yours is the crime, the shame; yours be. the hfe-long penalty. I do not think, as men and women actuaUy are, this law can be improved ; when we reach the spirit-world, I presume we shaU find a Divine law adapted to its requfrements, and to our moral condition. Here, I am satisfied with that set forth by Jesus Christ. And, whUe I admit that individual cases of hardship arise under this law, I hold that there is seldom an unhappy marriage that was not originally an unworthy one, — hasty and heedless, ff not positively vicious. And, if people will transgress, God can scarcely save them from consequent suf fering ; and I do not think you or I can. Yours, Horace Greeley. New Yokk, March 11, 1860. A CORRECTION.* To THE Editor op The N. Y. Tribune : — Sir : Your paper of yesterday, 12th inst, contains a letter bearing the signature of Eobert Dale Owen. After eulogizing * From The Tribune of March 12, 1860. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 591 the doctrine of the New Testament, which is carried out in the law of the State of New York, and which only permits divorce in case of adultery, the writer faUs foul of that " semi- barbarous" people, the Jews, and their legislator, Moses, whose law of divorce Mr. E. D. Owen professes to quote ver batim from Deuteronomy xxiv. 1 : " When a man hath taken a -wffe and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favor in his eyes, then let him -write her a biU of divorcement and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house." Now, I would respectfuUy ask of Mr. E. D. Owen, how is it, that, in transcribing these words out of the Bible, he has left out and altogether oinitted the words " because he hath found some uncleanness in her," which form an integral part of the first verse in the twenty-fourth chapter of Deuteronomy, after the sentence, " find no favor 'in his eyes," and before the sentence, " then let him -write," &c. These words omitted by Mr. E. D. Owen form the gist of the whole law on Divorce. For the Hebrew word ervah, which the English version here renders "uncleanness," is throughout sacred Scripture invariably used to express illicit sexual intercourse. Vide Leviticus xviii, where the word occurs several times, and is rendered " nakedness." Into the argument on Divorce it is not my intention to en ter ; and, as it is not parliamentary to impute motives, I must not say that Mr. E. Owen intentionaUy mutilated the text he quotes, leavmg out words which fuUy prove that this Word of God, through Moses His servant, so cavalierly, not to say unfairly, freated by Mr. E. D. Owen, is identical with the law of our State, which he praises as derived from the New Testament. But I should Uke to know, and I ask you, Mr. Editor, what degree of confidence and consideration can be due to the assertions and opinions of a disputant who, pro fessing to quote verbatim from a book so weU known as the Bible, "somehow" contrives to omit the pith and marrow of a law against which he dfrects his assault ? Yours, A Semi-Barbarous Eabbi. 592 MISCELLANIES. REPLY BY MR. OWEN.* To "A Semi-Barbarous Rabbi " : — Sir : I omitted the words in the text from Deuteronomy, to which in to-day's Tribune you refer, intentionaUy. If they were at aU essential to the true understanding of the text, you are right in taking me severely to task for their omission. A man who would garble a quotation from any book to suit his purpose ought to forfeit aU claim to public confidence. I omitted them from what you may term a weakness, or may pronounce to be mere fastidiousness. My studies never having gone beyond Greek, the Old Testament, in its original tongue, is a sealed book to me. The expression, " because he hath found some uncleanness in her," conveyed to my mind no idea except as a phrase, couched in terms less veiled than modern usage is wont to employ, to mean disgust produced by some personal habit or idiosyncrasy. If in this I was not mistaken, the words are clearly non-essential ; and I might innocently consult my feehngs by omitting them in the columns of a daily paper. But ff, as you assert, the Hebrew word rendered " unclean ness " means " adultery," the omission was a grave one, even if not -wiffully committed. Does it mean adultery ? If, without presumption, one who has never cultivated those roots of which that impudent feUow who indited Hudibras declared that they "flourish most on barren ground " may venture to argue the point with a Eabbi, I ask leave to take issue as to this interpretation. The sub ject, indeed, is a disagreeable one ; hut, in self-defence, I can not now choose but foUow whither you lead ; namely, to the chapter cited by you, Leviticus xviii, where, as you inform us, the same word rendered " uncleanness " in Deuteronomy occurs several times, and is translated "nakedness." The first verse in which this happens reads thus : " The nakedness * From The Tribune of March 19, 1860. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 593 of thy father and the nakedness of thy mother thou shalt not uncover." If, as you allege, the word ervah, here translated "nakedness," is "throughout Sacred Scripture invariably used to express UUcit sexual intercourse," or, as in a -wife's case it would be, adultery ; and if in the above text we substitute the one word for the other (as, if you are right, we may properly do), we shaU have a text which you may compre hend, but which, to my obtuser perceptions, becomes whoUy uninteUigible. I, in what your learning may set down as my simpUcity, have always interpreted the text in question as referring to that offence which Shem and Japheth avoided, and for which Canaan (Genesis ix. 25) was cursed. The word "uncleanness" does, indeed, in another text (Numbers v. 19), mean adultery ; but, to give it that meaning, other defining words are expressly added. The priest, in that text, thus addresses the woman suspected of infidehty, " If no man have lain -with thee, and if thou hast not gone aside to uncleanness with another instead of thy husband, be thou free," &c. Even in this text, however, if we were to attempt to substitute " adultery " for " uncleanness," we should not only have flagrant tautology, hut a phrase that would seem to favor the idea that a -wffe might commit adultery with her husband as weU as -with other men ; a thing, I must confess, I never before heard o£ But, independently of aU this, the very words of the text seem to preclude your reading. Those words are : "If it come to pass that she (the -wife) find no favor in his eyes because of some uncleanness," &c. Now, a wife may be said to "find no favor" in a husband's eyes, ff her person or her character become disagreeable to him ; but who would ever select such a phrase for a graver occa sion ? What would you think of saying, " Mrs. Smith found no favor in Mr. Smith's eyes, because of some acts of adul tery"? FinaUy, a difficulty remains which, in my eyes, as in the eyes of aU' Christians it must be, is uisuperable ; though "A 38 594 MISCELLANIES. Semi-Barbarous Eabbi," perhaps, may get over it. Jesus did not interpret the text as you do. Your assertion is, that Moses' law " is identical with the law of your State " (New York) ; that is to say, that it aUowed Divorce for no other cause except adultery. If that was so, why, I pray you, did Jesus say : " Moses, because of the hardness of your hearts, suffered you to put away your wives " ? And why did he add : " But in the beginning it was not so ; and I say unto you : Whosoever shaU put away his wffe, except it be for fornication, and shaU marry another, committeth adultery" ? You make Moses' law and Jesus' law identical Yet here we find Jesus discarding the one as a permission granted only because of the old Hebrews' hard hearts, and substituting the other. But was there nothing to discard ? Were the law discarded and the substitute incul cated one and the same ? That, as every reasonable man must see, is a sheer impossibUity. For we cannot imagine Jesus' words to be meaningless, nor conclude that he was trifling with his audience, and recommending, for their adop tion, the self-same thing he condemned. We know, as weU as we can know any historical fact, that, at the time when we are told that Jesus declared adultery to be the only vahd cause for divorce, that declaration was, as Mr. Greeley, in his last letter, reminds us, " in opposition to the laws and usages ahke among Jews and GentUes." I am not weU informed as to how far Eabbis usually regard the words or the opinions of Jesus as authoritative. For my seff, if I am in error, — ff the ancient Jews, as you aUege, were not permitted to divorce thefr wives " except it be for fornication," and if, in consequence, there was, in Christ's day, nothing to reform in the Jewish divorce law, — it is enough for me to know that, in adhering (as, after a careful survey of the whole ground, I do) to the opposite opinion, I am but adopting the -views and sharing the interpretation put forth by the Author of the Christian rehgion. Egbert Dale O-wen. New York, Saturday, March 17, 18g0. marriage and divorce. 595 Comment by Mr. Greeley. All this strikes us as very absurd, and based on an unac countable lack of perception. The fundamental idea of the Mosaic law is personal and perfect purity. Moses, therefore, permitted the husband who had heen deceived as to the chas tity, prior to marriage, of his -wife, to put her away. This Jesus disaUowed, as a temporary or local permission, based on grounds pecuUar to the Hebrew economy, reestabhshing in its stead the law as it was "from the beginning," that only incontinence, after marriage, can afford a vaUd reason for divorce. MR. OWEN IN RESPONSE.