iT.mrii'Bnj'ryi

I

1933

SKETCHES,

BIOGEAPHICAL AND INCIDENTAL.

E. THOMSON, D. D., LL. D.

EDITED BT

EEV. D. W. CLARK, D. D.

(UntHwail:

PUBLISHED BY L. SWORMSTEDT & A. FOE,
FOK THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, AT THE WESTERN BOOK CONCERN,
CORNER OF MAIN AND EIGHTH STREETS.
K. P. THOMPSON, PRINTER.
1856.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856,
BY SWORMSTEDT & POE,
In the Cleric's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of Ohio.

XtiKtt.

THE writer of the following sketches has never
set about making a book ; he has never thought
of doing so; his life has been one of activity rather
than of contemplation; his mode of reaching those
around him has been by the voice rather than the
pen. And yet he finds himself set down as an
author, by what circumstances it is needless to re
count. The following sketches were written at dif
ferent and distant times, during a period of eighteen
years, and were called forth by the partiality of
friends or the promptings of emotion. Some variety
in the style may be expected, and it is apparent
from the table of contents that there is variety in
the subjects; and if, as says the poet, "variety is
the spice of life," this will not be found objectionable
by the great body of readers. With all this variety,
however, there will be found unity of sentiment.
By some, the writer may be accused of extrava
gance in estimating the merits of some of the char
acters that he has essayed to depict: he hopes,
3

4 PRETAOE.
however, that none will thus accuse him if they had
no personal acquaintance with those characters.
Many of the productions here offered to the public
have been published in the periodicals of the day,
but the more important of them have not.
The book goes forth with humble pretensions. If
it shall serve to gratify a laudable curiosity, to be
guile a tedious hour, to awaken aspirations for a
more noble character, to awaken sympathy for the
poor or the suffering, it will have accomplished its
errand. So far as it commemorates the virtues of distin
guished characters of the west, it may be valued
by the antiquarian. We are rapidly passing out of
sight of the artless manners and stern virtues of
the pioneers. We shall not look upon their like
again. We have entered upon their labors, and
we should not be ungrateful for their services. Soon
the age that knew them will know them no more,
and whatever is recorded of them must be writ
ten soon.
The author has written in a spirit of kindness,
and he trusts that no line will inflict upon any one
a needless pang. He has written with a religious
spirit — a spirit which he delights to cultivate. Should
the critic, or the cynic, or any one else find fault,
he will endeavor to profit by their objections. He
is very far from estimating highly his own produc-

PREFACE. 5
tions; indeed, he is sensible that he has been some
what presumptuous in consenting that his papers
should assume the book form. His only apology is,
that it is called for by many of his friends, particu
larly the youth who have at different times and in
various ways stood to him in the endearing relations
of pastor or teacher. This class, be it remembered,
is the one for which we should be most concerned
to provide reading matter; for it is the class most
likely to be led astray by pernicious books. To the
young, then, this volume is especially committed, in
the hope that it may, in some humble degree, both
please and profit them.
Delaware, July 9, 1856.

C 0 It t nt t s .

B ina t ay f) ixsl Sfettti)£S. PAGE.
OiwAY Curry  11
HuQH Latimer and his Times  •  42
RcssEL Bigelow  74
Bigelow as a Preacher  87
BiGELow's Early Life  104
Recollections of Dr. Drake  109
John Bemo, the Seminole  133
Dr. Houghton  •  138
James M'Ibtire  145
Mrs. Martha M'Cabe  165
Thomas Dunn  176
Ret. Thomas Cooper  191
EnxiilJitlsI .gfettxijjff.
Western Character  211
Wesley and Methodism  241
The Blind CHRisTiAif  254
Supporting the Constitdtion  261
A Sketch of Other Days  266
Millerism  275
Phrenology  281
Animal Magnetism  299
Miss Martineau and Mesmerism  807
Witchcraft  316
Retenge  827
A Mother's Love  337
A Sister's Love  341
The Christian  345
Life on the Ohio  349
Self-Examination  358
Treatsieht of Youth  :  361
Medicine and Physicians  367
The Horrors  371
Drunkenness aitd Insanity  376
The Deformed Maniac  384
7

giograg|icaI Skdc|^s.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

OTWAY CUREY was born March 26, 1804, on a farm
which has since given place to the village of Green
field, Highland county, Ohio. His father — Col. Jame,5
Ourry — was a man of great bravery and patriotism. In
his youth he was, with some Virginia troops, in a bloody
engagement near the mouth of the Kanawha, on whieh
occasion he was severely wounded. During the greater
part of the Eevolutionary war, he was an officer of the Vir
ginia Continental Line; he was at the battles of German-
town and Monmouth, and was taken prisoner when the
American army, under General Lincoln, surrendered to
the British at Charleston, S. C. For fourteen months
subsequently, he was on parole two miles distant from
that city.
He must have been one of the earliest pioneers of
Ohio. In 1811 he removed from Highland county, and
settled on Darby creek, near the village of Pleasant
Valley, in the county of Union, where he held many im
portant civil offices, the duties of which he faithfully dis
charged. He devoted himself chiefly to agriculture, and
he was doubtless a man of strong common sense, indus
trious habits, and honorable character. He died in 1834.
The poet's mother was a lady of much intelligence,
tender sensibilities, and every social and domestic virtue.

12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
Otway was a child of the wilderness — a situation not
unsuitable to awaken imagination, to cultivate taste, and
to call forth the love of nature and the spirit of poesy.
The approach of the bear, the rattle of the snake, the
whoop of the savage, were among the sources of his early
fears. To observe the swallow build her nest in the barn,
and to watch the deer bounding through the bushes,
were among his early amusements; to mark when the
dog- wood blossoms, and when the north winds blow, to '
observe how nature mingles storm with sunshine, and
draws the rainbow on the cloud, were among his first
lessons in philosophy.
He probably learned his alphabet in the old family
Bible, as he leaned against the jamb of the cabin fire
place. There was then no school law in Ohio; the school-
house was built by common consent, usually in the center
of the clearings, and on an eminence, reminding one of
Seattle's lines,
" Ah who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where fame's proud temple shines afar !"
It was constructed of unhewn logs, floored with punch
eons, and roofed with clapboards; having at one end a
fireplace capable of receiving a twelve-foot back-log, and
at the other a door, with a latch and string; it was com
pleted by sawing out a log at each side, inserting in the
opening a light frame, and stretching over this frame
some foolscap paper well oiled ; this served for the trans
mission of light, which fell with mellowed beams upon a
sloping board, on which the copy-books of advanced
scholars were to be placed. In the center of the room
were benches without backs, made of slabs, by inserting
upright sticks at their extremities.
The season for instruction was called a quarter, and
usually extended from November to March; though

OTWAY CURRT. 13
short, it was long enough to enable the pupil to receive
all the knowledge that the teacher could spare.
The subjects taught were reading, writing, spelling,
and arithmetic, as far as the rule of three. Grammar
was ranked among the natural sciences, and geography
among the classics.
At the appointed time the children proceed to the
school-house, guided by the blazes of the trees. Here they
come, young and old, male and female, each having text
books unlike those of all others. Anticipating amuse
ment as well as instruction, one brings a violin, another a
dog, a third a jews-harp, etc. They venture to suggest,
at the outset, to the teacher, that in order to have a good
school, it is necessary to have short recitations, long in
termissions, and good entertainment.
Organization is out of the question ; each scholar must
recite in turn out of his own book, and bring up his slate
as his sums are worked. Order is almost as impracticable
as organization.
Happily there were other means of instruction and
mental development; the debating club, the neighbor
hood meeting, the singing school, etc., but, above all, the
home. Doubtless our young poet heard his father relate
the tale of the Eevolution, the wrongs of the colonists,
their determined rebellion, their bloody battles, and their
final triumphs; he also heard him describe the characters
of the leading statesmen and warriors of that period, the
organization of the state and national governments, the
causes, and actors, and consequences of the war of 1812.
These details would make others necessary; and we can
imagine how Otway would ascend through the history of
the United States to that of Great Britain, and from that
of Great Britain to that of the middle ages, and so on,
up to the great nations of antiquity. We can see how
history would make geography and politics needful, and

14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
how these would lead an inquiring mind by nearer or re
moter routes to all the branches of education.
Moreover, the pious mother had her pleasant legends
and fairy tales, with which she kept down the rising sigh,
and kept up the leaden eyelids of the little ones as she
sat plying her spinning-wheel, and waiting for the return
of her husband from the mill when the driving snow
storm delayed him far into the hours of night. She
seems, indeed, to have been no ordinary woman; she was
accustomed to relate over and over, at her fireside, the
whole story of Paradise Lost, as well as of many other
classic poems, so that young Otway was familiar with their
scenes and characters long before he could read. She
would often beguile the weary hours of summer nights,
as she sat in the cabin door with her young ones, watch
ing for the return of the older from the perilous chase,
by naming the constellations as they came up to the hori
zon, and explaining the ordinances of heaven.
The school education of Otway was impeded hy the
events of the war of 1812. When it broke out the
father was summoned to Chillicothe, as a member of the
Legislature ; the eldest brother went out with the army ;
the rest of the family remained upon the farm under the
superintendence of the prudent and patriotic mother.
Alone in the wilderness, surrounded by hostile savages,
they were never molested, though often alarmed. On
one occasion their horses showed eveiy indication of
fear; their dogs barked furiously, now rushing into the
cornfield, and then retreating with bristling hair, as if
driven. The family, concluding that Indians were near,
prepared to fight as well as pray. The old lady, in mar
shaling her forces, stationed young Otway at the bars,
and placing a loaded gun upon a rest, charged him to
take aim and fire as soon as he .saw an Indian. Fortu
nately, there was no attack made upon the domestic fort.

OTWAY OURRY. 15
As the young poet grew up he began to read the hooks
of his father's library, which, though very small, was
probably very choice, consisting of the writings of Mil
ton, Locke, and many other great minds. Before he at
tained majority he had an opportunity of attending a
school of improved character. There lived in the neigh
borhood of Pleasant Valley a Mr. C, who, though a
farmer, had a good English education. He drafted
deeds, wills, and articles of agreement, gave counsel, and
settled controversies, and during the winter taught a
select school in his own house. Of this opportunity Mr.
Curry availed himself, and thus received instruction in
grammar and geography. He, soon after, in company
with a brother, made a trip to Cincinnati, traveling on
foot through the woods. Whether he had any other
object than improvement, I am not advised, but he soon
returned with his appetite for travel unabated. But how
shall it be gratified? To accumulate money by agricultu
ral pursuits, at that time, was impossible; the clearings
were small, the mode of farming laborious; merchandise
was very high, and produce very low; while coffee was
twenty-five cents a pound, tea a dollar and fifty, coarse
muslin twenty-five cents a yard, indigo fifty cents an
ounce, and camphor worth its weight in silver; butter
and maple sugar were six cents a pound, corn fifteen
cents a bushel, and wheat twenty-five cents. Ginseng
and beeswax were the only articles that would bear trans
portation to the east.
Young Curry therefore determined to learn a trade.
This could be done without much expense, and would en
able him to travel where he pleased, and earn a living in
any location. Accordingly, in 1823, he went to Lebanon
and learned the art of carpentry; four or five months
afterward he went to Cincinnati, and continued there,
working at his trade, for nearly a year. We next hear of

16 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
him at the city of Detroit, where he spent a summer,
busily plying his hammer and driving his plane, all the
while, doubtless, reserving time for study, pondering the
pages of science and poetry; sometimes by the light of
shavings, at the lone hours of night, or the more propi
tious period that precedes the dawn. Eeturning to Ohio,
he passed some time at work in the village of Marion.
Moved by romantic impulses, he, in company with a
Mr. Henry Wilson, made a skiff, and launching it at Mill-
ville — a small village on the Scioto — when the waters
were swelled with rains, descended that stream to its
mouth, surmounting mill-dams, rocks, and all other ob
structions. He then descended the Ohio to Cincinnati.
Here he determined to visit the rice fields and orange
groves of the south. Procuring a passage on a flat boat,
for himself and a chest of tools, he proceeded down the
Ohio and Mississippi, and spent a year at Port Gibson
before he returned.
About this time he summoned courage to offer anony
mously some verses to the newspapers, among which were
his sweet poems "My Mother," and "Kingdom Come."
It is probable that he had written poetry long before, but
we are not able to trace the progress of his mind from
the first rude attempts at versification up to his best orig
inal composition. How many pages were consigned to
the flames after having been corrected, recited, commit
ted to memory, and conned during the sleepless nights
when nothing distracted his mind but the rustling of the
forest leaves, or the music of the katydid ! The poet of
the "Seasons" used to commit his early productions to
the fire every New- Year's day, not, however, without com
posing a poetical requiem over their ashes. Ah ! how
little do the readers of poetry know how much the pleas
ure they derive from it costs ! Could we get the genesis
of even one living poetical creation, how much upheaving