* THE WORD "ERVAH." To THE Editor of The N. Y. Tribune : — Sir : Unwilling to rest under the imputation cast on me by you in to-day's " Tribune," namely, that my views in reply to a "Semi-Barbarous Eabbi" are "very absurd," and are "based on an unaccountable lack of perception," I have looked a Uttle more closely into the philology of the question, and beg leave here to present to you the result. Gesenius, than whom, you are aware, there is no better au thority, in his Hebrew Lexicon, translates ervah, turpitudo, faeditas ; and referring speciaUy to the bUl-of-divorcement text (Deuteronomy xxiv. 1), he renders it " Macula aliqua in muliere reperta" ; that is, "a blemish (or spot) found in the woman." You can consult this Lexicon in the Astor Library. In Luther's Translation of the Bible (to be found in the same Library), at the text above referred to, that reformer, in explaining the word " uncleanness," parenthesises thus : {um etwas das ihm misfdllt, es sey an ihrem Leihe oder Geharden oder Sitten, die sich aber sonst zuchtig verhdllt;) which, if you are famUiar with German, you know to mean : (" in re- * From The Tribune of March 24, 1860. 596 MISCELLANIES. gard to something which displeases him, either in her person or in her demeanor, or in her conduct, without imputation, however, on her chastity.") The word zuchtig means strictly, chaste, modest. One could hardly find anything more in ac cordance -with my interpretation than this. Again, the learned Ewald (in his " Geschichte des Volks Israel," Vol II. of Anhang, page 185), commenting on the Jewish bUl of divorcement, says : Und sicher enthielte ein solcher Brief keinen weitern Tadel der Frau als wa/re er ein Klagebrief gewesen ; sondern diente der Frau eher als ein Zeugniss doss ihrer Wiederheirath nichts im Wege stehe : that is, " And such a document certainly imputed no further blame to the wife than if it had been a mere letter of com plaint ; on the (?ontrary, it rather served as a certificate in her hands, in proof that there was no obstacle to a second marriage." I think you -wUl no longer deny that, if my -views are " very absurd," they are at least sustained by the best He brew Lexicon of the day, by a -writer of the highest authority on Hebrew history, and, finaUy, that they are indorsed, beyond aU possible doubt, by the Great Eeformer himseff. These learned men must aU have shared my " unaccountable lack of perception." Whence you disinterred your idea that incontinence in the wffe prior to marriage was the Mosaic ground of permission to put her away I have no idea whatever. Certainly not from the Old Testament, so far as I am acquainted with its pages. As I read there, incontinence before marriage, unless disproved (Deuteronomy xxii. 20, 21), was, according to the Mosaic law, punishable, not by a bUl of divorcement, but by a cruel death. Youra, Egbert Dale O-wen. New Yoek, Monday, March 19, 1860. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 597 MR. OWEN RESUMES.* DIVORCE. To the Hon. Horace Greeley : — My DEAR Sir : You derive your arguments against Divorce from two sources : 1. From Scripture. 2. From the moraUty of the case. I. If you regard the Old Testament as a portion of the Word of God, you must admit that the Jewish bUl-of-divorce- ment law was framed, not by a faUible lawgiver, but by the Deity himseff, Moses heing only the medium of its promulga tion. If you accept the authority of Gesenius, of Ewald, and of Luther, you must further concede to 'me that that biU-of- divorcement law permitted a husband to put away a faithful wffe in any case in which she became personaUy disagreeable, or in her deportment obnoxious to him, and that he was sole judge whether she found favor in his eyes or not. These premises conceded, it foUows, that, upwards of three thousand years ago, God sanctioned a law which permitted a husband to put away his -wffe when she displeased him, by means of a simple bill of divorcement, drawn up by the hus band himseff. The New Testament informs us, and you remind us, that Jestis, fourteen centuries later, disaUowed that law. But he did not condemn it as a law which ought never to have ex isted; he mtimates that it was rendered necessary hy the " hard hearts " of those for whose guidance it was framed. Then the law of God, enacted thirty-two centuries ago, was declared by Jesus, eighteen centuries ago, to be no longer adapted to the state of human society. What foUows ? That there is no positive good or evil, — no absolute virtue or vice ? Far from it. There are prin ciples permanent as the everlasting hiUs, immutable as the * From The Tribune of March 28, 1860. 598 MISCELLANIES. laws that hold the planets to thefr course; principles that depend not on times and seasons, that are the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. Such, to select an eminent example, is the declaration, " Love is the fulfilling of the law." It was true from the creation ; it wiU be trae untU time shaU be no more. But the details of a law are one tlung, and a great, eternal principle is another. Laws properly change as the world changes. But the master principles underlying laws — the " laws of the laws," to adopt Bacon's phrase — endure whUe the world lasts. Beyond the general rule, however, we have, in this par ticular case, the direct authority of Jesus for it, that a divorce law adapted to one age may cease to be suitable in another. But, ff the detaUs of a Divine law three thousand years old were properly rejected in a later stage of society, is it not certain that the same may be trae in our age of other details put forth by Jesus as suitable for the Jews of his day ? for men so low in the social scale that they found in his teach ings nothing but blaspheiny, and rewarded them by mockings and scourgings, and a death of torture on the cross ? ¦ It foUows, past all denial, that whUe, as Christians, we should be guided by the great principles taught by the Author of our religion, we are not bound by the detaUs of a law adapted for Judea in the days of Herod the King ; pro-vided our moral sense, moulded and quickened by Christian study, leads us to the conclusion that we — less hard of heart than those who cried out, " Cracify him ! " — can bear other laws and greater liberty than they. And thus, at last, we are thrown back, for guidance, to the second source whence your arguments are derived. II. In other words : What is the trae morality of the case ? " The Divine end of Marriage," you say, " is the perpetua tion and increase of the human race." Has ci-vilization, in our day, reached no further than this ? Do we find in the hohest of human relations no higher, nobler object — no end more divme — than the operation of that MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 599 instinct (common to man with the lower races) which peoples the earth? God has, indeed, ordained that, incidental to Marriage, and inseparable from it, shaU be Eeproduction. If, in any sense, it be true that this is the divine end of human marriage, it must be in the same sense which apphes when the stag seeks his partner, or the dove submits to her mate. But, just in proportion as man is nobler than the bird of the air or the beast of the field, is his marriage removed to infinite distance above thefrs. Woe to that bride, standing in her white robes before the altar, who is thought of, by the one at her side, only as the future bearer of his children ! Woe to her, ff she has not chosen a spouse whose heart is sweUed with aspfrations that overmaster the sensual ; in whose soul there burns not a Ught pure enough and bright enough to quench, in such a moment as that, the lurid flames of desfre ? It is one of the most beautfful and beneficent arrangements which mark the Divine economy, that an institution — a physical incident of which is the propagation of the race — should, in its higher and nobler results, be the means of calling forth all that is best and purest in the inner nature of man; love, in the broadest acceptation of that much profaned word, — loVe, that crashes man's innate selfishness, and teaches him the great lesson that the best happiness is to be found in cares for another, not in thoughts for himseff; love that is heightened, indeed, by the warmth of earthly emotions, but has an existence above and apart from these ; to remain when age has quenched passion, — to endure beyond the term of our present stage of existence. In that higher phase of wedded Ufe which has its origin in sentiments and aspirations such as these, not in the results of our nature's lower instincts, will a cultivated mind, in its best moments, recognize " the Divine end of Marriage." If, some day, released from the daily round and deafening whirl of pohtics, you give to your better instincts, in quiet, fafr scope and free voice, I think they wiU teach you this. MeanwhUe, we are here at issue. You have one con ception of the Divine end of Marriage, I another. If yours 600 MISCELLANIES. be the correct idea, then it may he that nothing except that which casts doubt on the parentage of offspring should be vaUd cause for the dissolution of Marriage. If, on the con trary, I have more justly interpreted the higher purposes of that institution, then whatever violates these defeats the Divine end of Marriage, and suppUes rightful cause why the relation, faihng in its true intent, should be discontinued. It is a sound principle in jurisprudence, that, with the termina tion of the cause for a law, the law also should cease. I do not merely say, in cases where the hohest purposes for which God ordained Marriage are frustrated, its divinest ends defeated, and its inmost sanctuary defiled, by evU passions, that the relation, thus outraged, may not improperly cease : I say that, for the sake of vfrtue and for the good of mankind, in aU such demorahzing cases, it ought to cease. Household strife is immorahty ; domestic hatred is immorahty ; heart less selfishness is immorahty; inhuman treatment of the weak by the strong is terrible immorahty. And that condi tion of things, degenerate from a noble purpose, which fosters evUs such as these, has become itseff immoral and demands abatement. Why, in its -vice-fostering perversion, should a hfe of bickering be dragged on, tUl death, at last, brings separation and peace ? In the interests of the chUdren, perhaps ? But is that the atmosphere in which their young lives should ex pand ? Or, is it in order that that intangible generahty caUed Society may be propitiated and appeased ? But how, I beg of you, can the true interests of Society be subserved by perpetuating immorahty among its members ? What sort of Moloch is this Society that demands the immolation of its own offspring ? What further objection do you interpose ? In substance, this, — that men and women about to marry, exercising de Uberation and discrimination, ought never to select Ul ; and that, ff they do, "theirs is the crime and the shame, and theirs should be the hfe-long penalty." If a lawgiver, directly or virtuaUy, demands impossihiUties, MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 601 his laws wUl faU of their effect. In making his demands, then, he should have special reference to the powers hkely to be at the disposal of those of whom these demands are made. It avaUs nothing to say that a thing ought to be, if, as a gen eral rule, it cannot be. But of aU requfrements, the most arduous — arduous even when mature thought has brought wisdom, and when age has conferred experience — is the decision whether a being, loved now, is the one of aU others, inteUectuaUy, moraUy, physicaUy, to whom, in a trae home, we can impart permanent happiness, and from whom we are capable of re ceiving it. Mortal eyes, even the wisest, never fuUy pene trate the veU. There may he that beyond which no foresight could anticipate. And, ff such be the case, -with wisdom and experience to guide, what shaU we expect from unsuspicious faith, just en tering a false world, serenely ignorant of its treacheries, an utter stranger to its guUe ? WUl its goodness be its protec tion ? The reverse. In such a trial, it is the noblest who are the most exposed. The better the nature, the more im minent the danger it encounters. The cold, the heartless, the calculating, have fafr chance of escape ; .it is the warm, the trusting, the generous, who are the usual sufferers. What behef so blind as that of first, pure, young affection ? What so easily cheated as a fresh and faithful and innocent heart ? And by what right, according to what principle, I pray you, do we decide that there is one mistake that is never to be cor rected ; one error, the most fatal of aU, which, once committed, we shaU never be permitted to repair ? A " hfe-long penalty " you would inflict. And for what heinous offence ? Say that an honest mistake were a crime ; say that a vernal error were a career of shame. Even then, the sentiment would be Jewish, not Christian. " An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," was the rule addressed to the hard hearts. Nowhere, in aU Christ's teachings, wiU you flnd the hke. The sin of your brother, sinning seven times, you would not forgive ; yet, as a Christian, you ought to forgive 602 MISCELLANIES. it, even to seventy times seventy. The entrance to the father's house you would- bar against the retuming prodigal. His, you would declare to him, was " the sin, the shame " ; his should be " the hfe-long penalty." No rejoicing that he was dead and is ahve again ; no weeping joy that he was lost and is found ! Let us dismiss abstractions, and stand face to face -with the reahties of hfe. The time may come when men and women (the eyesight of the affections opened) shaU unfaUingly dis tinguish and choose thefr own appropriate mates. I have heard enthusiasts argue that it -wUl ; and that there is a futtue before mankind, even on earth, in which conjugal separation and divorce wiU be unkno-wn terms. God send it! But, meanwhUe, it is with the present, and its errors, and its evils, and its sufferings, and its temptations to sin, that we have to deal. Where we faU to cure, it is our duty to aUeviate. If we cannot make aU the married virtuous and happy, let us do what we can, by humane laws of prevention, to reheve from immoral situations ; and thus to diminish domestic misery and arrest household vice. I thank you, my dear sir, for the opportunity afforded to discuss this subject, and am Faithfully yours, Egbert Dale Owen. New Yokk, Tuesday, March 20, 1860. MR. GREELEY'S REJOINDER.* To Robert Dale Owen : — • Dear Sir : As you have intimated your wiUingness that our discussion should here close, I wUl endeavor to introduce no new views into this letter. I wUl simply sum up the con troversy as it stands. I. I have hitherto shown, and you have not attempted to * From The Tribune of April 7, 1860. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 603 disprove, that Marriage is, according "to every standard dic tionary, a union for life, indissoluble at the pleasure of those married, or either of them. I have insisted that you have no right to use this important word in a vitaUy different sense from that given to it hy the great lexicographers. What you favor may be ever so much better than Marriage (though I beheve it far otherwise), but it is manffestly not the same thing, and you ought to give it a distinctive name. When I am told that two persons are married, I understand that they have" covenanted to Uve together as husband and wffe, not during pleasure, but during Ufe. The dictionaries, the Chris tian reUgion, the general consent of my countrymen and of the civUized world, fully justify me in that conception. When, therefore, you apply the term Marriage to a very dff- ferent compact, you not merely use words unjustifiably, but you vfrtuaUy confess the badness of your cause. The trades man who counterfeits another's trade-marks virtuaUy con fesses the inferiority of his o-wn wares. I protest, then, against your using the word Marriage to designate any other union than one for hfe. If A and B have agreed, with ever so much ceremony, to Uve as man and wife until one or both of them shaU see flt to separate and form new relations, they may be ever so -wisely and rationaUy pafred, but they are not married. I made this point as strongly before ; our readers wUl judge whether you have or have not met it. At aU events, I mind the Apostle's frijunction to "Hold fast the form of sound words." We who stand by Marriage as Jesus Christ estabUshed and Noah Webster defines it, have a right to the word by which that relation has ever been character ized. What you advocate is quite another thing, — be pleased to give it a distinguishing name. Then, ff we caU our compact by your name, the pubhc wUl understand that we admit your union to be more rational, honorable, enno bhng, than ours. At aU events, we wam you off our premises, and insist that you shaU not lay your eggs in our nest. If you demand Uberty to form temporary unions, we wiU con sider that demand ; but you must not caU them marriages ; 604 MISCELLANIES. for, though they may be the same to you, they are far other- ,wise to us. II. As to the reUgious or Christian view of the subject, I rest on the simple, exphcit averment of Jesus of Nazareth, as universaUy understood and regarded by the Christian Church for eighteen centuries. We know what Hebrew, Greek, Eo man laws and customs respecting the marital union were in Christ's day ; we know that Jesus propounded and his disci ples accepted a very different law, — that of Marriage indis soluble but by death, or by that crime which is death to aU the sanctities of Marriage. We know that Orthodox and Heretic, Catholic and Protestant, Uteral and Uberal, with barely exceptions enough to prove the rule, have understood the Saviour's doctrine of Marriage throughout the Christian centuries as I do to-day. That this Christian doctrine of Marriage is a chief reason for the moral, inteUectual, and even material, supremacy of Europe over Asia in our day, I do most firmly beUeve ; you -wiU regard it as you think fit. And, as to Moses and his law, with aU you have to say of them, aU the answer that seems to me needed is contained in the few words of Jesus on that very point : " Moses, for the hardness of your hearts," permitted easy divorce ; " but from the beginning it was not so." III. I have said that " the Divine end of Marriage is the perpetuation and increase of the human race." By that affir mation I abide. Of course, I did not say that Marriage has no other end than this ; so aU your criticism seems to me ludicrously inapposite. I do not urge that, in a true sexual union, everything else but the production, nurture, and well- being of chUdren, must be ignored. I do insist that there must be nothing incompatible or inconsistent with this. If required to say whether the union of this man with this woman is true, noble, and honorable, or sensual, selfish, and debasing, I must ask, " Would they gladly have chUdren born ofit? Would they proudly acknowledge those chUdren before the world, and undertake to fulfil toward them aU the duties of parents ? " MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 605 If not, their union, though impeUed by mutual admiration, and signaUzed by a lava-flood of passion, is shameful and un- blest. The sexual union which the immediate parties prefer should be chUdless has no right to be at aU. I was shocked when I heard an apostle of your faith say, some years since, " We hold that the parents are not to be sacrificed to the children." I hold, on the contrary, that the Uves of true parents are flUed with acts of seff-sacrifice for their chUdren, — that their Uves have been weU spent who have given to the world offspring nobler than themselves. And, whUe I admit that the conduct of a husband may be so outrageous, so brutal, as to justffy the innocent wife in re quiring a separation, I insist that one who truly comprehends the nature and purposes of Marriage wUl not seek to marry another whUe the father of her children is stiU Uving. I do not think she could look those children in the eye with aU a mother's conscious purity and dignity whUe reaUzing that thefr father and her husband, both hving, were different men. Nor do I feel that she could be to them aU that a mother should be under such conditions. IV. The -vice of our age, the main source of its aberrations, is a morbid Egotism, which overrides the gravest social neces sities in its mad pursuit of individual, personal ends. Your fling at that " intangible generality caUed Society " is direct ly in point. You are concerned chiefly -for those who, having married unfortunately, if not -viciously, seek relief from their bonds ; I am anxious rather to prevent, or at least to render infrequent, immoral, and unfit sexual unions hereafter. The miseries of the unfitly mated maybe deplorable ; but to make divorce easy is in effect to invite the sensual and selfish to profane the sanctions of Marriage whenever appetite and temptation may prompt. Here