OTWAY GURRY. _ 17
and down-throwing; how much fiery and watery agita
tion ; how many depositions in darkness, should we see,
before even a stand-point was gained; and then, how
long after this before light comes, and the spirit moves
on the face of the waters !
Jlr. C.'s first published poetry was so full of fine senti
ment and pleasing imagery, and was withal so melodious
in versification, that it attracted attention and won admi
ration at once.
On his return to Cincinnati, he contributed more freely
to the press over the signature of Abdallah. It was at
this time that he formed the acquaintance of Mr. W. D.
Gallagher, who was induced to seek for him by reading
his stanzas, "The Minstrel's Home." This acquaintance,
we trust, was improved by time, and unbroken by jeal
ousy, envy, or serious misunderstanding. On one occa
sion, during this visit of Mr Curry to Cincinnati, he
was in great danger of his life. The river had frozen
rapidly, but was capable of supporting a considerable
weight, except at a point opposite the mouth of the
Licking river, where the ice was thin. Mr. C. was skat
ing with a party of friends, when, attempting to traverse
the thin ice, he sank beneath it. With great presence
of mind he turned his face down stream, and as he went
into the water, he caught hold of the edge of the ice;
when that to whieh he held broke, he caught farther for
ward, and in this way sustained himself till assistance
was brought to him from the shore.
On leaving the city, he returned to Union county,
where, in December, 1828, he was married to Mary Note-
man, a lady well worthy of him, and who became a pru
dent and devoted wife.
In 1829 he again visited the south, and spent four or
five months at Baton Eouge, contributing, meanwhile,
poetical productions both to the Cincinnati Mirror and

18 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
the Cincinnati Chronicle. Upon his return, he settled in
Union county, and engaged anew in agricultural pursuits,
which he prosecuted with industry till 1889. While
on his farm he courted the muses as opportunity offered,
and issued some of his best verses from his rural home.
He first appeared in public life in 1836, when he was
elected a member of the house of representatives, in the
state Legislature of Ohio. In this capacity he won the
respect of his colleagues, and the confidence and approba
tion of his constituents, who re-elected him in 1837. In
1838 he became united with BIr. Gallagher in the editor
ship of the Hesperian — a monthly literary journal of
high order, which, not being adequately sustained, was
discontinued at the close of the year. In 1839 he re
moved to Marysville, and commenced the study of the
law. In 1842 he was again returned to the Legislature;
during his term of service on this occasion he purchased
the "Green County Torch Light," a weekly paper pub
lished at Xenia, whither he removed in the spring of
1843. He conducted his paper — the style of which he
changed to "Xenia Torch Light" — in a very creditable
manner, for two successive years, when he sold it, and re
moving to Marysville, thenceforward devoted himself to
his profession.
Although he entered the law late in life, and practiced
it scarcely ten years, yet, as we are assured by one of his
ablest competitors, he had no superior as a sound lawyer,
within the range of his practice, and bade fair, if his life
had been spared a few years longer, to become an eminent
legal mind.
In 1850 he was elected a member of the Constitutional
Convention, and with manly firmness and dignity he
resisted some of the principles of the instrument which
that able body elaborated.
In 1853 he purchased the Scioto Gazette — a daily pub-

O T W A Y C U R R Y . 19
lished in Chillicothe — which he edited with characteris
tic ability for about a year, when, his wife's health fail
ing, he sold out, and returning to Marysville, resumed
his legal practice.
In 1842, when in attendance as a member of the Leg
islature, he suffered an attack of bilious pneumonia,
which had such an effect upon his mind, that on recover
ing he made a profession of faith in that Gospel which
had guided his steps and comforted his heart, by uniting
with the Methodist Episcopal Church, in whose fellow
ship he continued till he died.
He had an open countenance, impaired, however, by
strabismus, a broad and lofty brow, a noble form, tall and
well proportioned, which might have borne with ease the
armor of a knight of the middle ages. His spirit was
that of southern chivalry mingled with the Puritan. He
was a man of fine taste. This he exhibited in his dress,
his language, his reading, in fine, in every thing.
Though he never wore any thing gaudy or extravagant,
he had none of Dr. Johnson's indifference to fine linen;
satisfied with garments neat, good, and clean, he was un
happy if they were soiled, badly fitted, or of unsuitable
material. Under such circumstances, he felt depreciated,
and could not be enticed into company. In selecting cloth
for his own use, he has been known to examine the same
piece ten times before he could make up his mind con
cerning it.
He indulged in only one habit violative of good taste.
Like Campbell, Gray, and many other poets, he worshiped
the "great plant," a habit which he had probably form
ed in early life, to which he finally became a slave, and
which it is supposed impaired his health, and under
mined his constitution. Although I was often his guest,
I never saw him burn incense to his idol, nor did I ever
find the blackened and empty censer among his literary

20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
ware, or detect the smoke either in his garments or habit
ation. His good taste led him to perform his devotions
to the Indian weed under such circumstances as neither
to defile his person nor offend the senses of others.
When I first visited him he dwelt in a humble cot
tage, but it bore, both outside and inside, the marks of
neatness and delicacy; flowers bordered the walks, and
vines climbed the trellis; modest carpets covered the
floors, and choice books, with elegant bindings, spread
the table. Later in life, he occupied a house more spa
cious, but it bore the indications of neatness, free from
ostentation. Upon his porch a magnificent weeping wil
low threw its shade and beautifully symbolized the
owner's mind.
His words, whether written or spoken, were few and
well chosen. This is the more remarkable considering
that his early education was so limited. The study of
languages renders words transparent, so that we can dis
cern their most delicate shades of meaning, and adapt
them to the most delicate shades of thought. One who
is not a linguist is not expected to use language with pre-
ciseness. Mr. Curry did; he would allow no thought of
his to go abroad in an unsuitable garment, however pro
tracted might be the process of fitting it. When he
wrote for the press his first drafts were scanned, laid
aside, examined again, altered, and rewritten, sometimes
often, before they were published. Every word was scru
tinized. Hence, we may suppose that his poems will bear
criticism, and will be best appreciated by those who most
closely examine them.
Of his opinions he was as careful as of his words.
Cautious and skeptical to a fault, he never expressed or
formed an opinion without revolving the matter in his
mind, long and carefully, and reviewing it in all its bear
ings. Labor, according to the Latin maxim, overcomes

OTWAY CURRY. 21
all things; it frequently distances genius, and indeed
often wins the crown which genius wears.
Mr. Curry's reading was remarkably tasteful and im
pressive. Of this Mr. Gallagher uses the following
terms: "Mr. Curry's voice and manner of reading gave
to his poems a peculiar charm. And when this was
hightened, as it often was, at that period, by the quiet
of night, the rustling of leaves, the fitful echoes of far-
off sounds, the witchery of murmuring winds and waters,
and other accompaniments of a moonlight ramble, pro
longed into the morning hours, the fascination was irre
sistible. On one of these occasions, as we sat overlook
ing the expanse of the beautiful Ohio, the midnight
moon and an autumnal haze enveloping the whole scene
in robes of softened radiance, and peculiar dreaminess,
the whole of some provincial romance was recited
with a power whose weird influence rests upon my mem
ory yet."
He had a cultivated moral taste. Not even the fasci
nations of Byron or Sir Walter Scott, to whose magic
power his heart was peculiarly susceptible, could reconcile
him to wrong or throw a charm over the wrong-doer.
The following is one of his earliest productions :
" Pray cease to laud the novels and hymns
Of Byron and Walter Scott,
I'U show you a long, dark list of crimes
In judgment against them brought.
Shall Flora M'lvor go down to death,
O'erwhelmed with numberless woes.
While Waverly, false as the mystic wreath,
Is wedded to lowland Rose ?
Shall Minna, the flower of Norman pride.
In sadness and gloom sink down,
While Brenda, beloved, by Mertoun's side
Is weaving the bridal crown ?

22 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
Shall the guerdon of faultless love attend
Miss Edith, the fair and frail ;
And destiny with that guerdon blend
The life-blood of Evandale?
Shall Leila be laid in de.ith's cold bed.
Where the sea-weed garlands grow,
With the deep broad waters o'er her head,
And the shining sands below ?
ShaU Selim be torn from ' love's young dream,'
And his peerless Moslem bride ;
WhUe his life's warm waning crimson stream
Is tinging the surging tide?
Shall the pirate over old ocean rove,
In his proud and reckless glee ;
And smile in scorn at the blighted love
Of Ivan and fair Haidee ?
I say, shall these dark issues be wrought
Where chivalric loves abound ;
And yet, sliaU the brows of Byron and Scott
With myrtle leaves be crowned ?
If so, farewell — go lauding along,
Our journey together is o'er;
Leave me with the hope of Campbell's song.
And the angel loves of Moore."
To one capable of appreciating moral beauty, sin is
discord, disorder, deformity — horrible is a boy growing
into a villain, or a full-grown villain maturing into a devil ;
beautiful, a youth rising up to virtuous manhood, or a
man ripening into an angel of God. As a mansion for
saken of men, and occupied with serpents and wild
beasts, so, to a pure eye, is a sinful soul.
Mr. Curry's life was answerable to his taste; his name
is without a spot. In early life he labored with his
hands, in later years with his mind; always rendering
either moral or material benefit for all that he received.
Had he been avaricious, he might have been rich ; with
his capacities, education, experience, and profession, amid

OTWAY CURRY. 23
the opportunities for speculation afforded in a new coun
try, it were easy to accumulate a fortune; but though
frugal, prudent, and free from pecuniary misfortunes, he
died poor. Had he been ambitious he might have been
eminent. When called to office, it was by unsolicited
suffrages, and when placed in power, he was no tool of
party. No speeches for sinister ends, no motion for fac
tious purposes, no empty declamations, or busy demonstra
tions, or crafty schemes disgraced his political career.
Guided by a sense of duty to his country, he walked heed
less alike of private threats and popular clamor.
As a lawyer, he was equally upright. Many can not
understand how any lawyer can be honest. Men may,
indeed, practice law dishonestly, as they may any other pro
fession ; but that there are proportionately more rascals
among lawyers than among other classes of society, it
would be difficult to show. It may be admitted that, in
legal practice, there are peculiar facilities to chicanery,
and temptations to pervert truth and justice, but they
are counteracted by peculiar incentives to integrity; for
in no other profession is it so clearly demonstrated, that
"the way of the transgressor is hard;" in none is it more
apparent that honesty is the best policy; in none is a rep
utation for uprightness more valuable, or its absence more
blasting. If the legal profession were incompatible with
honesty, it would not be a legitimate pursuit, and no
lawyer could be a worthy member of society. Human
law is founded upon divine, and, imperfect as it is, it is
the expression of the world's best ideas of justice; its
object is to shield the right and punish the wrong; it is
necessary to society, and society is necessary to man. To
say that it can not be practiced honestly is a libel upon
the providence of God.
Mr. Curry, at the bar, was the shield of innocence, the
terror of guilt, and the moderator of justice. Though

24 BIOGRAPIIIC.VL SKETCHES.
liable, like other men, to be deceived by his client and
influenced by his passions, he would not enforce what he
deemed an unjust claim or prosecute a just one in an un
just mode. His intercourse alike with his clients, his
professional associates, and the court, and his motions,
argumentation, and pleading, were all marked by dignity
and fairness. He spent immense labor in the prepara
tion of important cases. Taking nothing upon trust,
never relying upon hasty or superficial investigation,
when he made up his mind he was almost always right.
When right, he was pretty sure of success; for, though
unadapted to the off-hand conflicts of the bar, he kept
his eye steadily upon the legal principle upon which his
case turned, and possessed a searching scrutiny and a log
ical skill by which he could detect and expose the most
ingenious fallacy that sophistry could invent to obscure it.
As an editor, he manifested the same integrity, though
sorely tried. To stand firm in the tempest of politics re
quires the virtue of an Aristides; to conduct a newspaper
amid the prejudices of the populace, the clamors of the
candidates, the assertions of the misinformed, the threats
of misguided friends, and the vituperations of excited
enemies, and yet preserve accuracy in statement, dignity
in comments, and a sacred regard to the decencies of
private life, and the requirements of public morals, de
mands a degree of virtue that few have attained. A
Themistocles might sail his fleet to Salamis, and a Milti
ades march his platoons to Marathon, and yet not have
courage enough to be an honest political editor.
It was remarked by one of Mr. Curry's friends that he
was inactive in schemes of reform and hopeless of human
progress; tho remark applies only to his youth. In the
county in which he resided he was the master spirit of
the temperance enterprise, and he contributed in no
small degree to change the public sentiment of Ohio in