are a man and a woman who know absolutely nothing of each other but that they are re- ciprocaUy pleased -with each other's appearance, and think Marriage would conduce to their mutual enjoyment, — so they form a connubial partnership. Next year — perhaps next month — they have tfred of each other, — discovered incom- 606 MISCELLANIES. patibilities of temper, — quarreUed, — in short, they hate each other, as they very well may ; so they are divorced, and ready to marry again. Gibbon intimates that, under the Eoman hber ty of Divorce, by which Eome was debauched and ultimately ruined, a woman had eight husbands within five years. Mr. Owen, whenever you shaU have succeeded in appropriating our word Marriage as a fig-leaf for this sort of thing, you -wUl cause us to invent or appropriate some other term to charac terize what we mean by Marriage ; and then you wUl very soon drop your o-wn dishonored designation and come coveting ours again. So please leave us what belongs to us, and choose a new term for your arrangement now. " It is very hard," said a culprit to the judge Who sentenced him, " that I should be so severely punished for merely steal ing a horse." " Man," rephed the judge, " you are not so punished for merely steahng a horse, but that horses may rwt he stolen." The distinction seems to me clear and vital The wedded in soul may know each other if they wiU ; it is im possible that others should certainly know them. To those who are thus wedded, the covenant to " take each other for better, for worse," and " to live together tUl death do part," has no terrors ; they enter upon it without hesitation, and fulfil its conditions without regret. But to the Ubertine, the egotist, the selfish, sensual seeker of personal and present enjoyment at whatever cost to others, the IndissolubUity of Marriage is an obstacle, a restraint, a terror ; and God forbid that it should ever cease to be ! Thousands would take a wife as readily, as thoughtlessly, as heartlessly, as they don a new coat or sport a new cravat, if it were understood that they might unmarry themselves whenever satiety, or disgust, or mutual dishke, should prompt to that step. But it is not so, Mr. Owen, even in Indiana. Men and women are mar ried, even in Indiana, " for better, for worse," and under solemn covenant to " live together tiU death do part " ; and they can not resort to Divorce, even there, without conscious shame or general reprobation. That human laws may be everywhere conformed to the Divine, and no sexual union haUowed by MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 607 Church or State but that union for Iffe which alone is true Marriage, is the ardent hope of Yours, Horace Greeley. New Yoek, March 31, 1860. MR. OWEN'S CLOSING ARGUMENT.* To the Hon. Horace Greeley : — My dear Sir : Imitating your precaution, I shaU, in sum ming up, avoid the introduction of new views ; I shaU also study strictest brevity. Had your summing up fairly pre sented the question at issue, the public need not have been troubled -with mine. It is a besetting weakness of our nature to imagine itseff unfaUingly right, its opinions infaUibly true, its rules of action the only moraUty. If, in a discussion of principles, we yield to this, the best thing is to close it ; because, conducted in such a spfrit, it becomes useless, or worse. The sole point of our discussion, and that which might be usefuUy, if dispassionately, debated, has been this : You advocate a divorce law with one only cause of divorce : I think it conducive to pubUc moraUty that such a law should admit several causes. I took that position, and I took no other. I indorsed the divorce law of Indiana ; nothing more. But how, in summing up, do you state the case ? In sub stance, thus : Marriage under a single-cause divorce law, as in New York, is Marriage. There is no other Marriage. What goes by that name, under a divorce law admitting several causes, as in Connecticut or Indiana, is not Marriage, but concubinage. If those who are united under such laws caU themselves married, they "use words unjustifiably"; they " virtuaUy confess the badness of their cause " ; they are as "tradesmen who counterfeit another's trade-marks''; * From The Tribune of April 21, 1860. 608 MISCELLANIES. they are countenancing the Eoman woman who had " eight husbands within five years," and appropriating Mr. Greeley's word Marriage " as a fig-leaf for this sort of thing." They must "choose a new term for their arrangement." Horace Greeley, armed with Noah Webster, declares to them, that "they may be ever so -wisely and rationaUy paired, but they are not married," and he "protests against thefr using the word." The law of Connecticut, the law of Indiana, declares, that Marriage, contracted under a divorce law admitting several causes, and by -vfrtue of which the union muy, in certain contingencies, terminate before death, is Marriage." Horace Greeley tells them it is " quite another thing." The law of Connecticut, the law of Indiana, provides, ff a couple, legaUy divorced, contract a second marriage, such second marriage is legal Horace Greeley insists that they " must not call that Marriage ; for, though it may be the same to them, it is far otherwise to him." Here is a conflict. The Eevised Codes of Connecticut and Indiana (and of a dozen other States beside) declare one thing; Horace Greeley declares the opposite. The one or the other, it is evident, must be grievously in error. Popes, from the Vatican, have, not unfrequently, assumed the power, as to certain laws enacted by duly constituted legal authority in various Cathohc countries, by Papal BuU to override and annul them. But in our country we con sider the law supreme ; in force, and to be acknowledged and respected, until it be legaUy repealed. This is not aU. In your summing up, motives are imputed. Those who enact or approve a divorce law which admits more causes than one are told that " they are concerned chiefly for those who, having married unfortunately, if not viciously, seek relief" ; and that this arises from a " morbid egotism, the vice of our age, which overrides the gravest social necessities in its mad pursuit of individual, personal ends." Does it not occur to you, when men vote for or sanc tion reasonable divorce laws, they may do so from a con- MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 609 scientious motive ? Does it not occur to you, that when an opponent expresses the opinion, " in cases where the hohest purposes for which God ordained Marriage are frustrated, and its inmost sanctuary defiled by evU passions, it ought for the sake of virtue to cease," — that he may be sincere in that opinion ? Have you forgotten that there is One only who looks into the heart and reads its motives ; and that no human being has a right, setting himseff up as judge and ruler, to usurp His place ? The story of the horse-thief (told that he was punished not merely for his offence, but " that horses may riot he stolen "), ff it has any bearing on the subject at aU, has an unfafr one. Horse-steaUng is a crime. To take it for granted that Divorce also is one is to prejudge the whole question under discus sion. Again ; if the meaning be, that the tmhappUy married should suffer, not merely for their mistake, but that divorces may not he granted, then you faU into" the same error as the Jews, when they, zealous without knowledge for their Sab bath, were reminded by Jesus, in the spirit of the truest phUosophy, that human institutions are made for man, not man for human institutions. Others may have argued that chUdren ought to be sacri ficed to parents. I hold, and ever have held, that there is no duty more sacred than that which we owe to those to whom we impart existence. It is a misfortune, and a great one, that a mother should look her children in the eye, and think that thefr father, then h-ving, and her husband, are different men. But far greater is the misfortune when she looks upon them -with the bitter consciousness that they are daUy, hourly, learn ing to know in thefr father a sot, a brate, a ruffian, the dese- crator of the domestic sanctuary ; far greater is the anguish to feel that that father never teaches them one lesson of virtue, never gives them one useful example, except it be such as the Helots furnished to the Spartan youth ; a terrible beacon, wanung from the shame and the foUy of intemperance. If you conclude that divorce laws necessarily cause young people to marry as readUy and heartlessly as they don a fresh 39 610 MISCELLANIES. hat or sport a new bonnet, you do your feUow-creatures great injustice ; and a few years' residence in Indiana would con- -vince you of your mistake. You might be reminded of what, even at our age, we ought not to have forgotten, — what man ner of thing, namely, youthful affection is ; how undoubtingly it beheves, how wholly it trusts ; how little it calculates laws or troubles itseff about Divorce, or dreams of anything except that it shaU always love as it loves now ; constancy a pleas ure even more than a duty, and change an impossible desfre. We often err in ascribing to the restraining influence of faulty laws that which is due to the faithful impulses of our better nature. You remind us, on Gibbon's authority, that the Uberty of Divorce was grossly abused in debauched Eome. I remind you that the hberty of EepubUcanism was terribly abused in revolutionary France. But it would be a poor argument thence to conclude, that, in this country, we ought to forbid divorce and infroduce a monarchy. The moral and inteUectual supremacy of Europe over Asia you ascribe mainly to Christian Marriage. To Christian Marriage, as opposed to Polygamy, it may justly be thus as cribed. This opinion I myseff, in a recent work, expressed : " Under the system of Monogamy alone have man's physical powers and moral attributes ever maintained their ascendency ; whUe weakness and national decadence foUow in the train of Polygamy, whether openly carried out, as in Deseret and Constantinople, or secretly practised, as in London and New York."