OTWAY CURRY. 25
relation to slavery. In early life he mourned in silence
over that evil, hoping that the southern states would de
vise some safe and speedy means for its abolition ; but
after the annexation of Texas, he became strongly anti-
slavery, and after the passage of the Nebraska-Kansas
bill, he openly advocated the girdling of slavery. He
was no abstractionist; he considered consequences and
tendencies, and balanced, nicely, opposing duties. Once
determined on his course, he stopped at no obstacles,
heeded no persecution, and declined no conflict. He
was, however, too modest, unambitious, and averse to
public life for a leader.
He was a man of great social and domestic virtue. As
a neighbor, he was considerate, peaceful, obliging, and
hospitable; looking with patience upon the weakness,
and with silence upon the wrongs of others, he cherished
no malignity, fomented no disputes, flattered no patron,
and pierced no victim. Though not insensible to ingrat
itude, meanness, and injury, he was too respectful of him
self and too charitable toward others to indulge in any
utterances that would give pain, unless they were neces
sary to a prudent maintenance of right. He was as far
from being a cynic as a parasite.
He was not polite, in the ordinary sense of the word.
He looked austere, and was generally regarded by the
stranger as proud, distant, and affected. A great mis
take. General society, indeed, he shrank from; the
thoughtless multitude he studiously avoided; the busy
marts of commerce, with their deafening din and over
reaching plots, he eyed with coldness and disdain; the
cabals and intrigues of politics he shunned with mingled
pity and indignation; the whole sinful world he was wont
to regard as unjust, harsh, and hollow-hearted; to the
prattler, he was shy; to the sensualist, studiously repel-
lant; to the skeptic, painfully reserved. There was

26 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
something, at times, even terrible in his distance ; but to
those whom he admitted to his acquaintance he was
gentle as the south wind — his heart glowed with love and
yearned for friendship. So subtile was his imagination,
so profound his philosophy, so mystical his expressions,
so strong, so pure, so unwasting his affections that few
could appreciate him. He knew this, and hence before
the gazers in the outer court of his spirit he lifted not
the vail; but with an intelligent, confiding, imaginative
friend, whose spirit was in harmony with his own, he was
communicative, fervent, at times even vehement, occa
sionally witty, sometimes humorous, but always genial,
always reverent.
In his home he found a paradise. The heart can be
well trained in the woods. You may often find, in the
cabin of the new settler, the most lovely forms of the so
cial, domestic, and religious affections. Conjugal love,
maternal tenderness, brotherly affection, and filial duty
are perhaps best cultivated in that family, which, cut off
from general society, feels its dependence upon itself.
Mr. Curry's domestic attachments are breathed in his po
etry. In his early wanderings he sang,
" The image of a happier home,
Whence far my feet hav6 strayed.
Still flits around me, as I roam,
Like joy's departed shade ;
Though childhood's light of joy has set,
Its home is dear to memory yet."
How touching are his lines to his mother :
" I saw thy fleeting life decay,
Even as a frail and withering flower,
And vainly strove to wile away
Its swiftly-closing hour.
It came with many a thronging thought
Of anguish ne'er again forgot.
In life's proud dream I have no part —
No share in its resounding Riee ;

OTWAY CURRY. 27
The musings of my weary heart
Are in the grave with thee ;
There have been bitter tears of mine
Above that lowly bed of thine.
It seems to my fond memory now,
As it had been but yesterday
When I was but a child, and thou
Didst cheer me in my play ;
And in the ev-enings dull and lone
Didst lull me with thy music-tone.
And when the twilight hours began,
And shining constellations came.
Thou badst me know each nightly sun,
And con its ancient name ;
For thou hadst learned their lore and light
With watchings in the tranquil night.
And then, when leaning on thy knee,
I saw them in their grandeur rise,
It was a joy in sooth to me ;
But now the starry skies
Seem holier grown, and doubly fair,
Since thou art with the angels there.
The stream of life, with hurrying flow,
Its course may bear me swiftly through ;
I grieve not, for I soon shaU go.
And by thy side renew
The love which here for thee I bore,
And never leave thy presence more."
To such a heart home must be sweet. Thither his
steps tended when the toils of the day were over; there,
among his little ones, he talked as a child, he thought as
a child, he played as a child; there, too, he rejoiced with
the wife of his youth, and found in her smiles a recom
pense for his labors and a refuge from his cares. It
were not surprising, however, if, occasionally borne down
by anxiety, disappointed in men, and racked with pain,
he should be irritable; hut if he ever drew a tear from
the eye of a loved one, methinks he must have wiped it

28 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
away. We may presume that if he erred as the head of
a household, it was by excessive indulgence.
He was a man of fervent and unostentatious piety,
though it was not till he reached the prime of life that
he publicly professed religion. He delighted in sim
plicity of worship. He rejoiced to see the house of
God, like a graveyard, bring all to a level, and the whole
congregation on earth, as the whole assembly in heaven,
bow knee to knee before the throne, and the ministry
of mercy, like wisdom in the Proverbs, cry upon the
highest places, " Whoso is simple, let him turn in
hither!" He had a fine imagination, which was not, perhaps,
always properly restrained. In youth he indulged in
castle building, delighted in tales and romances, and
dwelt much in fairy-land; so much so that he was
deemed, by those who did not know him well, to be
moody in his temper and dreamy in his views. Mr. Gal
lagher, speaking of him in early life, says: "The peculiar
characteristics of Mr. Curry, since freely developed, were
then distinctly lined. He cultivated music with liter
ature, and performed well upon the flute. The strains
of his instrument were touchingly sweet, as were those
of his pen. Both lacked vigor of expres.sion, and were
dreamy in the extreme. His flute drew its airs from a
feudal and castled age, when melancholy minstrels wooed
romantic maidens by stealth, and chivalrous knights
dared death and dishonor for the favor of high-born
dames. His pen found a feast, also, in his imaginative
soul, and from that drew pensive airs which melted his
own heart to tears, and touched the hearts of others.
But of the music of the battle-field, or that of the stage,
or of the fashionable saloon, his flute rarely discoursed;
so of the conflict of opinion, the struggles of the muses,
the aspirations of the soul after a higher and nobler free-

OTWAY CURRY. 29
dom here upon earth, the clamor, and clash, and upheav
ing, and down-throwing that are of the elements of prog
ress, his pen took no note."
Mr. Curry's imaginative power is seen in his fictitious
narratives, such as "The Wolf Hunter," and in the beau
tiful imagery with which his poetry is adorned. His
writings seem wanting in some of the fruits of imagina
tion. They exhibit no wit or humor — not, however,
because of his incapacity, but because they were unsuit
able to his themes. He was of too serious and reverent
a spirit to mingle, like Hood, grotesque images and unex
pected associations with the subjects of religious faith.
He had but little oratorical genius. He could not arouse
and amuse a popular assembly; he could not trace resem
blances and analogies without study ; he could not, there
fore, point arguments with epigrams, antitheses, and
puns, or apply illustrative anecdotes so as to "bring down
the house ;" or, if he could, he was restrained from it by
his fine taste and dignified spirit. His prose is remark
ably free from tropes and metaphors. Even his poetry
lacks too much the charm of figurative language. He
never presents us with the terrible, rarely with the grand,
never with the sublime. It must be admitted, therefore,
that his imagination was not of the highest order; still
it was superior, and being active in his youth, it directed
his reading, selected his comparisons, shaped his course
in life, and contributed greatly to his sorrows and his
joys. His early tendency to reverie, fondness for books,
and disinclination for labor, induced his parents to mark
him for the law, which, they supposed, would, by its
severer studies, check his poetic musings, and, by culti
vating the logical faculty, repress the imaginative. In
mature life, however, works of imagination seem to have
been his favorite studies, and solitary meditation and
communion with poetic friends his chief pleasures. He

30 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
dwelt much in the inner world, which he made more
beautiful and enchanting than the outer. Here were
fountains that never failed, grass that concealed no
snakes, forests traversed by no savage foe, angels whom
he could see face to face. This weakened his attention
to the real world, and rendered him averse to its strug
gles, frivolities, and pursuits, and even reluctant to enter
upon the duties of life and the enterprises of science and
virtue. Mrs. Nichols, herself a child of song, and a friend of
Mr. Curry, thus beautifully describes his soul-life :
"Within, the holy fire of poesy burned clear and
bright, refining the material man, and lifting the more
ethereal element of our twofold nature up to the realms
of love, and faith, and peace, where the indwelling soul
preludes the feast of immortal joys. No petty ambitions,
no goading desires for name and fame among the great
of earth, ever soiled the bosom of our friend. To move
quietly in his accustomed round of prescribed duties — to
enjoy the communion of chosen and congenial minds —
to yield himself up to the manifold enchantments of in
spiring nature — to utter in verse, smooth and musical as
his favorite streams, the live thoughts of the passing
moments, made up the sum of his daily happiness; and
if a shade of sadness, as of some secret and acknowledged
sorrow, bordered the placid beauty of existence, it only
added tenderness to the hearts of those who knew and
loved him, and made them more eager to minister to his
simple and unadulterated pleasures."
This fine imagination and meditative habit exposed
him to misconceptions, especially of human character.
These, however, were unlike those of Eosseau, who
brooded over imaginary offenses till he learned to despise
his friends. Mr. Curry was, doubtless, prone to set in
too strong a light the infirmities and wrongs which he

OTWAY OURRY. 31
observed, and to feel too intensely the passions they were
fitted to excite, though he resisted the tendency to hrood
over them. But he studiously set the excellences of
those whom he admired before him, and magnified them
from day to day, while he steadily obscured the errors
and weaknesses associated with them, till he placed the
objects of his admiration before him in angelic bright
ness and beauty. He was, therefore, a man of Platonic
love ; a passion breathed in the following lines to a
poetess ; " It was a calmer day,
A happier time than now.
When first I saw the morning light
Come down upon thy brow;
As came the Ught, so long divine,
In which the palmer sought the shrine
To pay his holy vow.
Up to the realm of song
I saw thee go and stand,
With woven garlands on thy head
And offerings in thy hand ;
And then it was my trust and hope
To climb at length the mountain slope
Dnto that lofty land.
I do but dimly now
Behold that light serene,
As glimpses of the cooling streams
In dying dreams are seen ;
And, toiling up the tides of thought,
I seek in every haunted spot
The vision that hath been.
There is a place where none
But happy sounds are heard.
Where never yet by evil wing
The aromal winds were stirred ;
It grandly lies beyond my soul,
As islands of the seas unroll
Before the morning bird.

32 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
It lies in lightest morn
And staiTiest eves immersed ;
And there my steadfast hope shall be
To greet thee as at first,
And in the waves of song that break
Upon its golden brink, to slake
My soul's consuming thirst."
To one formed to admire all that is beautiful in hu
manity, to love with intense fervor, and to contemplate
the objects of his affections in their best attitude,
and with the brilliant hues of a fervid imagination, it
must be dreadful to lose a friend.
Mr. Curry's losses gave a somber tint to his thoughts,
and a dirge-like solemnity to his strains. There was a
sacred cause of grief which he rarely revealed — a secret
stop which broke the harmony of his spiritual life. Per
haps Mr. Gallagher alludes to it in the following quo
tation :
"On another occasion of the kind, after the evident
sympathy and more intimate acquaintance had begotten
confidence — with the fragrance of spring flowers around
us, and gentle night breezes fanning our brows, and the
calm stars looking down upon us and silence — the young
poet drew aside tho outer curtains of his love's past, and
through the gauze hangings of an indistinct utterance,
made a revelation of love and bereavement which was
never alluded to afterward."
A transatlantic poetess has uttered the sentiments of
many a fine soul in the words :
" ' Let us return,' said the broken heart
Of the mountain hermit's tale.
When he saw the morning mists depart
From the summits gray and pale ;
For he knew that the fan-palm cast the shade
Of its ever-glorious green.
Where the love of his blasted youth was laid
And the light of her steps had been.

OTWAY CURRY. 83
Ah ! thus forever the heart looks back
To its young hope's funeral urn :
To the tender green of that early track,
To its light let us return."
Some of us can sympathize with such a soul.
" We have paused, perchance, by the quiet grave
Of our young who early slept,
And since they left us many a wave
O'er our weary bark hath swept ;
But far in the morning Ught enshrined,
They gladden our backward gaze.
Or wake, like the breath of the summer's wind,
The soul of our better days.
Back — back to the living wave we drew
With them from a purer urn —
To the path of the promise lost to view.
And its peace — let us return."
Mr. Curry's sorrow was softened by sublime faith.
He traced the departed good in all the charms of "saints
made perfect," into the heavenly world. He believed,
with Milton, that
" Millions of spirits walk the earth unseen,
Both when we wake and when we sleep,"
and that those who loved us in life bear their love into
heaven, and often come down from their blissful seats to
be our "ministering spirits on earth." It is a beau
tiful faith, which we would not disturb, and which Mr.
Curry has expressed in touching lines
"TO A LOST ONE.
I know tbou art gone to a clime of light,
To a world of joy and love.
Beyond the reach of the sunbeam's flight.
In tbe shadowless above.
Thy spirit, they say, can not feel regret
In that land of rest and bliss.
But free from sorrow will there forget
The hearts that grieve in this.