* But this has no bearing on the Divorce question. You wiU not assert that the morals were better before the Eeform ation, in CathoUc countries refusing divorce, than they were after Luther's time in Protestant countries permitting it. Briefly summing up, I remind you : — 1. That I proved, and you have not attempted to disprove, that, according to the Old Testament, God promulgated, more than three thousand years ago, a divorce law permitting a * Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World, page 42. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 611 husband to put away a -wffe who found no favor in his eyes ; that that law prevaUed among His chosen people from the time of Moses tiU long after Joseph and Mary were united subject to its pro-visions ; and, consequently, that ff Marriage, deter minable by Divorce, be no Marriage, there was not a married man or woman among the Jews for fifteen hundred years. 2. I have shown, and you have admitted, that Jesus dis aUowed that law ; not denying that it was suitable at the period it was given, yet declaring that, in his day, it ought not to prevaU. I thence deduced the inference, not assaUed by you, that, according to Scripture, divorce laws may properly vary in different stages of civiUzation. 3. I have stated, what the best legal authority* indorses, that, of the various kinds of Divorce, none has been found, in practice, so immoral as that variety, unknown to our Indiana law, but known in New York as " separation from bed and board." You think it "just right." Let the pubhc judge be tween us. 4. Eeferring to our modem state of civUization, I have argued, that the present age is prepared to see, in the hohest of human relations, purposes far higher, infinitely more worthy the epithet di-vine, than the mere operation of the instinct that peoples the earth ; that Marriage was designed to be, and should be, the means of calUng out aU that is best and purest in the inner nature of man ; and that, when it becomes the daUy source of anger, strife, craelty, brutality, it defeats God's purpose, -violates the Divine economy, becomes itseff immoral, and ought to cease. You dissent. Again he the pubhc the judge in the premises. But ff m these I dissent, there are other points as to which, in concluding this controversy, I am glad to agree with you. I agree that every State has a direct mterest in the private morals of its members. I agree that whatever pohcy is found, in the end, best calculated to promote these morals, ought to prevaU. I agree that it is one of the greatest of earthly blessings, when a married couple dwell together in * Bishop, on Marriage and Divorce, § 277. 612 MISCELLANIES. unity tUl death. I agree that no hght or transient cause should dissolve the conjugal union. I agree that men and women ought mutuaUy to bear and forbear " whUe e-vUs are sufferable," rather than to right themselves by resort to sepa ration or divorce. I agree, further, that a state of things which leads to Divorce is to be deprecated and lamented, and that Divorce itself is a grave inisfortune. And I but add that, when a long train of abuses and immoraUties, pursuing invariably the same course, clearly shows that a union has become destructive of its holy ends, then it ought to be a right, and may become a duty, to select of two evUs the lesser ; to acquiesce in the necessity which indicates a separation, and legaUy to dissolve the bands which connect the Ul-mated members together. In taking leave of you, suffer me to correct an error which crept into my second letter. I there said that there was not a State of the Union without a Divorce law. I ought to have added, "except the State of South Carohna." She boasts that " within her Umits, a divorce has not been granted since the Eevolution." But suspend your approbation tUl you leam, as Bishop -wUl inform you, what is the concomitant : " Not only is adultery not indictable there [in South Carohna], but the Legislature has found it necessary to regulate, by statute, how large a proportion a married man may give of his property to his concubine."* You wUl admit that your system of Indissoluble Marriage is dearly paid for, under such a state of things ; nor have you been in the habit of asserting that the morals of divorce-deny ing South Carolina are superior to those of Connecticut or Indiana. I am, my dear sir, FaithfuUy yours, Egbert Dale Q-wen. Philadelphia, April 9, 1860. * Marriage and Divorce, § 285. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 613 MR. GREELEY CLOSES THE DISCUSSION.* To THE Hon. Eobert Dale Owen : — Sir: I understood from you that your concluding letter wotUd be that to which I last rephed ; but, since you have deemed it necessary to -write again, I necessarUy, yet wiUingly, rejoin. As before, I shaU confine myseff strictly to the points made in your last. I. You seem to complain that I consider my side of the question at issue the side of MoraUty and Eight. But, if I did not, why should I so earnestly uphold it ? Do I com plain of your holding your own side in similar regard ? As suredly, I cannot change my con-victions, and should not he requfred to conceal them. Indeed, since you admit that my conviction is grounded in a " besetting weakness of our nature," you surely cannot regard it -with surprise, any more than I can deem it a reason for closing our discussion ; though I have at aU times since you began it been -willing to close it. II. You think the difference between us to be simply this : I aUow Divorce for a single cause (Adultery), you for several causes ; and you would thus reduce it, from a question of principle, to one of details. But you cannot deny that my one grotmd of Divorce is that expressly affirmed to be such by Jestis Christ, to the exclusion and negation of aU others. Nor can you faU to see that if, as I hold, the paramount (not sole) Di-vine end of Marriage is Parentage, or the perpetua tion and increase, under fit auspices, of the Human Eace, then that crime which -vitiates and confuses parentage may logicaUy he deemed the sole sufficient reason for annulling a marriage. To my mind, therefore, our difference is clearly and emphaticaUy one of principle. I do not hold that even Adultery justifies the dissolution of a marriage so far as the culpable party is concerned. It simply authorizes, but by no means requfres, the faithful, exemplary husband or wife to procure a legal adjudication and declaration of the fact that * From The Tribune of April 31, 1860. 614 MISCELLANIES. this marriage has — solely through the infideUty of the adul terer — been dissolved, so far only as it imposes duties or obhgations on the -wronged and innocent party. III. As to what constitutes Marriage, — what Marriage is, — I have quoted the standard lexicographers of our language, who unanimously pronounce it a union and consecration of one man to one woman for life, and deny the name to aU other unions. Your quarrel on this point is not -with me, but -with the dictionaries, as weU as with the Christian Church. I have made no new definitions ; I have simply insisted that those which have stood unchaUenged hitherto shaU be recognized and respected. Not by me primarUy, but by Jesus of Nazareth, and, following him, by Noah Webster and Dr. Worcester, have the definitions I rest on heen set forth. If they traly define the term, then the mutual promise -of a man and woman to live together untU one of them shall have proved a sot, a termagant, a ruffian, or a beast, is not a marriage. If you insist that the authorities I quote mistake or misstate the true meaning and force of the term, why do you not quote lexicographers who favor your rendering ? Is it not clear that you would have done so, had there been any? And, ff there be none, how can you complain of me for insist ing that the word Marriage shaU he held to mean that, and that only, which our standard dictionaries say it does mean ? IV. And this disposes of your talk of " Horace Greeley " saying this or that, in opposition to your -views. If any part of what I have urged rests on the naked dictum of Horace Greeley, it is, of course, of little moment; but, ff it is cor rectly based on the expUcit teachings of Jesus Christ, on the unbroken tradition and nearly universal affirmation of the Christian Church, on the lessons of Profane History (see Gibbon), the definitions of standard lexicographers, and the concurring judgment of a vast majority of the -wise and good, why, then, you see, the case is bravely altered, and the fact that I reaffirm what aU of these have constantly asserted, does not necessarUy render it insignificant, nor subject it to ridicule. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 615 Y. You dweU on the fact that the codes of Indiana and of some other States permit Divorce for other cause than Adul tery, as though this proved the people of those States not married, according to my understanding of the term. But I have afready urged the fact that, in those States, as elsewhere. Christian Marriage is unqualifiedly a union for Ufe, and that most of those who marry there are married by clergymen in a strict and open accordance with the Christian law. You know, as weU as I do, that divorce, foUowed by another mar riage, rarely faUs to cover -with odium the parties involved in it, or at least some of them. You may not know, how ever, as I do, that, in repeated instances, persons divorced under the State laws you glory in, and otherwise married, have been excommunicated therefor by Protestant churche.?, clergymen being sUenced for the same cause. That no Cath oUc would even dream of contracting such second marriage, no matter in what State or under whatever permission of the secular authority, you, of course, fuUy understand. I must protest, then, against your inference^ from, the fact that the laws of certain States aUow Divorce on various grounds, that thefr people are in verity generaUy educated and married, and afterward Uve, under the law as you would have it. The "higher law" is thefr safeguard. VI. I am surprised that you could so mistake my appUca tion of the judge's remark, that he punished the horse-thief, " not for stealing a horse, but that horses may not be stolen." My idea was, and is, that Marriage is rightfully made in dissoluble, in order that unfit and unreal marriages may not he contracted. Say that a legal marriage may be nuUified merely because the parties find or fancy themselves unsuited to each other, or tinhappy in their union, and I defy you to guard against so-caUed marriages whereof the impulse is mere appetite or worldly convenience. Such unions, in fact, are made, and wUl be jnade, under whatever laws. But tens of thousands of Ubertines, lechers, egotists, who wotdd take a new -wffe at least every Christmas, ff they could legaUy and reputably rid themselves fri season of the old one, are appaUed 616 MISCELLANIES. and deterred by the stem exaction of a solemn promise to fulfil aU the obhgations < of husband and -wife " tiU death do part." We cannot, even thus, be sure that all marital unions wiU be genuine marriages ; but I know no other touchstone which that "intangible something called Society" can apply haff so searching as this. VII. As to whatever discrepancy may exist between the teachings of Moses and of Jesus respectively, regarding Divorce, they present no difficulty to my mind. I hold the law of Moses (not the Decalogue, which says nothing of Divorce) to have been local and temporary in its apphcation ; whUe that of Jesus is permanent and universal Hence my adhesion to the latter. VIII. The -vital difference between us seems to me to hinge just here : You regard primarUy those who have made false marriages, — who have wedded hastUy, giddily, carnaUy, -vi ciously, — and seek to reUeve them from the inevitable conse quence of thefr errors. I, on the other hand, am more intent on dissuading and deterring others from foUowing thefr bad example, and so plunging, Uke Dives, "into this torment." If you could unmarry every discordant pafr to-morrow, and should thereby teach the yet single that they inight marry in haste and get divorced at leisure, you would not diminish, but greatly increase, the aggregate of human woe ; while, ff I could con-vince the giddy miUions of heedless youth that Mar riage is the most important, serious, solemn incident of thefr Uves, and that whoever contracts it on the strength of pleas ing features and a six-weeks' acquaintance commits a crime which wiU assuredly and fearfuUy punish its perpetrators, I should do mankind the greatest service, even though I should thereby render it certain that no divorce be evermore granted. BeUe-ving that unhappy unions were mainly, in their outset, unworthy ones, and that none who marry truly and nobly ever need seek or wish for Divorce, I must continue to uphold the law given through the words of Jesus of Nazareth, which, I am happy to know, is substantiaUy identical with the law of New York. The Puritan pioneers of New England, it is MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE. 617 jocularly said, resolved to take the law of God for thefr guid ance untu they should find time to make a better. Lacking not merely the leisure to frame such better law, but the faith to anticipate or seek it, I propose to hold by what I clearly, undoubtingly, accord with Christendom in understanding to be the Law of Marriage as enunciated by Him who " spake as never man spake." In the hope that further reflection and observation may bring you to a reaUzing sense of its wisdom and benignity, I remain, yours, Horace Greeley. New York, April 25, 1860. NOTE. INDIANA DIVORCE LAW, AS IN FORCE MARCH 1, 1860. (Revised Statutes of Indiana, Vol. II. pp. 234 to 237.) § 6. Divorces may be decreed by the Cfrcuit Courts of this State on petition filed by any person who, at the time of the filing of such petition, shah have been a bona fide resident of the State one jear previous to the filing of the same, and a resident of the county at the time of the filing of such petition, which bona fide residence shah be duly proven by such petitioner to the satisfac tion of the Court trying the same. § 7. Divorces shaU be decreed, upon the application of the in jured party; for the foUowing causes : — 1. Adultery, except as hereinafter provided. 2. Impotency. 3. Abandonment for one year. 4. Cmel treatment of either party by the other. , 5. Habitual drankenness of either party, or the failure of the husband to make reasonable provision for his famdy. 6. The conviction, subsequent to the marriage, in any country, of either party of an infamous crime. 7. Any other cause for which the Court shaU deem it proper that a divorce should be granted. 618 MISCELLANIES. § 8. Divorces shaU not be granted for adultery in any of the foUowing cases : — 1. When the ofi'ence has been committed with the connivance of the party seeking the divorce. 2. When the party seeking the divorce has voluntarily cohab ited with the other, with knowledge of the fact ; or has faded to file his or her petition for two years after he or she had discovered the same. 3. When the party seeking the divorce has also been gudty of adultery, under such circumstances as would have entitled the opposite party, if innocent, to a divorce. § 21. The Court, in decreeing a divorce, shaU make provision for the guardianship, custody, support, and education, of the minor children of such marriage. § 23. The divorce of one party shah fidly dissolve the marriage contract as to both. § 24. A divorce decreed in any other State by a court having jurisdiction thereof shaU have ftdl efiect in this State. § 27. Wherever, a petition for divorce remains undefended, it shaU be the duty of the prosecuting attorney to appear and resist such petition. (The other sections refer to modes of procedure, legitimacy, property rights, etc. The Indiana law does not permit hmited divorce.) ANALYTICAL INDEX AloUHonists, organization of, 284. Agrieulture, the science of, 296. Aiken, William, of South Carolina, for Speaker, 351. Alps, travels among, 328, 329, 330. Andre-w, John A., 391. Anti-Nebraska, 314. Aisles, tlieir production, 303, 304, 305. Argyle, the Ddke of, 273. Aiislria, iron interests of, 274. Authorship, experiences of, 419. Baldwin, Roger S., of Connecticut, 277. Ball-Playing, its good and its evil, 117. Banking System, the Free, 126. Banks, N. P., candidate for Speaker, 346, 347 ; elected, 351 ; his character as Speaker, 352. Barber, James, 130. Barker, James W., 320. Barnard, Daniel D., 136. Barnburners' bolt from Democratic Con vention, 213 ; nominate Van Buren, 213. Barnes, Capt. Nathan, 51. Bates, Edward, 247; sketch of, 389; suggested for President, 390. Bedford (N. E.), 46, 48, 50; people, 51. Beggars and Borrowers, 192; anecdote of, 198 ; my experience with, 195. Bell, John, for President, 39i. Benepict, Lewis, 124. Bense-tt, James Gordon, 139. Bennington, Battle of, 31. Benton, Col. Thomas H., his Mileage record, 219. Big Trees, the, of Mariposas, 382. Billiards, Backgammon, Bowling, 118. Bird, William, anecdote of, 271. BiKNEY, James G., 165, 166. Blair, Francis P., Sr., 358, 407. Bossange, M. Hector, 338. Botts, John Minor, in Congress, 227. Bragg, Gen., 411. Breckinridge, John C, 353, 354. Brisbane, Albert, first acquaintance with, 146 ; -writes for The New-Yorker, 146 ; his plan of Social Reform, 146. Bronson, G. C, vote for Govemor, 315. Brooks, James, up for Congress, 216. Bruce, George, type-founder, 92. Bryant, William Cullen, 139. Buchanan, James, proposed for Presi dent in 1844, 160 ; nominated, 353 ; elect ed, 354; his Kansas policy, 356; his character, 359 ; his death, 359. Buena 'Vista, Battle of 209. Bunker Hill, Battle of, 30. Butler, A. P., on Compromise, 256. Butler, Gen. William 0., 214. Calhoun, John C, 107; character of, 251 ; anecdote of, 252 ; death of, 259. California, visit to, 360 ; travels iu, 380 climate of, 380; trees, 380; minerals. 384; soil, 385; water facilities, 386 agriculture, 386; rainy seasons, 387 timber, 387; railroad facilities, 387 a prediction, 388. California, Upper, ceded toU. States, 210. Cambreleng, Hon. C. C, 281. Cameron, Gen. Simon, 391. Campbell, Hon. Lewis D., 346. Camp Floyd, a visit to, 314. Canning, Lord, his character, 273. Cards, 118. Cass, Gen. Lewis, defeated in 1844, 160 ; nominated in 1848, 213 ; defeated, 213. Cerro Gordo, Battle of, 209. Chandler, Gen. Adoniram, 125. Channing, Rev. William H., account of Margaret FuUer, 172. Chappaqua, 297. Chase, Hon. Salmon P., against Com promise, 258 ; at Chicago in 1860, 391. Chepultepec, Battle of, 210. Chicago twenty years ago, 248. Church, Sanford E., 277. Churubusco, Battle of, 210. Clark, Rev. Matthew, 21, 26, 27. Clark, Myron H., for Governor, 314. Clay, Henry, 106 ; defeated at Harris burg Convention, 130; unanimously nominated in 1844, 160 ; his Texas let ter, 181; defeated for President, 165; affection for, 166 ; how his election was lost, 168 ; defeated at Philadelphia Con vention, 212 ; anecdote of, 219 ; his Mile age, 219 ; bids adieu to the Senate, 225 ; his fascination, 250; submits Com promise plan, 255 ; debate with Davis, 256; "The Great Commoner," 408; death, 225. Clay, Henry, Jr., at Bueha Vista, 209. Clayton, Hon. John M., 253. Clemens, Hon. Jeremiah, 399. Clichy, imprisonment in, 332, 343. Clinton, De Witt, 107. Cobb, Hon. Howell, chosen Speaker, 255 ; Secretary of the Treasury, 356 ; anecdote of, 356. COGGESHALL, JAMES, 139, 317. Collamer, Hon. Jacob,,^53 ; presented for the Presidency, 391. Colorado, travels in, 365. 620 INDEX. Compromise, the Missouri, 106, 282; of 1850, the, 255; how carried, 276, 277. " Omflict, The American," 421. Conger, A. B., 264. Congress as it was, 225. Congress, the XXIXth, 207; ahility of, 225 ; the XXXth, prominent members of, 226 ; the XXXIVth, contest for Speakership, 345. Congress^ the Confederate, 402. ConstittUion, The (newspaper), 112. Cook, Noah, aids The Tribune, 139. Cooper, J. Fenimore, his suits, 261. Cofper regions of Lake Superior, 242. Corwin, Hon. Thomas, of Ohio, 132. Crawford, Hon. William H., 106. Crittenden, Hon. John J., 253; pro poses a new Compromise, 316. Croswell, Edwin, 129. Dallas, George M., 161, 207. Davis, Jefferson, declines to support Geu. Taylor, 252 ; assails Compromise measures, 256 ; suggested for Gover nor, 278; his career, 410 ; his arrest, 412; imprisonment, 413-415. Dayton, William L., for Vice-Presi dent, 353 ; suggested for President, 391. Debt, imprisonment for, 344. Demetrius (Poliorcetes), 68, 69. Democratic Party, conventions at Balti more, 160, 213 ; bolt of the Barnburn ers, 213; division of, 392. Denver, visit to, 365 ; life in, 366. Deposits, the removal of, 110. Desert, ibe Westem, anecdote of, 376. Dial, The, quarterly magazine, 109; its career, 170 ; failure, 170. Dickens, Charles, as an actor, 204, 205. Dickey, David Woodburn, 42. Dix, John A., 218. Donelson, Andrew J., 290. Douglas, Stephen A., anecdote of, 251 ; his history, 291; introduces the •Ne braska Bill, 291; its history, 292; de feated at Cincinnati, 353 ; opposes Le compton, 356 ; difference with Mr. Bu chanan, 356; his canvass for the Sen ate, 357 ; his success, 358; his can vass with Lincoln, 358; recollections of, 358; his power as a debater, 359; his death, 359; defeat at Charleston, 392; nominated at Baltimore, 892. Downs, Hon. S. U., 256. Drainage, necessity ot 307. Drama, the, 200; "The Fall of Bona parte," 200; Bowery Theatre, the old, 202; Richmond Hill, theatre of, 203; Hamblin, Mrs., Naomi Vincent, at the old Bowery, 204. Dred Scott decision, the, 355. Eastman, E. G^and C. G., 254. Embree, HonJelijah, on Mileage, 223. Emerson, Ralph Waldo, editor of The Dial, 169; on Margaret FuUer, 171.