34 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
I heed them not; I will not deem
Bo lightly of love like thine ;
Though far from others thy spirit may seem,
I know thou art present with mine.
Thou art here again, where oft thou hast stood
To list to tbe lulling chime
Of gentle gales in the waving wood.
And song of the ancient time.
Thou art watching the images that play
And blend on the quiet streams.
As sUently as the forms that stray
Adown the river of dreams.
Thou wUt assuage my wearying fears,
And, with thine influence sweet.
Along the darkening VEile of tears
Conduct my lonely feet.
And I wUl rejoice in thy smiles again.
And haply thy whisper shall hear,
Dispelling the gloom of sorrow and pain
When the twilight of death is near."
He looked forward with strong confidence to a reunion
with friends in the "better land," and sympathized
strongly with Southey in the words :
" They sin who say that love can die !
With life all other passions fly —
AU others are but vanity.
In heaven ambition cau not dwell,
Nor avarice in the depths of heU.
Earthly these passions of the earth,
They perish where they had their birth ;
But love is indestructible — •
Its holy flame forever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times oppress'd,
It here is tried and purified.
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest."

OTWAY CURRY. 35
He felt the light of an endless morning, and dwelt in
the vicinity of heaven. He was like one in a cavern,
speaking up the shaft to loved ones listening in the light
above. With all his imagination he was a man of safe
and sober judgment; his mind was never beclouded as
was that of the sweet bard of Olney ; he never con
founded the fictions of the brain with the indications
of the senses; he never, like poor "Goldy," provoked
laughter by his " simplicity." Campbell, having been
fascinated by a little child that he saw in the park,
advertised for her in the "Morning Chronicle," stating
his age to be sixty-two. It is needless to say that the
advertisement caused the London wags to play several
hoaxes upon the poet, and that he was sent to some maids
who, to his credit, knew neither him nor his poetry.
Mr. Curry had common sense enough to save himself
from all such mortification ; if he had child-sweethearts or
celestial visions he took care not to throw his " pearls
before swine." His life shows that he could unite the
practical with the poetical. As an agriculturist, a me
chanic, a legislator, an editor, and a lawyer, he was
respectable; as a critic and a poet, he was more. When
we consider that, although he entered upon life without
property, education, or the interest of leading friends,
and never enjoyed a lucrative office or made a fortunate
speculation, yet sustained and educated his family reputa
bly, and responded to the calls of charity and religion,
we must concede that his mind was well balanced.
There is nothing eccentric in his character, nothing
wonderful in his deeds^ or sufferings ; he moved in obe
dience to the ordinary laws of the human mind, and
experienced the common lot of good men. His life
began in melody, progressed in conflict, but closed in
peace ; we know nothing in it that might not be written
in an epic. His writings also are pure; they contain

36 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
nothing which might not safely be read by all men.
They may not present us with any thing sublime, neither
do they with anything absurd or trifling; their chief
fault, perhaps, is their want of variety. As the London
Times pronounced John B. Gough the Paganini of orators,
so we may pronounce Otway Curry the Paganini of poets;
but though he played only one string, all must admit that
it was a sweet one, and most skillfully swept. Most of
his poems were the productions of his youth, written
in the intervals of daily toil; many of them are frag
mentary, and among these is the only one of any consid
erable size — Mokanna. What will be their fate we know
not; it is not the most pretending author that secures
the most enduring fame. Goldsmith was the least star
of that brilliant literary constellation into which he was
graciously admitted, yet he is likely, in the lapse of ages,
to eclipse all the rest. If a few stanzas shall sink into
the hearts of the people or dwell upon their lips, the
poet will not have lived for naught. The songs of a
people outlive their philosophy and have a far greater
influence in molding their character.
Mr. Curry's chief characteristic was his taste. His
mind was in harmony with nature; he had a relish for
all beauty. To him it was not in vain that God painted
the landscape green, cast the channels of the streams in
graceful curves, lighted up the arch of night, and turned
the gates of the day on golden hinges amid the anthems
of a grateful world.
No thirst for wealth, no conflict for honor, no lust of
meaner pleasures destroyed his sensibility to the har
monies and proportions of the universe. " No profit in
this," cries the utilitarian. Neither is there in the
quiet lake reposing in the bosom of the mountains and
bearing no keel upon its waters; but is it nothing that
it reflects every leaf that quivers over its margin and

OTWAY CURRY. 37
every star that looks down into its crystal breast? It
was not, however, the superficial beauty that chiefly
charmed him, but the interior — that higher beauty which
the vulgar eye can not see. Beneath outer forms he
traced inner and more vital ones; beneath all forms he
sought design, and from design he advanced to the
affection which prompted it. Thus was he in constant
communion with the "Great Spirit." Beauty in its
heavenly forms chiefly attracted him. The world to
come, where the harmonies and proportions are perfect;
where there is no night, no sorrow, no falsehood; the
fellowship of angels, whose love is interrupted by no
misunderstanding and corrupted by no impurity; the
bowers of Eden, and its gentle streams before sin had
defiled them; the mind of man in its recovered state;
the cradle and the cross of the Eedeemer; the grace and
the glory of the Infinite one, were the favorite subjects
of his meditations: when objects of a different kind
forced themselves on his attention, they grieved his
gentle spirit or moved his righteous indignation. And
is it not great and good to behold God's nobler works, to
be even a silent witness of the grandeur hidden from
common observers ! so shall it not be in vain that God
reveals himself within the vail ; so shall there not be
wanting a high-priest in the interior of the Divine
temple. From a child Mr. Curry was fond of nature and soli
tude; as he grew up poets were his companions; with
them he sympathized; with them he sat, side hy side, in
the enchanted land of song; to see, to enjoy what the
idle, the worldly, and the profane can not; this was not
merely his pastime but his living. A luxurious melan
choly chastened his spirit and mellowed the light which
it reflected.There is an intimate connection between beauty and

38 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
goodness — the latter is to the former what the soul is to
the body; the beauty that beams upon us from the face of
nature is but the expression of Divine goodness — the
smile by which God would attract us to his arms. If so,
he who is truly enamored of beauty must aspire after
God, and as goodness is necessary to bring us into com
munion with him he must pant after that. Nothing but
depravity can prevent this natural result. Were men
angels every new form of beauty would be a lesson of
holiness, would raise a new song of praise, and impel us
nearer to " Our Father." Even in our fallen race the
love of beauty is of moral tendency; there is an aesthetic
virtue ; he who has a cultivated taste must admire moral
excellence, which is beauty in its highest expression, and
hate sin, which is deformity in its most hideous form;
he may have a heart hostile to God, for taste can not
regenerate, but he is restrained from the grosser though
not more damning form of sin. Like Shelly he may
have a pernicious faith, and thus be betrayed into wick
edness, but he can not but love holiness when he beholds
it. Mr. Curry's faith was enlightened and evangelical.
The love of beauty is usually associated with the
capacity to reproduce it ; that is taste, this is art. Mr.
Curry's art was not proportionate to his taste; it mani
fested itself in the sweet music of his flute and the
sweeter strains of his verse; the former is lost in the
empty air, the latter will float down the river of time.
His poetry will not be relished by the mass ; it has no
peans of battle, no provocatives of mirth, no mockery of
misery, no strokes of malice. It is the song of a relig
ious soul ; faith is the bond which links its stanzas, a
faith that brings heaven near to earth and man into fel
lowship with angels. Like wine it will be pronounced
better as it grows older, not because it will improve but
because the world's taste will. What he uttered we may

OTWAY CURRY. 39
suppose was little compared with what he bore with him
into heaven, where he will take up the harp that he laid
down too early on earth.
It may be matter of astonishment that he was not
more original — more national — ^that he did not give
American ideas in American forms — that he did not
have more vigor of thought, more fire of passion, making
his pentameters ring on the soul, like the blows of his
ax on the elm — that he did not give voice to the for
gotten generations over whose graves he walked, and
immortality to the heraldry that he turned up with his
plow — that he did not rive pride to the heart as the north
ern blast oft rives the oaks of the hill-top, and girdle sen
suality as the prairie on fire girdles the flying traveler —
that he did not, with the inspiration of a heaven-born
poet, make Niagara silence Atheism and the floods of the
Alleghanies clap their hands to God — that he did not
commission the thunder to pronounce the doom of
slavery and the lightning to melt the chains of the
captured fugitive that was borne by his door — that he
did not make the mountains that God lifted around him
proclaim liberty and the broad streams that he poured
at their feet preach bounty. But this is the complaint
against all American poetry — that it is not American.
We look for wild grass, and lo! clover; for the mastodon,
laving his sides in the Mississippi, and lo ! behemoth,
"trusting he can draw up Jordan into his mouth.''
The songs of our lakes and plains are yet to be sung ;
the hopes and aspirations of the new world are yet to be
voiced; and sure as the noblest lands and inland waters
that the sun ever saw lie spread out between our ocean
coasts, and the best races of men have gathered to them,
so sure is the noblest poetry that shall ever entrance de
lighted mortals to rise up from our valleys.
The common apology for the past is that American

40 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
poetry has never had a free development ; we are too
poor and too practical; our bird of song has been caught
during its first flutters around its native mountain and
tied to some money-making machinery, so that it could
never soar with mature and unbroken wing, or it had
soared to the morning sun.
The special apology in this case is, that Mr. Curry's
spirit was that meek and quiet one which, though un
attractive to man, is in the sight of God of great price;
his eye was turned to tlie eternal world, his poetry was
the song of the bruised heart.
The crowning art of our poet was his life. That he
had the infirmities of man we do not deny; that he
sinned and wept; that he wandered and grieved; that
ofttimes when he would do good evil was present with
him; that he saw in retrospecting his life many lost
opportunities of usefulness; many wounds in kind hearts
long stilled in death that he would gladly heal; many
cold ears into which he would fain pour the prayer of
forgiveness ; many acts over which he would fain weep
tears of blood, and many emotions toward the Giver of
all good, under the pressure of which he would not so
much as lift up his eyes to heaven without a mediator.
But in this world of sin, amid this incessant conflict
with error, how few have passed so pure a life or
breathed so modest, so gentle a spirit! Herein is art!
the best man is the highest artist. It is inspiring to see
goodness, meekness, long-suffering, even amid occasional
petulances and wrongs, beaming from the face of man,
just as it is to see Divine wisdom, and power, and good
ness, though amid storms and earthquakes, shadowed
from the face of the universe. It were grand to stand
in some venerable temple, all unimpaired by time, re
flecting the light from its diaphanous walls, and present
ing on all sides the memorials of ancient faith; but

OTWAY CURRY. 41
grander, far, to survey the divine temple of a good life,
hung round with trophies won from earth and hell,
hallowed all over with the blood of Christ, and vocal
with songs echoed from the upper world. .
Mr. Curry taught the lesson of dying well no less than
of living well. May we not hope that he closed his eyes
on earth in fall view of heaven and its angels !
On the 17th of February, 1855, he was laid in a hum
ble grave, which, perhaps, may be sought for after the
monuments raised to our heroes shall have been forgotten.
4

42 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

HUGH LATIMEE was born in 1470, and died in 1555.
He lived, therefore, under the reigns of Edward IV,
Edward V, Eichard HI, Henry VII, Henry VIII, Edward
VI, and Queen Mary. His period was a remarkable one.
Mohammed II was in the midst of his career of con
quest; he had crossed the Bosphorus, sword in hand, bat
tered down the walls of Constantinople, and terminated,
with the life of its last sovereign, the eastern empire of
the Eomans; he had also subdued Greece and Epirus,
and would have subjugated Italy but for the Venetian
fleet. His successors carried their arms eastward to
Persia, westward to Venice and Hungary, and conquered
Egypt, Syria, Cyprus, and Tunis. One of them took
Buda and besieged Vienna, and was ranked with the
devil and the comet as one of the three great enemies of
Christendom. Eussia was a rude region under the dominion of the
Mongols. Although a British ship occasionally visited
Archangel, the north-east of Europe was scarcely known
as a nation till John the Great — when Latimer was eleven
years old (1481) — broke the Mongol yoke, and becoming
the first Czar, started Eussia in the career of civilization
and aggrandizement. The republic of Florence was in
its highest splendor. Swayed by the opulent and culti
vated family of Medici, it became the paradise of science
and art. Genoa and Venice commanded respect by their
wealth, commercial enterprise, and naval power; Naples

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 43
was a declining kingdom, and the states of the Church
were the scenes of disorder, misrule, and crime. Spain
still felt the sway of the Moors, but (1479) while Lati
mer was at school, Ferdinand and Isabella united the
crowns of Castile and Arragon, and soon after, by the
conquest of Grenada, drove those daring intruders into
Africa. The Low Countries, about this time, were an
nexed to the German Empire, but soon after transferred to
Spain, and at Latimer's death were dyed with the blood
df the Inquisition. Germany was under the sway of
Maximilian, who, having married the heiress of Burgundy
and the Netherlands, became the greatest monarch of his
day. During Latimer's life, he was succeeded success
ively by his son and grandson, the former of whom
emancipated Germany from the shackles of the feudal
system, and reduced to order its separate sovereignties;
the latter uniting the crowns of Spain and Germany, and
embracing in his dominions the Netherlands and a part
of Italy, signalized himself both in the cabinet and the
field. France, at Latimer's birth, was ruled by the san
guinary Louis XI, and at his death by the renowned
Francis I, Charles VIII and Louis XII having success
ively intervened. Denmark, Sweden, and Norway were
united under the treaty of Caiman, though in 1521
Sweden declared her independence. Poland, now blotted
from the list of nations, was a growing power, which, at
the close of the fifteenth century, held dominion from
the Baltic to the Euxine. Switzerland, which had already
struck a powerful blow for liberty, established her inde
pendence while Latimer was at Cambridge. Northern
Asia was little known, China was molding under the dy
nasty of Ming, and India under the successors of Timur.
Australia and America were undiscovered continents.
The literary condition of Europe was no less interesting
than its political. Eaphael came forth, and spreading

44 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
forms of unwonted beauty and grace upon the canva.s,
became prince of painters. Michael Angelo, great as
sculptor, poet, philosopher, and warrior, became unsur
passed as an architect, and greatest of his race in design.
Erasmus was a restorer of learning, a model of modern
elegance, and a cunning artificer, who picked the lock
that Luther opened. Camoens breathed the fire of an
cient muses into the Lusiad. Tasso won immortality by
the "Jerusalem Delivered;" and Spencer filled his iron
stanzas with golden thought. It was an age of wonder
ful discovery. The mariner's compass having been
brought into use, Spain and Portugal, anxious to take the
trade of the Indies from the Venetians, were sending out
voyagers to discover a southern route to the Indian sea.
When Latimer was in his cradle, Bartholomew Dias was
doubling the Cape of Good Hope, and Columbus was at
Lisbon, prosecuting his studies and plans for the discov
ery of a westward route to India; when he arrived at
age, that immortal navigator set sail for the new world.
While Latimer was a student, Copernicus was born, and
when the former was discharging the duties of a parish
priest, the latter was studying the theory of astronomers.
Late in life, the one was lifting the vail of Popish error
from the face of the Scriptures, the other was lifting the
vail of cycles and epicycles from the philosophy of the
universe. About twenty years before Latimer saw the light,
movable types were invented, but the art of printing
had hardly come into practice before he learned his alpha
bet ; when he was thirty years old there were two hun
dred and twenty printing offices scattered over Europe,
and scarcely any important town in any European coun
try that had not its printers engaged in multiplying
knowledge. A greater discovery is to be named; namely,
that men are capable of thinking for themselves.

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 45
As early as 1260 Peter Waldus called in question the
Pope's right to think for every body; he read the Scrip
tures, translated them into French, and distributed them
among the people of Lyons. The clergy becoming alarm
ed, he and his followers were expelled from the city, de
prived of their property, denounced as heretics, and com
pelled to pick up a subsistence, as best they could, upon
the mountains of Savoy. Thus impoverished, persecuted,
and isolated, they could, of course, exert but little influ
ence; they, however, emancipated themselves from the
errors and needless forms of Popery, embraced the pure
faith of the Gospel, and illustrated it by holy lives. Just
one hundred years before the birth of Latimer, Wickliffe
was expelled from Canterbury by the Pope. A few years
after this he translated the Bible" into English. He was
anathematized, but, a quarrel arising between the King
and the Pope, concerning the tribute promised by King
John, he found refuge in a strong political party. After
his death both secular and religious authority were com
bined to put down the Lollards, who soon disappeared
from the field of history, though their principles were
silently spreading over Europe, and were maintained by
Huss and Jerome even unto fire. When Latimer was
born the Church in England seemed to be quietly repos
ing in its darkness, but when he was a mature man —
forty-seven — Luther struck his first, strong, open blow at
the Papacy.
A few general reflections before we pass :
1. The age in which Latimer lived was very eventful.
We are too much inclined to magnify our own age, and
to depreciate preceding ones. The reason is obvious.
What is before us and addresses itself to our senses
affects us deeply; what is behind us and is brought to us
by report, moves us but superficially. A reflecting mind
must, however, perceive that the epoch which closed the

46 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
night of the dark ages, changed the law of descent,
broke the power of the feudal barons, consolidated the
great monarchies of Europe, and introduced the balance
wheel which limits the ambition of princes; which in
vented the press, revived letters, and reformed religion;
which produced Maximilian, and Charles V, and Francis
I, and Henry VIII, and Copernicus, and Michael Angelo,
and Columbus, and Martin Luther; which energized the
old world and discovered the new, and brought the dawn
of a universal moral day over both, is a brilliant one.
The great characters that passed before the eye of Lat
imer were Henry VIII, Francis I, and Charles V. A
group of greater monarchs the world never saw; the two
latter contended for the prize of Europe, and the first
held the balance of power between them. Meanwhile,
Copernicus was a timid student, who for thirty years con
cealed his astronomical discoveries, and when at last he
published them, died of excitement and fear. Columbus
was, for the most of his life, in poverty, sometimes in
beggary; Luther was at first an obscure monk, afterward
a preacher, dependent on charity for support, and on a
petty German prince for protection. Three hundred
years have passed since Latimer died, and what a change
in the relative position of the figures in the historic pic
ture ! The sovereigns have been steadily moving toward
the background, while the great astronomer, the great
navigator, the great reformer have been as steadily mov
ing to the foreground. Ask almost any man to give you
the history of Francis I, and he will be at a loss, but
where is the schoolboy within the limits of civilization
that can not tell you who Columbus was ? Behold the vast
superiority of intellectual over political fame ! Far be
hind the mental giants we find such men as Latimer 
humble souls following their convictions of duty even
unto death. They, too, are coming forward steadily,

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 47
rapidly, and erelong will be found in advance of such men
as Columbus and Angelo Buonoroti. Goodness is greater
than wisdom, and will shine brighter and brighter as the
world grows better and better. The name of Latimer
now shines over two hemispheres, and will blaze more and
more till the last day.
2. He was of humble parentage. His father was a
farmer, but not an owner of the soil. It may serve to show
some of the changes which three centuries and a half have
wrought, to remark, that Mr. L. paid but twenty dollars a
year rent for his farm, although he kept upon it thirty
cows, one hundred sheep, and six men, raised a large
family comfortably, exercised generosity to his neighbors,
hospitality to strangers, liberality to the poor, and fiir
nished the king with a man and horse. The fact may be
accounted for in part by the patriarchal manners of the
times. We may fairly presume that old Mr. Latimer's
house had no windows, but had a roof of thatch with a
hole in the center to let the smoke out and the light in.
His parlor was nicely carpeted with clean straw and his
bedroom curtained with the skins of sheep. His side
board was ornamented with a pewter tankard, and his
door-yard with poultry, but not of the Shanghai variety;
his treasures were chiefly cattle and grain, which he sold
at good prices to drovers and merchants; his ornaments
probably were a copper ring and a dumb watch ; his lux
uries it is difficult to name, except that one of the great
est, and not to be enjoyed but on great occasions, was a
linen shirt. His five daughters — buxom girls — were
good at stitching and spinning, cooking meat and
making puddings; their chief pets were not canaries
and larks, hut pigs and lambs. His only son found his
chief relaxation, during vacation, in hunting and fishing.
Wine, in those days, was bought, as castor oil, in ounce
vials, and only in seasons of sickness; paper was a

48 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
curiosity, and libraries were of course small — that of
Oxford scarce had five hundred volumes. Mr. Latimer
might have had two books, though this is doubtful.
As to travel, there was scarce any of it. No danger of
the fire-chariot running over his cows. The mail-coach
perhaps drove by his residence once a month, due notice
of the starting of which was given at the corners of the
streets of Thurcaston by the town crier a week before
hand; but it is not likely that Mr. Latimer ever went in
the vehicle as far as London. As to foreign travel, a
man who had visited the continent was probably as great
a curiosity then as one who had circumnavigated the
globe would be now. How the old gentleman ever got
through the world without either a newspaper or a tele
graphic dispatch; or the old ladies who visited Madam
Latimer ever got through their gossip without a cup of
tea; or the young gentlemen who married her daughters
ever accomplished their courting without the inspiration
of coffee; or how young Latimer got through college
without puffing a cigar or rolling the quid as a sweet
morsel under the tongue; or how any of his fellows at
tained to the rank of aristocracy when brandy was pre
scribed only in extreme cases, are mysteries which I shall
not undertake to explain; but certain it is that neither
tea, coffee, tobacco, or brandy had found their way to
English homesteads at that period.
But the change in the rate of living can not be ac
counted for altogether by the difference of manners — it
is due chiefly to the diminished value of the precious
metals occasioned bythe discovery of extensive mines of
silver and gold in both hemispheres. The circumstance
affords a caution to those who are endowing eleemosynary,
or literary institutions, or indeed making any kind of per
manent investment. Forty pounds a year in Mr. Lati
mer's time would have been an ample foundation for a

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 49
professorship in Cambridge; now £600 would not be suf
ficient. The probability is that this depreciation of money
will continue for centuries to come, especially in this coun
try, in whicli capital will be always gaining upon labor.
The allusion to the man and horse furnished to the
king, shows that the feudal system was passing away, but
still remained. They were sent to the standard, not of a
baron, or dependent of a haron, but of the king, The
country was defended, not by hirelings, but forces fur
nished as the tribute of the soil. There remained, there
fore, much of chivalry— a system fitted to raise up giant
bodies and generous minds.
The middle class of society is most fruitful in great
men. It brings forth the most vigorous bodies, and
these are apt to possess the most energetic minds. It
furnishes the fewest temptations to vice, the strongest
motives to virtue. Its habits— in dusti-y, economy, tem
perance — are the nurses of talent as well as of thrift.
In all ages, the rulers in the sphere of mind have gener
ally come from the cottages, where, inheriting vigor
ous constitutions, they have strengthened their natal
powers by the healthful occupations of husbandry ajid the
invigorating pastimes of the forest.
An error is rife in these days, that the sickly or crip
pled child should be reserved for the muses. If there is
any occupation demanding a constitution of iron, it is
that of literature. If a child be infirm, send him a
field where he will be likely to recuperate his energies —
do not crucify him in the study.
3. He was an educated man. He was regularly ad
vanced from the common school to the grammar school,
and from the grammar school to the university, which he
entered in his fourteenth year. You may sneer when we
talk of learning in the fifteenth century. Grammars,
arithmetics, geographies, were indeed small things then.

50 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
Superstition and bigotry beclouded even Cambridge.
Chemistry, mineralogy, meteorology, geology, botany, were
unknown ; anatomy and physiology little known. Those
who paid any attention to the natural sciences were
searching for the philosopher's stone, the immortal cathol-
icon, or the science of predicting fortunes by the stars.
Foreigners were rarely met with in England, and both
they and their language were usually depreciated, not to
say despised. Nevertheless, the chief purpose of educa-
cation — development of mind — was achieved. Math
ematics and ancient languages — the chief instruments
of mental discipline — were studied more then, perhaps,
than they are now, and, in addition to these, the physics
and metaphysics of Aristotle. The practice of dialectics
conferred logical acuteness, and the knowledge of Latin
and Greek gave access to the great masters. Homer, Vir
gil, Demosthenes, and Cicero, which had all reached
western Europe at this period.
The extent to which the Latin was taught is evident
from the fact that Mr. Latimer, without having attained
to any eminence in scholarship, both wrote and spoke in
that language with propriety and facility. That he could
extemporize in it as well as in the English, we have satis
factory evidence. I know that in his last disputation he
said : " I pray, good master prolocutor, do not exact that
of me which is not in me. I have not, these twenty
years, much used the Latin tongue." But this was in
extreme age, after he had been long denied the use of
books, had been worn out with confinement in prison
and had concluded that the disputation was of little use.
In its progress Tresham cried out, "Speak Latin, I pray
you, for ye can do it, if ye list, promptly enough," thus
intimating, what was probably the fact, that the Bishop's
declining to speak Latin arose from reluctance rather
than inability. However this might be, it is certain that