( Employes of Congress, gratuities to, 229. " Europe, Glances at," 420. Evarts, William M., 391. Everett, Edward, 281, 391. Evergreens, uses of, 301. Ewing, Thomas, 263. Fairhajoen, Vt., 50 ; Slate and Marble, 60. Fair, the World's, 268. Farm, My, 296. Farming, wiU it pay ? 310. Faulkner, Hon Charles J., 350. Fever and Ague, an attack of, 117 ; how to cure, 117. FiCKLiN, 0. B., 230, 232. Field, Maunsel B., kindness of, 334. Fillmore, Millard, nominated for Vice-President, 212; accession to the Presidency, 258; Know-Nothing can didate for, 290; defeated, 278. Fire-Eaters, the, of South Carolina, 278. Fishing, first experience in, 114; devo tion to, 115 ; fifty years ago, 115. Fitzpatrick, Hon. Benjamin, 392. FooTE, Hon. Henry S., 256, 278. Forward, Hon. Walter, 107. Forest Culture, value of, 304. Fourier, Charles, his Socialism, 147. Fox Family, The, 235. Freeman, Mrs. (Clairvoyant), 236. Frelinghuysen, Theodore, 160. Fremont, Col. John C, 353. Fuller, Hon. Henry M., 346. Fuller, Sarah Margaret, edits The Dial, 170; her birth and education, 170; parentage, 171; teaches school, 173; conversational powers, 173; her writings, 174, 175 ; in Mr. Greeley's family, 177 ; her work for The Tribune, 177 ; wonderful range of her abilities, 179; goes to Boston, 182; visits Eu rope, 182; marriage, 1S3; Marchioness d'OssOli, 183; efforts for ItaUan free dom, 184; heroism, 187; embarks for home, 189; forebodings, 189; death, 190. Future, The (newspaper), 151. Gales and Seaton, anecdote of, 228. Garrison, William Lloyd, 284. Gates, Seth M., 213. Gazette, The Erie, 80, 81. Giddings, Hon. Joshua R., 233. Godwin, Parke, Socialism, 152. Goggin, Hon. W. L., 229. Graham, Hon. William A., 279. Graham, Sylvester, 103. " Graham System," 103. Greeleys, the, migrate to America, 34. Greeley, Zaccheus (tlie elder), 84, 35 ; John, 35; Gilbert, 35. Greeley, Arthur Young, his affection for Margaret FuUer, 178; Margaret FuUer's Tetter to, 188 ; his sorrow over her death, 188; his birth, 426; his character, 426; his death, 428. Greeley, Horace, born, 37 ; set to work, INDEX. 621 38 ; goes to school, 41 ; in Bedford, 46 ; oflered an education, 47 ; clearing wood land, 57 ; farming as a boy, 68, 59 ; ap prenticed to printing, 61; bids adieu to his family, 62 ; Ufe in Poultney, 63 ; books, 64; visits his parents, 64; life on a line-boat, 64 ; religious faith, 68 - ^74; goes West, 75; sets his face to ward New York, 82; reaches the city, 84 j finds work there, 85 ; attends the Tariff Convention, 86 ; visits New Hampshire, 89 ; goes into business, 91 ; starts The New-Yorker, 94; bad luck and hard times, 95 - 97 ; edits The Jef fersonian at Albany, 98, 99; smokes just once, 99 ; joins a temperance socie ty, 101; prints The Constitution, 112; belief in "Graham System," 104; ex perience as a Vegetarian, 106; edit ing in New York and Albany, 125; reports in the Assembly, 126; edits The Log-Cabin, 133; establishes The tribune, 136 ; devotion to Henry Clay, 166; iUness, 167; gains the iU-wiU of The National Intelligencer, 228 ; serves '-on Committee on Public Lands, 230 ; proposes to give the United States the name of Columbia, 232 ; interview with a celebrated clairvoyant, 236; theory of Spiritualism, 238, 239 ; visits to Lake Superior., 242, 246 ; visit to Lake Huron, ^43 ; pedestrian journey in the mining country, 244 ; result of mining ex perience, 246 ; attendance on River and Harbor Convention, 247 ; journey "Hhrough the " wetprairies," 247 ; ac- ¦"opaintance with Webster, Clay, and Calhoun, 251 ; speaks in Vermont, 253; anecclote of the Brothers East man, 254; reasons for opposing Gen. "•Taylor, 211; his support of Clay, 211; theatrical experience in Europe, 204; at the Duke of Devonshire's theatre, 204; at Fanny Kemble's d^bftt, 205; theatrical experience in France, 206; ^^"eatrical opinions of, 204 ; experienoe with borrowers and beggars, 192; studies a part in a tragedy, 200 ; the atrical experienoe at -Vv ells, Vt., 201 ; first visit to the Theatre, 200 ; first visit to the New York Theatre, 202; resi dence in New York, 176 ; removes to the country, 176 ; acquaintance with Mai-- faret Fuller, 177; first libel suit, 261; is Fenimore Cooper libel suit, 263, 264; visits the World's Fair, 270; member of a jury, 271; nominated for Congress, 216 ; elected to Congress, 217; his vote, 217; introduces Land -Reform Bill, 217; prints MUeage Ex pose, 219; excitement about it, 220; serves with Abraham Lincoln and Andrew Johnson, 224; supports Tay lor, 225 ; meets the Duke of WeUing ton, 273 ; impressions of the Duke, 274 ; services at the Great Exposition, 274; travels on the Continent, 275 ; recollec tions of the Missouri struggle, 282 ; re lations to the Missouri movement, 286 ; becomes an Abolitionist, 289; de scription of his farm, 295-301 ; farming experience, 309 ; as a woodchopper, 303; home, 306; brook, 306; crops, 806; swamp, 307 ; bam, 308 ; profits of farm-" ing, 310; first acquaintance with Gov ernor Seward, 311; letter to Seward, 315; last meeting with Seward, 321;- revisits Europe, 323 ; at the French Ex position, 323 ; travels in Italy, 327 ; in Switzerland, 328, 329j at home again, 330; in a French prison, 322; life in Clichy, 335 - 340 ; release from prison, 343; visits Washington, the "Banks Congress," 345; criticises Hon. A. Rust, 348; desires Senator Douglas's reelection, 367; travels across the Plains, 360; in Kansas, 361;' visits Denver, 365; in the Rocky Mountains,. 368; at Salt Lake, 371; at Camp Floyd, 374; relations to Governor' Seward, 390; his view of Secession, 397; at Lincoln's inauguration, 404; last interview with Mr. Lincoln, 407; visits Richmond, 414; bails Jefferson Davis, 415; as an author, 417; as a writer of verses, 417 ; writes " Hints toward Reforms," 418 ; -writes " Glan ces at Europe," 420 ; -writes " Overland" Joumey to California," 421; -writes "The American Conflict," 421; how he composed it, 422 ; its success, 424. Greeley, Mrs. Mary Y. C, acquaint ance with Margaret FuUer, 176 ; directs the choice of a farm, 296 ; an anecdote of, 336. Greeley, Zaccheus (the younger) mar ries, 35; buys a farm in Amherst, N. H., 37; hoeing corn, 38; removes to Bedford, 46; returns to Amherst, 48; becomes bankrupt, 49; goes to Hampton, N. Y., 60; migrates to West haven, Vt., 50; hospitality;, 52; clear ing land, 66 ; removes to Flea KnoU, 69; returns to the Minot estate, ib. looks westward for a new home, 62 his new home in the Wilderness, 78 slow clearing, 79; death of, 426. Greeley, Raphael Uhland, birth of, 428; his death, 429. Gregory, Dudley S., 136. Grinnell, Joseph, 226. Hale, John P., 258, 280. Hall, Willis, 125, 126; supports -Van Buren, 126. Hamlin, Hannibal, 280. Harbinger, The, periodical, 151. " Hard: ader," origin of, 132. Hardin, Col. John J., death of, 209. 622 INDEX Harrison, WniiAM Henry, proposed for President, 112 ; nominated, 130 ; de nounced as a dotard, 132 ; chosen Pres ident, 136 ; death, 136 ; character, 135. Haskell, Hon. William T., 227. Hemans, Mrs., 73. Hickman, Hon. John, 361. " Hints toward Reforms," 418. Holiday Excursion, a, 120. Holland, Col. Stephen, 32. Hood, Joseph E., 411. Houston, Gen. Samuel, 286. Hudson, Hon. Charles, 220. Hulbert, Richard, 126. Hunt, Holman, 324. Hunt, Washington, 277. Imprisonment, account of, 332. Inge, S. W., assaUs Hon. 0. B. Fioklin, 233. Intelligencer, The National, 228. Italy, travels in, 327. Jackson, Andrew, President, ;t07; re tires, 122 ; Specie Circular of, 122. Jefferson, Thomas, death of, 66; on Slavery, 282 ; his acquisition of Louisi ana, 283 ; admission of Missouri, 284. Jeffersonian, The, editorial experiences with, 125 126. Jerrold, Douglas, as an actor, 204. Johnson, Andrew, in XXXth Con gress, 226; as President, 414. Johnson, Herschel V., 392. Johnson, Hon. Reverdy, 253. Johnson, Hon. Robert W., 232. Johnston, Gen. Albert Sydney, 376. Johnston, Gen. Joseph E., 411. Journal, The Albany Evening, 126. Kansas, settlement of, 355; Border Ruf fianism in, 356 ; travels in, 361. Kent, Edward, Govemor of Maine, 134. Kellogg, Day 0., 126. King, Preston, 126. King, William R., 250, 280. Know-Nothing Party, 290, 291. LaJce Superior region, resources of, 245 ; mining experience in, 245. Land Bui, introduced by the author, 217. Lane, Gen. Joseph, 392. Laramie, Fort, 369. Lawrence, Cornelius W., 111. Lawrence, James R., 126. Le Chesne, M., 338. Lecompton Constitution, the, 355. Leconwton Bill, the, 356 ; defeat of, 357. Legislature of 1838, its merits, 126. Lemon, Mark, acting of, 204. Libel Suits, general character of, 266. Lincoln, Abraham, in XXXth Con gress, 226 ; candidate for United States Senate, 358; nominated for President, 891 ; chosen, 393 : calls out troops, 401 ; .inauguration, 404; anecdote of, 405; his tameness, 406; his firmness, 406; his course, 407 ; injustice of Congress to, 408; his character, 408; contrasted with Jefferson Davis, 411. Lind, Jenny, anecdote of, 237. Literature as a Vocation, an Essay, 433. Liquor Traffic, growth of, 102. Livingston, Uncle Harry, 128. " Log-CaUn" doings, 129. Log -Cabin, The, edited by the author, its character, 133 ; great success of, 134. Londonderry (Ireland), siege of, 18. Londonderry (N. H.), settled, 20; growth of, 21 ; religion, 23 ; manners and cus toms, 24, 27, 28 ; flax culture, 