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 51
earlier in life he was at no loss for Latin. An incident
will illustrate this remark.
After he had embraced the doctrine of the Befor
mation, and complaints of his heresy had reached the
Bishop of Ely — ^his diocesan — that dignitary determined
to hear him for himself, but in an unexpected moment.
So when, on a certain occasion, Mr. Latimer was preach
ing in the university a concio ad clerwm, and when the
discourse was half finished, the Bishop, with an imposing
retinue, came suddenly and secretly into the university
church. Latimer, not the least embarrassed, waited till
his worshipful hearers were seated, and then said : " It is
of congruence meet, that a new auditory namely, being
more honorable, requireth a new theme, being a new
argument to entreat of. Wherefore it behooveth me to
divert from mine intended purpose, and somewhat to
entreat of the honorable estate of a Bishop ; therefore let
this be my theme : Christus existens pontifex fuiurum
bonorum." Although he spoke unprepared, and in a
dead language, yet he acquitted himself to the admiration
and astonishment of all his hearers. The Bishop must
have seen that he was not one who, according to Latimer's
exposition, was worthy to succeed Christ; yet, being a
politic man, he sent for the preacher, and said, "I
thank you heartily for your good sermon, assuring you
that if you will do one thing at my request, I will
kneel down and kiss your foot for the good admonition I
have received of your sermon. I never heard my office
so well and so substantially declared before this time."
Mr. Latimer was well educated professionaJly. You
may inquire, with a sneer, " What theological science was
there in that day?" There was no professor of sacred
rhetoric, or systematic divinity, or Biblical criticism, or
pastoral duty at Cambridge then. Studies in divinity
consisted chiefly in scholastic theology, the mention of

52 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
which provokes derision, especially among those who
know nothing about it. Many who profess to admire the
ancient classics, treat scholasticism with contempt; yet it
was founded upon Grecian classics, being originally but a
fusion of the philosophy of Aristotle with the New Pla-
tonisni. Thus it contained the leading ideas of the two
greatest uninspired intellects of ancient times, the one
distinguished for its comprehensiveness, the other for its
acuteness. Subsequently, this philosophy was applied to
explain and support the fundamental facts of the Chris
tian faith, and thus originated scholastic theology. Al
though it abounded in false premises, it cultivated
subtilty, ingenuity, and the habit of analysis — introduced
the student to the leading minds of antiquity, and ren
dered him familiar, at once, with the leading principles
of Grecian philosophy, and the cardinal doctrines of the
Church. The school doctors most studied at that time were Duns
Scotus, Nicholas Dorbell, and Thos. Aquinas. How well
Mr. Latimer mastered them, a single incident will show:
Complaints having been made against him. Cardinal
Woolsey sent for him. Promptly he resorted to York
Place, and patiently waited till the Cardinal's little bell
summoned him into the inner chamber. The Cardinal
said : " You seem that you are of good age, nor no babe,
but one that should wisely and soberly use yourself in all
your doings, and yet it is reported to me of you, that you
are much infected with the new fantastical doctrine of
Luther, and such like heretics; that you do very much
harm among the youth, and other light heads, with your
doctrine." "Your Grace," Mr. Latimer replied, "is
misinformed, for I ought to have some more knowledge
than to be so simply reported of, by reason that I have
studied in my time both the ancient doctors of the
Church and also the school doctors.'' "Marry, that is

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 53
well said," quoth the Cardinal, who, turning to the pros
ecutors. Doctors Capon and Marshall, said : " Gentlemen,
examine Mr. Latimer upon Duns Scotus." The doctors
were not so fresh in study as the pupil, who first helped
them to cite their own interrogations, and then an
swered them promptly and perfectly. Thereupon the
Cardinal, turning to the discomfited accusers, said :
" What mean you, my masters, to bring, such a man
before me into accusation ?"
Allow a collateral remark or two. Mr. Macaulay repre
sents the English clergy of the seventeenth century as,
in general, extremely ignorant. If they were, those of
the century preceding would have been no less so. But
we find among the reformers a good degree of knowledge
and cultivation. Mr. Latimer, learned as he was, ranked
below such cotemporaries as Cranmer and Eidley. Lu
ther, Melancthon, Calvin, Bucer, Hooper, Fagius, etc.,
minds of the highest order and finest scholarship, were
educated in the Catholic Church. It is both false and
impolitic to accuse her of universal ignorance. Even in
the dark ages she preserved light.
How important is education ! Man is a cultivable
animal. There are natural differences among minds, as
there are among crab-apples; but these differences are
far less than the differences resulting from cultivation.
As culture converts the sour sloe into the luscious green
gage, so it converts the Black Hawk into the General
Washington. As patient and well-directed labor turns
the leaf of the mulberry into silk, so steady and judicious
study turns crude thoughts into richest philosophy.
While we appreciate self-education, let us deem him for
tunate who can have his studies directed, and his mind
encouraged and assisted by competent masters. It is
given to few strictly self-educated men to work out large
results in the world.

54 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
The education which a man needs is that which will
best prepare him for the duties of life. Of no education
can you pronounce without considering the party for
whom it is designed, and the circumstances in which he
is likely to be placed. Our education is better for our
times than would be that of Mr. Latimer; but would it
have served his purpose as well?
4. He was a gifted man. He was characterized by
talent, tact, and genius. Talent denotes both the capac
ity to acquire knowledge and the ability to apply our
powers and acquisitions to practical purposes. A man
may be accurate in his apprehensions, sober in his judg
ments, correct in his reasonings; he may possess vast
stores of knowledge, a persuasive tongue, a virtuous dis
position, and the divine flame of genius, and yet lack the
ability to turn to good account the powers at his com
mand. I know more than one honest, gifted graduate,
who earns his living by menial services. Mr. Latimer was
never at a loss. He knew when to draw forth and when
to husband his resources, when to retreat and when to
advance; how to turn his mistakes into arguments, and
make his very defeats the means of subsequent victory.
Cranmer knew when to yield, but not where to stop;
Hooper knew when to stop, but not where to yield.
He was a man of tact. Many a man has talent with
out tact; he can turn his powers and accomplishments to
good account, but not ingeniously. He is neither quick
in his apprehensions, nor swift in his judgments nor
happy in his replies, nor skillful in his drafts, nor dex
terous in his maneuvers, nor expert in aiming his blows
nor adroit in escaping those of his adversary. Yet
all this a man of tact is, and with small talent he
may achieve large results. Much less strength is re
quired with a sharp ax than with a dull one. Some
say tact is the resource of weak minds only, but who had

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 55
more of it than Wellington, and Napoleon, and Wash
ington ?
Of Mr. Latimer's tact we have many illustrations.
After he became satisfied that the doctrines of the Eef-
ormation are true, he resolved to propagate them at
Cambridge, the center of theological influence — not, how
ever, in such a way as to hazard his life or lower his
character. With the learned he continued to preach in
Latin, but with the common people he used the vulgar
tongue. It will exhibit, at once, his tact, and a peculiar
ity of his times, to remark, that on Christmas day, in con
formity with the usage of the times and the season, he
gave to his congregations Christmas cards, inscribed with
passages taken from our Savior's Sermon on the Mount,
taking care to make the heart the trump card, thus strik
ing a blow at the foundation of Popish superstitions. He
drew, as a corollary, that the Scriptures should be given
to the people in their own language, that they might
know their duties to God and their neighbors. In sub
sequent sermons he was enabled to strike blow after blow
at error, by simply alluding to the cards already in pos
session of the hearers. The effect of this pleasant and
skillful management brought against him a host of adver
saries, among whom was a certain Friar Buckingham,
who was particularly charged with the duty of counter
acting him. To offset Mr. Latimer's Christmas cards, he
brought out some Christmas dies, and cast to his congre
gation cinque and quatre — meaning by the cinque, four cer
tain verses of the New Testament, and by the quatre four
doctors. He then proceeded to disprove the proposition
that the Bible should be given to the common people
from the passages alluded to; namely, "No man putting
his hand to the plow and looking back," etc.; "A little
leaven leaveneth the whole lump;" "If thine eye offend
thee, pluck it out ;" " If thy hand offend thee, cut it

56 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
off;" "Take no thought forthe morrow;" from which he
argued that if the Scriptures were in the hands of the
people, the plowman would cease to plow, the baker
would leave his meal unleavened, and the highways
would be crowded with beggars who had cut their eyes
out and their hands off. Mr. Latimer arose after the
discourse was ended, and, with a smile, promised to bal
ance accounts with the friar on the following Sunday.
The news spread abroad during the week, and on the
appointed day a crowd assembled in the University
Church — old men and maidens, from country and town,
professors and students, freshmen and sophs, juniors
and seniors. Just before sermon, in came Friar Buck
ingham, demure as a sepulcher, with his cowl about his
shoulders, and, with an air of the utmost importance,
seated himself before the pulpit. Mr. Latimer recapit
ulated his adversary's arguments, and when he had put
them in the strongest light, he let off his wit and humor
till his antagonist was rendered ridiculous to the last
degree. Then turning to the people, with an address
that nothing could surpass, he descanted upon the low
esteem in which their holy guides held their understand
ings, and remarked that he would be satisfied if the peo
ple were allowed the Scriptures till the results antici
pated by the Friar should be realized. He closed his
discourse with some observations upon Scripture meta
phors. "A figurative manner of speech," said he "is
common in all languages. Thus, for instance, [address
ing himself to that part of the audience where the Friar
sat,] when we see a fox painted, preaching in a friar's
hood, nobody imagines that a fox is meant, but that craft
and hypocrisy are described, which are so often found
in that garb." The result was electric and permanent
for it shut up poor Friar Buckingham in his monastery
for the rest of his life.

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 57
The effect which he produced upon individuals was as
happy as that which he produced upon masses. The
Bishop of Ely promised to kiss his foot if he would
preach a sermon against Luther. " My Lord," said Lat
imer, "we are not permitted to read his works here."
At the close of his conference with Woolsey, the Car
dinal said: "If the Bishop of Ely can not abide such
doctrine as you have repeated, you shall have my license,
and shall preach it unto his beard, let him say what he
will." It was not possible, however, for him to escape
persecution. He, with Bilney and others, was sent for
to London, to appear before a court for the trial of her
esies, where Latimer managed so ingeniously that, with
out sacrificing any principle, he escaped punishment.
When, at length, his diocesan silenced him, he applied
to Doctor Barnes, of the Augustine Friars, whose monas
tery was exempt from Episcopal jurisdiction, and so won
upon him that he procured from him a license to preach.
He therefore ascended the pulpit of the friar's chapel.
Sabbath after Sabbath, and preached to more crowded
audiences than before, his persecution having awakened
general curiosity to hear him. Among his auditors he
often had the Bishop of Ely, who never could catch hiin,
but always went away impressed with his tact. About
this time Henry VIII was seeking a divorce from his
first wife, Catherine of Aragon. The facts are familiar.
Catherine was older than himself, but retained her power
over him for years, during which she had three children,
one of whom became Queen Mary. The King fell in
love with Anne Boleyn, and was determined to make her
his spouse ; he accordingly applied to the Pope to grant
a divorce, on the ground that Catherine, being his
brother's widow, was within the prohibited degrees of af
finity. The Pope, though anxious to accommodate the
"Defender of the Faith," was unable to do so without

58 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
offending Charles V, the greatest monarch in Christendom
and the nephew of Catherine. He therefore contrived
occasions of delay, hoping that Henry's passion would
cool : it was on account of an alleged promotion of these
delays that Cardinal Woolsey lost the royal favor. As
soon as Henry saw the Pope's dilemma, he turned to the
universities of England and France for a decision against
the validity of his first marriage. By his influence in
his own realm and that of Francis, on the other side
of the channel, he succeeded.
When Dr. Butts visited Cambridge on this business
he first applied to Latimer, who, at once siding with the
King, not only gave his own opinion, but, supposing it a
suitable opportunity to strengthen himself and the whole
Protestant party, proceeded to collect the views of all
those in the university over whom he had influence;
indeed, so useful did he render himself, that Dr. Butts
took him to London in order that he might aid in recon
ciling the populace to the step which the King had
resolved on, of declaring his own supremacy. Mr. Lati
mer, disgusted with the profligacy and irreligion of the
court, which he had little hope of amending, became
uneasy, and Lord Cromwell, who had come into power
to carry out the new policy of Henry, gave him the
benefice of West Kingston, supposing that its revenues
would reconcile him to the city ; but the wise reformer,
knowing how little Henry could be relied on to carry
forward a reformation of principle, and suspecting for
what purposes the ministry wished to retain him, re
solved to remove to his country parish and devote him
self to the salvation of souls. We hardly know which
to admire more, the wisdom or the piety of his resolu
tion. His industry and faithfulness in his new situation,
and his zeal in propagating the truth in other parishes
which he found neglected, alarmed the Popish party.

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 59
and provoked opposition in forms and degrees which
called into requisition all his tact. Accused of immo
rality, he demanded an investigation, which resulted in
his triumphant acquittal. Beset by a host of inferior
accusers, he lashed them into silence. His style was
highly figurative, and hence liable to be misunderstood
hy stupid hearers and wrested by malicious ones. His
sermons contain allusions to both. Numerous examples
might be furnished, but it is unnecessary in a paper such
as the present. The following paragraph, though brief,
may be taken as a characteristic specimen of his manner
of delivery :
"I am content to bear the title of sedition with
Isaiah; thanks be to God, I am not alone, I am in no
singularity. The same man that thus laid sedition to
my charge was asked another time whether he were at
the sermon at Paul's cross; he answered that he was
there; and being asked what news there, 'Marry,'
quoth he, 'wonderful news; we were there clean ab
solved, my mule and all had full absolution.' You may
see by this that he was such a one as rode on a mule,
and that he was a gentleman. Indeed, his mule was
wiser than he; for I dare say, the mule never slandered
the preacher. 0 what an unhappy chance had this mule
to carry such an ass on his back !"
His enemies perceived that, before the magistrates
or the public, they could not prosecute him to any ad
vantage; they therefore prepared charges of heresy
against him, and procured an Archepiscopal citation re
quiring him to repair to London. Here he found a
court of bishops and canons, who, instead of bringing
charges against him, put a paper in his hand declaring
the efficacy of masses for souls in purgatory, etc., and
required him to sign it. Upon his refusing to do so
they dismissed him, but afterward sent for him thrice

60 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
a week, to use all their arts upon him for the purpose of
either teasing him to sign it or provoking him to use
language that would authorize them to burn him. Of
one of these occasions he says: "I was brought to be ex
amined in the same chamber as before, but at this time
it was somewhat altered. For whereas there was a fire in
the chimney, now the fire was taken away and a piece of
tapestry hanged over the chimney, and a table stood
near the chimney's end. There was among these bishops
one with whom I have been very familiar, and whom I
took for my great friend, an aged man, and he sat next
to the table's end. Then, among other questions, he
put a very subtile and crafty one; and when I should
make answer, ' I pray you, Mr. Latimer,' said he, ' speak
out, I am very thick of hearing, and there be many that
sit far off.' I marveled at this that I was bidden to
speak out, and began to misdeem, and gave an ear to
the chimney, and then I heard a pen plainly scratching
behind the arras ; they had appointed one to write my
answers, that I should not start from them." All their
ingenuity failed. While he was in this perplexity it
seems that he contrived to get word to Lord Cromwell,
who, applying to the King, procured his rescue. Latimer
being sent for to the royal palace, made such an im
pression upon the Queen — Anne Boleyn — that she pro
cured him the see of Worcester. In his new vocation
he proved himself a master — in supervising his clergy
presiding in his courts, visiting his parishes, preachino-
the Gospel, and executing discipline, he was wise as a
serpent, while in his disposition and intentions he was
harmless as a dove. His tact was now put to new tests.
Popish ceremonies were observed throughout his diocese •
to suspend them would be to suspend himself, to allow
them would be to violate his conscience. He traces
them to their innocent origin and rescues them from

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 61
their perversion. For example, he directs the priest to
say, in giving holy water,
" Remember your promise in baptism,
Christ, his mercy and bloodshedding,
By whose most precious sprinkling
Of all your sius you have free pardoning,"
Thus he teaches the people that the elements have no
talismanic power, but are mere remembrances of import
ant truths. Instead of suppressing convents, he gives
instructions which strike at their foundation, such as
item first: "The prior shall provide a whole Bible in
English, to be fast chained in some secure place, either in
the Church or cloister."
King Henry, whose reformation was merely political,
determined to prevent a theological one. Having made
himself Pope in England he determined to make his
Church as orthodox as his rival's. He therefore pro
cured the passage of the six articles ordaining transub-
stantiation, the observance of vows of chastity, the use
of private masses, communion in only one kind, the
celibacy of the priesthood, and auricular confession.
Latimer, foreseeing a storm, which he could neither allay
nor conscientiously yield to, resigned his bishopric and
retired to the country, where he desired to spend the
rest of his life in seclusion; but, having received a dan
gerous bruise by the fall of a tree, he repaired to London
for surgical assistance. Here his enemies found him
out, and, on an allegation that he had spoken against
the six articles, had him imprisoned in the Tower for
the remaining six years of Henry's reign. When Ed
ward VI came to the throne he was liberated, and
offered his bishopric again, but, declining it, he spent
the years of Edward's reign in humbler duties. When
Queen Mary took the scepter he retired to the country,
whence he was soon summoned to London to answer for

62 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
heresy, as the Queen, supposing an heir was withheld
from her because she had not sufficiently persecuted the
Protestants, had determined to free her conscience. He
was again cast into the Tower, where he found the con
genial spirits of Cranmer and Eidley. In the spring of
1554 all three were removed to Oxford to represent the
Protestant cause in a great disputation, which was to
precede their martyrdom. While they were in prison at
Oxford, Eidley said to Latimer, " Let us practice for the
disputation; let me propose Papal arguments, and do you
refute them!" "Ah!" replied the old man, "you treat
me as Mr. Bilney used to do ; who, when he wanted to
teach me, always did it under color of being taught him
self; but in the present case, my lord, I shall give a
plain account of my faith and say very little more."
When the disputation took place Cranmer and Eidley
had a pitched logical battle with the commissioners, and
defended their principles according to ancient fathers
and modern doctors. Latimer planted himself upon the
word of God. " Then you are not of St. Chrysostom's
faith nor of St. Austin's," said his antagonist. "I have
told you," he replied, "I am not; except they bring
Scripture for what they say." Which took the right
ground is at this day apparent.
To talent and tact Mr. Latimer added genius. This
is a peculiar bent of the intellect bestowed by nature
upon particular individuals, which gives them a superi
ority over their fellows, and displays itself in a mode
independent of cultivation and circumstances. Thus we
speak of a genius for poetry, for painting, for architect
ure. Mr. Latimer had a genius for oratory. Genius may
generally be distinguished from talent in that it makes
its happiest efforts impromptu, and is seen in private life
as well as public, gushing forth like a perennial fountain.
Latimer at times, like most native orators, spoke in

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 63
his looks, his attitudes, his gestures; he had a genial
spirit and a serene, unfailing humor, which often dis
played itself under the most unpropitious circumstances.
While confined to the Tower he called to a servant one
severe wintery day, and bade him tell his master that
unless he took better care of him he would lose him.
The lieutenant in a great flurry hastened to the Bishop's
cell to ask an explanation. "Why, you expect," said
Mr. Latimer, " that I should be burned, but if you do
not allow me a little fire I shall freeze."
At his final trial there sat among the commissioners
an upstart Bishop of Gloucester. He had written a
foolish book which Latimer had met with. In his reply
the old man eloquent alluded to one of its arguments;
namely, that the clergy of the new dispensation should
exercise civil jurisdiction, because, according to Deuter
onomy, the priests under the old dispensation did. The
author, in quoting the proof-text, left out the important
qualification, " according to the law of God." Pointing
to the quotation Mr. Latimer holds it up and says :
"What gelding of Scripture is this! what clipping of
God's coin !" His manner set the whole audience in
laughter. The Bishop of Lincoln said: "I have not
seen the book which you blame so much." " Here it is,
my lord," said Latimer, "and it is ascribed to the
Bishop of Gloucester, whom I never knew or to my
knowledge saw." The whole audience again laughed,
for there on the bench was the new-fledged bishop, who
had not sense enough to keep still, but rose and said the
book was his. "Indeed," said Latimer, "I did not know
you, neither did I ever see you before, neither yet do I
see you now through the brightness of the sun shining
between you and me." At which beautiful symbol the
audience again laughed. There are many who can not
understand how humor and piety can be combined. For

64 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
myself, I hate sour godliness; there is often great rascal
ity under a demure look, and sometimes great devotion
under a humorous one. But we must refer to the im
pression of his pulpit labors to form a just idea of his
eloquence. 'Tis Sabbath, and the court carriages are
wheeling in every direction to Whitehall. The pub
lic is all on tiptoe; the city is crowded; the bishops
have been summoned to Parliament; one party has pre
vailed upon the King to seize upon the monasteries and
distribute their revenues among themselves ; another has
persuaded him to establish more firmly the old religion.
Some new revelations have been made concerning the
corruptions of the court; the immense sums received
by Cardinal Woolsey from Charles V and Francis I, as
payment for moving his English majesty in opposite
directions at the same time, and some cases of bribery
on the part of county judges and of the Lord Chancellor,
cases in which both the litigant parties have been im
poverished, but for which, owing to the general corrup
tion, there is no remedy. The people know that there
is one man who dares speak out, and he is to preach to
the court. Here he comes, walking up the strand, and
now the whole multitude flow to him; as he slowly
moves along the men raise their hats, the women their
handkerchiefs, the windows and doors fly open, and
from pavement to roof the whole street shouts the old
man onward. But, Io ! they press upon him, one and
another gets near enough to touch the hem of his gar
ment, another kisses his shadow, another smiles in his
face and is content. And now the aged Bishop has
reached the steps of Whitehall, and the whole multitude,
well knowing what is to be expected, bawls out, as he
ascends, "Have at them, father Latimer !" And now he
is in the midst of his sermon. Hear him :
"They follow gifts. A good fellow on a time bade

HUGH LATIMER AN D HIS TIMES. 65
another to a breakfast, and said : 'If you will come you
shall be welcome; but I tell you beforehand you shall
have but slender fare — one dish, and that is all.' 'What
is that?' said he. 'A pudding, and nothing else.'
'Marry,' said he, 'you can not please me better; of all
moats that is for mine own tooth; you may draw me round
town with a pudding.' These bribing magistrates and
judges follow gifts faster than the fellow would follow
the pudding." Now, turning around to the lords, he
delivers them an address in words and fashion as fol
lows :
"There was a patron in England who had a benefice
fallen into his hands, and one brought thirty apples in a
dish and gave them to his man to carry them to his
master. He cometh to his master and presented him
with the dish of apples, saying, 'Sir, such a man hath
sent you a dish of fruit, and desires you to be good unto
him for such a benefice.' 'Tush, tush,' quoth he, 'this is
no apple matter; I will have none of his apples. I
have as good as these in my orchard.' The man came to
the priest again and told him what his master had said.
'Then,' said the priest, 'desire him yet to prove one for
my sake ; he shall find them much better than they look
for.' He cut one of them and found ten pieces of gold
in it. 'Marry,' quoth he, 'this is a good apple.' The
priest, standing not far off, cried out, 'They are all one
apple, I warrant you; they all grew on one tree.' 'Well,
he is a good fellow, let him have it,' quoth the patron.
Get you a graft of this tree and I warrant you it will
stand you in better stead than all St. Paul's learning."
And now, looking full at the men in ermine and gold
collars, he cries, " Bribery ! this is the scali inferni, the
right way to hell, to be covetous, to take bribes, and
pervert justice. If a judge should ask me the way to
hell I ehould show him this way. First, let him be a
6

66 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
covetous man, then let him take bribes, lastly pervert
judgment. There lacks a fourth thing to make up the
mess, which, so help me God, if I were judge, should be
hangum tuum — a Tyburn tippet to take with him ; an it
were the judge of the King's Bench, my Lord Chief Judge
of England, yea, an it were my Lord Chancellor himself,
to Tyburn with him.
"He that took the silver basin and ewer for a bribe
thinketh that it will never come out. But he may know
that I know it, and I know it not alone — there be more
besides me that know it. 0, bribery! bribery! He was
never a good man that so took bribes; nor can I believe
that he that is a briber will be a good justice. It will
never be merry in England till we have the skins of
such." This was close preaching, and the King and the Bish
ops had their full share of it. It is Monday noon. The
King has called the Bishops together to consult them on
religious affairs. The business being closed, the Bishop
of Winchester kneels down and accuses Latimer of hav
ing preached a seditious sermon. The tyrant sternly calls
upon the accused to vindicate himself He respectfully
but calmly pleads justification, and concludes thus: "I
never thought myself worthy, nor did I ever sue to be a
preacher before your grace; but I was called to it and
would be willing, if you mishke it, to give place to mv
betters, for I grant that there may be a great many more
worthy of the room than I am. And if it be your o-race's
pleasure to allow them for preachers, I could be content
to carry their books after them. But if your o-race allow
me to be a preacher, I would desire you to o-ive ine lea
to discharge my conscience, and to frame my doctrine
according to my audience. I had been a very dolt to
preach so at the borders of your realm as I preach bef
your grace." We rarely find a man who has no vhtZl

HUGH L A T I .M E R A N D : II 1 S TIMES. 67
Henry, with all his vices, loved frankness and honesty.
He forgave his faithful Bishop.*
Latimer was benevolent, devout, and honest. His be
nevolence was active, busy in devising and executing
deeds of mercy; he visited the fatherless and widows in
their affliction; he gave food to the hungry, water to the
thirsty, consolation to the sorrowing, relief to the op
pressed. He rendered his benevolence doubly valuable
by the modes in which he dispensed it; for with all his
severity toward sin, he was humane to the sufferer, kind
to the penitent, and full of tenderness to the broken
heart. While yet at Cambridge in one of his circuits of
mercy, he found a woman in prison under sentence of
<leath; inquiring into her case, he satisfied himself that
she was not guilty of the crime for which she was con
demned, and going up to London, he had an interview
with the King, and on his knees procured her pardon.
While he was Bishop, hearing of a case of flagrant
wrong on the part of a rich landlord toward a poor ten
ant, he sent the former word that he must do the latter
justice. The esquire, accustomed to overawe the country
for miles around, and feeling strong in his wealth and
connection, replied, that having done nothing illegal, he
would stand by his acts. The Bishop responded that he
would bring the case before the sovereign if it was not
immediately rectified — a message which was effectual.
Upon the accession of Edward VI, having declined to
resume his Bishopric, he lived in retirement at Lambeth,
where he spent his time in the congenial occupations of
hearing the complaints, relieving the necessities, and re
dressing the injuries of the poor. So conspicuous became
his benignity, that the suffering and oppressed from all
° There is a liberty taken here in grouping — the extracts are taken from
sermons preached before "Edward YI. The sermon for which he was ac
cused is uot extant.