25 ; area, 28; in the Revolutionary war, 29-33. Lovejoy, Elijah P., death of, 286. Lundy, Benjamin, 284. Mallaby, Hon. Rollin C, 66, 67. Mann, Abijah, 126. Marcy, Hon. William L., 112, 129. Marsh, Hon. George P., 227. Marshall, Charles H., 320. Marshall, Humphrey, 346. Mason, Hon. James M., 256. Mason, Hon. John Y^ in Paris, 334. Massachusetts, in XXXth Congress, 226. McElrath, Thomas, 140. McGregor, Rev. James, 20. McKay, Hon. J. J., in XXXth Con gress, 226; anecdote of, 221. McLean, Hon. John, 354, 391. Meredith, Hon. William M., 253. Metcalf, Hon. Thomas, 130. Mexico, City of, taken by Gen. Scott, 210. Mexico, New, ceded to United States, 210 ; Texas sells her claim on, 210. Michigan, Territory of, 242. Mileage of Congress, 215 ; amended, 223. Millais, J. E., his pictures, 324. Milwaukee, twenty years ago, 248. Minot, Christopher, 54 ; dies, 58. Mississippi, election in, 278. Mitchel, j. C, 281. Morehead, Ex-Gov., 212. Morgan, William, the anti-Mason, 264. Morrisons, the, anecdote of, 26. Native American Party, its origin, 165. Navy, flogging in the, 228. Nebraska Bill, the, introduced into Con- gi-ess, 291; passage of, 292; its effect upon Slavery, 294. Nevada, visit to, 378 ; its minerals, 378. New England, charcoal-burning in, 39; picking stones, 39; picking hops, 40; barring out" teachers, 43; speUing- matches, 44; school-books, 44; social enjoyments, 61. New tork (State), her electoral vote, 188. New York Gly, as she was in 1831, 54; hard winters of ante-railroad days, 87 ; cholera of 1832, 88. New-Yorker, The, flrst issued, 94; bad luck with, 94; discontinued, 97, 133. Northern Spectator, The, 61 ; for Adams, 66 i stopped, 76. INDEX 623 Ogden, Hon. David B., 125. " Old Zack," 207. Orr, Hon. James L., 850. Ossoli, Marquis of, death of, 190. Owen, Robert, on Social Reform, 146. Pacific Railroad, the, route of, 371. Palace, the Crystal, aescription of, 269. Pah Alto, Battle of, 209. Panic of 1837, the, 123. Paris, life in, 323 325. Patterson, Hon. George W., 126. Pedestrianism, suggestions as to, 76. Pendleton, John S., 227. Pennington, Hon. A. C. M., 346. Pennsylvania, election in 1844, 207, 208. PiA-TT, Colonel Don, 334. Pierce, Franklin, in XXI Vth Congress, 225 ; nominated for President, 279 ; his character, 279 ; not renominated, 353. PlacervUle, California, visit to, 379. Plains, life on the, 372. Play-Days, 119. Poe, Edgak A., anecdote of, 196. Poets and Poetry, an Essay, 460. Palfrey, Hon. John G., 226. Polk, J. K., nominated for President, 160 ; career, 161; Tariff letter, 163 ; elected President, i66 ; inaugurated, 208. Potato, introduced into New England, 25. Poultney, Vt., 61 ; a slave-hunt, 65 ; cele bration of July 4th, 1826, 65 ; present condition, 66; vote for President in 1828, 67 ; character of her inhabitants, 75 ; temperance society organized, 101. Pre-Raphaelite Sdiool, the, 324. Preston, Hon. William Ballard, 283. Proviso, the WUmot. 252. Randolph, Hon. John, 281. Rappings, spiritual, 234, 238. Raymond, Henry J., 138; controversy with the author on SociaUsm, 151 ; nom inated for Lieutenant-Governor, 314. Reed, Col. George, 28 - 32. Registry Law, the, 313. Repubhcan Convention, the first, in our State, 314. RepubUcan Party, rise of the, 294; Na tional Convention of, 390. Resaca de la Palma, Battle of, 209. Revolution, the American, 29 - 33, 51. Richardson, Hon. William A., 346. " Richmond, Forward to," 403. Ripley, George, 168. Eitner, Joseph, 130. Rockwell, Hon Julius, 226. Rocky Mountains, the, 368, 369. Rogers, Maj. Robert, 32. Root, Gen. Erastus, 129. Root, Hon. Joseph M., 226. , Rothschild, James, anecdote of, 342. KuGGLES, LjEUT.-CoL. D. C, 375. Ruggles, Hon. Samuel B., 126. Rust, Hon. Albert, his proposition, 347 ; assails the author, 348. Rush, Hon. Richard, 107. Salt Lake dty, visit to, 371, 373. San Francisco, its growth, 388. Santa Anna, defeat of, 209. Sawyer, Hon. William, 221. Sawyer, Rev. Thomas J., 70. Scammon, John Y., excursion with, 247. Schenck, Hon. Robert C, 221. Schoolcraft, Hon. John, 317. ScHULTZE, Gov. John A., 130. Scotch-Ii-ish, the, 17, 19; in America, 21- 28 ; in the Eevolution, 29. ScoTT, Gen. Winfield, supported for President at Harrisburg, 131 ; lands at Vera Cruz, 209 ; marches into Mexico, 209; defeats Santa Anna, 209; takes Chepultepec, 210; captures Mexico, 210; defeated for nomination in 1848, 212 ; nominated for President, 279 ; his relations to Secession, 403. Sea-Sickness, experience of, 331. Secession Party, aow composed, 396. Secession, progress of, 401. " Seward, Weed, and Greeley," al leged political firm of, 311; differ ences, 312; dissolution, 316. Seward, Hon. William H., opposes Van Buren, 129 ; favors Harrison, 131 ; candi date for Governor, 112 ; opposes Com promise, 258 ; defends the author in libel suit, 264 : sketch of, 311 ; remains aloof from the Republican Party, 314 ; recent relations with, 321; visits Eu rope and Asia, 321; his I'residential aspirations, 322; intellectual stature, 322; candidate for President, 390. Seymour, Horatio, 277, 315. Shea, George, 414. Sheep, their agi-icultural value, 302. Shepard, Dr. Hokatio D., 91-93. Sibley, Derick, 126. Sierra Nevada, the, 378 ; timber, 380. " Silver Grays,^^ the, canvass in New York, 277 ; in Connecticut, 277. SlaveryQuestion, 227 ; struggle upon, 254. Slave Power, the, rise of, 287. Smith, Azariah, 126. Smith, Hon. Samuel A., resolve of, 361. SnoWj George M., his death, 139. Socialism, 144; I am attracted by, 145; the evils it sought to cure, 145 ; my creed with reference to, 147 ; efforts in behalf of, 152; Brook-Farm, its career, 152; " Sylvania Association," 162; Phalanx, the "North American," 153, 154; As sociation, practical difficulties of, 154 ; Communism, 155; "Ebenezer," the Society of, 166 ; " Zoar community," 166, 156 ; Cooperation, its philosophy, 167 ; Perfectionists, community of, 168 ; Shakers, community of, 158; Comte, his philosophy, 158; Association, prob able future of, 158. 624 INDEX. Societies, Temperance, in America, 98. Society, fifty years ago, 100. Southern States, the Secession of, 398, 399. Spede Payment suspended in 1837, 127. Spencer, Hon. Ambrose, 160. Spencer, Hon. John C, 129. ^rituous Liquors, rejected, 101. Stage, the French, 205 ; its naturalness, 206 ; American, its degradation, 206. Stanberry, Henry, anecdote of, 292. Stark, Gen. John, 29-31. State Rights in Mississippi, 278. Stephens, Hon. Alexander H., in XXXth Congress, 226; his ability, 227. Sterrett, Joseph M., 80. Stilwell, Silas M., 112. Story, Francis V., 88, 91, 93, 94. St. Simon, his social system, 146. Sylvester. Mr. S. J., 91, 93. Tallmadge, Hon. N. P., 127, 128. Tariff of 1842, its repeal, 207. Taylor, Bayard, 326. Taylor, General Zachary, crosses the Rio Grande, 208; defeats Santa Anna, 209 ; his character, 211 ; claims on the Whig party, 211 ; nominated for President, 212; elected, 213; charac ter, 214 ; administration of, 214 ; death, 214; a wise and good mler, 215; his inauguration, 233 ; anecdote of, 262. Tennyson, Alfred, on Restoration, 72. Texas, Annexation of, 161, 208. Thompson, Hon. Richard W., 232. Thompson, Hon. Smith, 107. Thornton, Dr. Matthew, 32, 33. Toombs, Hon. Robert, 226. Toucey, Hon. Isaac, 277. Transcendentalists, the sect of, 169. Travel, foreign, views of, 326, 326. Tree-Planting, 301. Tribune, The New York, first issued, 136 ; reasons for its foundation, 136 ; friends who aided it, 136; policy and purpose, 137; journalism in New York, its vicissitudes, 138; difliculties in pub lishing, 139 ; as a penny paper, 141 ; increase in size and price, 142 ; support of Clay, 167; circulation of, 167; sued for libel by J. Fenimore Cooper, 261. Twiggs, Genf.ral David E., 400. Tyler, Hon. John, at the Harrisburg Convention, 130; norainated for Vice- President, 131; supports Clay, 131; his political record, 131; succeeds to the Presidency. 159 ; quarrels with the Whigs, 159; signs the Annexation BiU, 208. ¦Ullmann, DAniel, 316. Cmon, The Washington, 228. Utah Expedition, the, 374. Utah, travels in, 374. Van Buren, Hon. Mar-tin, 107; char acter, 113 ; relation to Jackson, 113 ; is inaugurated President, 121; oaUs Con gress together, 123 ; New York against his administration, 129; defeated at Baltimore, 160; nominated by the Barnburners, 213. Vance, General Joseph, 130. Van Ness, Gov. Cornelius Peter, 66. Vattemare, M. (Alexandre), 338. Vegetarianism, its advantages, 106. Venable, Hon. A. W., 226. Verplanck, Gulian C., Ill, 125. Vinton, Hon. Samuel F., 226. Virginia, Secession of, 400. Walker, Hon. Robert J., 207. War against ihe Rebellion, the, 400. War for the Rebellion, progress of, 401. Washburne, Hon. Elihu B., 343. Webster, Daniel, lingers in Tyler's Cabinet, 159 ; defeated for nomination, 212; character, 250; 7th of March speech, 256 ; death, 259, 279. Weed, Thurlow, introduction to, 124; opposes Van Buren, 129 ; favors Har rison's nomination, 131 ; libel-suit with Fenimore Cooper, 262 ; literary tastes, 262; libel experiences, 265; his char acter, 313; holds aloof from the Re publican Party, 314; elected State Printer, 317; favors Crittenden Com promise, 396. Wellington, the Duke of, 273, 274. WEN-rwoRTH, Hon. John, 223. Westhaven, Vt., 50 - 56. Westmoreland, Lord, anecdote of, 273. 'Whig Party, the, its first canvass, 111 ; de feat in 1836, 113; carries New York in 1837, 124; again m 1839, 127; first National Convention of, 130; the apos tates from, 167 ; paralyzed by Tylerism, 160; National Convention, 160; Na tional Convention at Philadelphia, 212 nominates Taylor and FiUmore, 212 Taylor's election a virtual defeat, 215 last success in New York City, 217. dissolution of, 276; State Convention of, 277; deathof, 280. White, Dr. Fortune C, 126. White, Judge James W., 318. Willis, N. P., anecdote of, 426. Winchester, Mr. Jonas, 94. Winn, Cyrus, teacher, 42. Winthrop, Hon. Robert C, 208. Whconsin, twenty years ago, 248. Woodburn, John, 20 ; death of, 426. Woodburn, Mary, married to Zaccheus Greeley, 36; teaching her chUdren, 41; in Vermont, 67 ; in Pennsylvania, 78 ; broken down and wom out, 78. Woodbury, Hon. Levi, 160. Woods, description of, 298. Wright, Silas, 129 ; nominated for Vice- President, 161; his popularity, 161; tariff speech, 164 ; his subtlety, 164. Yosemite VaUey, the, 381 ; visited, 382. Young, Col. Samuel, of Saratoga, 128. 1-