68 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
quarters crowded to him, making for him a daily and Mo
rions levee.
Of his devotion we have abundant evidence; he was
frequently occupied in fervent prayer, often continuing
so Jong upon his knees that he could not rise without
help; he seemed so to supplicate as if he had seen God
before him and spoken with him face to face. The bur
den of his prayer was that God would give him grace to
stand to the truth even unto death; that he would restore
again the Gospel to England; and that he would bless
the Queen, and make her a comfort to her realm.
He was upright. Many men who have been kind and
have gone through all the forms of devotion, have been
wanting in honesty. Of Latimer's integrity there is no
question. His conversion was from the force of truth.
Luther was an Augustine monk ; the Augustines and
Dominicans were jealous rivals. Staupitius, the friend
and patron of Luther, was vicar general of the Augus
tines. The Archbishop of Mcntz employed the Domini
cans in peddling indulgences for Leo instead of the Au
gustines, who claimed that they ought to sell them, as
they had done more than any other religious order to
make them pass. If they had been, Luther might never
have been a reformer. Bucer was called, even by his
friends, "the fox." Wickliffe quarreled with the Pope
for unjustly turning him out of his rectorship. Cran
mer, Fagius, Eogers, Calvin, etc., all married after they
broke from their bonds, and there is ground to suppose
that a desire for domestic life had a great influence upon
their theology. Some rose to power and emolument after
the Eeformation. Nothing of this kind can be alleged
against Latimer. He was specially favored by the Eo-
manists till he changed his principles ; he never mar
ried; he avoided the court; he resigned a bishopric; he
refused to be reinstated in the Episcopacy, saying from

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 69
the heart, nolo Episcoparij he always acted with earnest
ness; he rebuked sin in high places; he knew not
how to flatter. After he had acquired influence over
Henry, he put it all to hazard by writing a letter to him
against a proclamation forbidding the use of the English
Bible, which he closes in these words: "Wherefore,
gracious King, remember yourself, have pity upon your
own soul, and think that the day is at hand when you
shall give account of your office, and of the blood that
hath been shed by your sword."
It was the custom for bishops and other dignitaries to
make calls upon the King on New-Year's day, when
they presented him with gold and silver in quantities
generally proportioned to the favors they expected at
his hands. The old Bishop on one of these occasions
presented his Majesty with a New Testament having a
leaf turned down at the passage, "Whoremongers and
adulterers God will judge."
But the crowning proof of his sincerity is his martyr
dom. It war not in a moment of excitement, as with the
soldier on the battle-field, that he made up his mind to die.
During the last six years of Henry's reign, while impris
oned in the Tower, he was in daily expectation of the fire,
as there were then frequent sessions at Newgate and exe
cutions as often. At Oxford, while his fellow-prisoners
were preparing their arguments, he was exhorting them
to prepare for the flames. It was not stubbornness, pas
sion, or disgust of life that influenced him. He says at
his trial, "I declare to the majesty of God that I die for
the truth; for I assure you that if I could grant to the
Queen's proceedings and endure by the word of God, I
would rather live than die; but seeing they be directly
against God's word, I will obey God rather than man,
and so embrace the stake." See him as he is placed for
trial — an old man bowed with the weight of eighty-four

70 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
years and the damps and confinements of a prison, he
asks permission to sit, as he is weary, and has been
nearly crushed by the crowd through which he has been
brought into the court-room. Though faint he durst not
drink for fear of vomiting. He is dressed in an old
frieze gown girded around with a leather girdle, having
the New Testament hanging to it; around his neck is a
pair of spectacles, and on his bald crown an old felt hat.
Taking off his hat he drops it on the table, that he may
place his bony elbows upon it, and rest his head upon his
hands as he looks up at his judges. Those judges would
gladly be excused from condemning him; he is near his
grave, and can do little more in this world ; he has no am
bition, but is gentle as a lamb ; he has no revenge, but
renders charity and prayer for every injury. His enemies
suppose that, worn out as he is, in body and spirit, they
can induce him to recant, but he is inflexible, and is con
signed to degradation, curse, and death. The night
comes, and the old patriarch sleeps sweetly; the morning
comes, and its note of preparation wakes him at early
dawn. The Lord Williams has arrived, and posted his
troops in double column from the Mayor's house to Baliol
ditch, where the fagots are piled. The martyrs are called
forth. Eidley goes first, dressed in a black gown, with a
velvet cap on his head and slippers on his feet, so that he
could readily undress for the stake. On his right and
left march the Mayor and Aldermen. Latimer follows in
his old frieze gown, with a buttoned cap and a handker
chief on his head all ready for the fire ; underneath his
gown, as he walks along, can be seen his shroud. As the
procession moves the crowd sheds tears like rain. Eidley
arrived first at the stake and cheered on his aged broth
er's slower footsteps; as the old man came up Eidley
threw himself on his neck and said, "Be of good heart,
brother, for God will either assuage the fury of the flame.

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 71
or enable us to abide it." They then kneeled down, kiss
ed the stake, prayed earnestly, and arose to hear the ser
mon preached according to custom. Eidley, attempting
to reply, is gagged. The chains are made fast, the staples
are driven ; some one brings a fagot and lays it, flaming,
at Eidle/s feet. May be, at this moment, nature
shrank; but Latimer turned to his fellow-martyr saying,
"Be of good cheer, master Eidley, and play the man; we
shall this day light such a candle in England, as, by God's
grace, shall never be put out." As the flames rose, some
bags of gunpowder that had been placed in the fire ex
ploded, and tearing away the walls of Latimer's chest,
exposed his throbbing heart, which poured its blood upon
the ground. The fire died away, the ashes were scattered,
the multitude dispersed, but the candle still burns. It
is well that we observe it. The great truth to which it
guides is this, that we should not persecute another for
an opinion. I do not say that one religion is as good as
another, or that the differences in creeds are not of vast
importance, but that one man has no right to compel
another man to profess his faith, and that no class has a
right to monopolize secular or ci'vil privileges because of
its faith. A government may use the sword for evil acts,
but not for heretical thoughts. Many good men have
maintained the contrary by such arguments as these : the
people are the children of the state, the state is bound to
preserve them from harm; false views of religion involve
the greatest harm. Such a doctrine, however, is at war
with human progress. You may say, "In revelation
there is no progress:" granted; but there may be a prog
ress in discovering its truth. The Pope once pronounced
that, according to Scripture, the sun goes round the
earth. When the proof of the converse became irresist
ible, men found, upon a closer examination, that they
had misinterpreted the Bible on that subject. The fact

72 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
is instructive. If it is right to enforce religion by tho
sword, the Jewish rulers and Eoman emperors were right
in crucifying Christ, slaying his apostles, and flooding his
sanctuary in blood; and if they had discharged this pre
tended duty fully, Christianity would never have been
established in the earth.
It is a sacred duty incumbent upon every man to prop
agate any important truth which he may discover or may
think he has discovered; and the more important the
truth, the more important that duty. What sin would
he commit who should discover a prophylactic for chol
era, and keep it to himself! but moral and religious truth
is as superior to natural as the soul is superior to the
body, or eternity to time. If, therefore, it is a duty of
government to enforce received opinions in religion, and
the duty of an individual to make known what he deems
to be truth, although it may be at war with the received
opinions, then two duties are in conflict with each other,
and the moral universe is out of joint.
But it is impossible to shut out truth by persecution.
The attempt has always failed. The Eoman emperors per
secuted the Christians unto death — the result was, that
Christianity rapidly overspread the empire. The Nether
lands were deluged in blood to prevent the spread of
Protestantism, yet Protestantism arose and flourished over
the ashes of one hundred thousand martyrs. France de
termined to make all subjects of one religion by force,
but the bloody night of Saint Bartholomew tolled not the
knell of Protestant opinions, nor was there peace in that
country till Protestant Churches were tolerated and en
dowed by the state. The experiment succeeded better in
Italy and Spain; but even there it has failed, as recent
events show.
There is no danger of free discussion. Milton has
well said, "Though all the winds of doctrine be let loose

HUGH LATIMER AND HIS TIMES. 78
to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field we do in
judiciously to doubt her strength. Let her and False
hood grapple. Whoever knew Truth put to the worse
by a free and open encounter?" 7

74 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHE3.

RUSSEL BIGELOW was an extraordinary man, and
his merits were never fully appreciated even by the
Church. Of his early history the writer has no knowl
edge further than that he emigrated, at an early age, from
New England to the west, and that, from his youth,
being accustomed to read the Bible upon his knees, he
soon became remarkable for piety. It is probable that
he was favored with no more than a good common school
education, before he entered the itinerancy, of which he
was so conspicuous an ornament. I was a student in the
beautiful village of W. when I first heard of him. Op
posite our office was a coppersmith, a man of remarkable
mind and character. He had been reared without any
education, and had been unfortunate in his business re
lations; but having spent his leisure in reading and in
conversation with persons of better attainments, he had
acquired a stock of valuable knowledge which his grap
pling intellect well knew how to use. He was an active
politician. In times of excitement he gathered the mul
titude around him, and often arrested our studies by his
stentorian voice, which could drown the clatter of his
hammers and the confusion even of Bedlam. I think I
may safely say that for many years he wielded the polit
ical destinies of his county. Never in office himself,
his will determined who should be. This man had im
bibed skeptical opinions, which he often inculcated
with terrific energy. He rarely went to the house of

RUSSEL BIGELOW. 75
God, and when he did, I supposed he might as well
stay at home; for I should have thought it as easy to
melt a rock with a fagot, as to subdue his heart by the
"foolishness of preaching."
One Saturday evening he came into our office with a
peculiar expression of countenance — the tear started
from his eye as he said, "I have been to meeting, and
by the grace of God I will continue as long as it lasts.
Come, young gentlemen, come and hear Bigelow. He
will show you the world, and the human heart, and the
Bible, and the cross, in such a light as you have never
before seen them." I trembled beneath the announce
ment; for if the preacher had prostrated a fainting
multitude at his feet, he would not have given me as
convincing a proof of his power as that which stood be
fore me. This was the first account I ever heard of
Bigelow; and from that time I avoided the Methodist
church, till he left the village.
One morning of the ensuing summer, my preceptor
came in and said, "T., come, mount old black, and go
with me to camp meeting."
T. "Excuse me, sir, I have no desire to go to such a
nursery of vice and enthusiasm."
P. "0, you are too bigoted. Presbyterian as I am,
I confess I like camp meetings. There man can forget
the business of life, and listen to the truth without dis
traction, and then ponder on it, and pray over it, and
feel it. Good impressions are made every Sabbath ; but
they rarely bring forth fruit; they are worn away by the
business of the week. At camp meeting the heart can.
first be heated, and then, while yet warm, placed upon
the anvil and beaten into shape."
T. "I was once at a camp meeting two hours, and
that satisfied me. The heart may be warmed there, but
I doubt the purity of the fire which heats it."

76 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
P. "A truce to argument. I have a patient there I
want you to see. You have no objection to go profession-
ally." T. " No, sir, I will go any where to see a patient."
It was a lovely morning. The sun was shining from
a cloudless sky, and the fresh breezes fanned us, as we
rode by well-cultivated and fertile fields, waving with
their rich and ripening harvests. After a short journey,
we came to the encampment. A broad beam of daylight
showed things to advantage; and I could but think, as
I gazed from an elevated point, and drank in the sweet
songs that reverberated through the grove, of some of
the scenes of Scripture. My rebel heart was constrained
to cry within me, "How goodly arc thy tents, 0 Jacob,
and thy tabernacles, 0 Israel! As the valleys are they
spread forth — as gardens by the river's side."
Having visited the sick whom we had come to see,
we were invited, with great kindness and cordiality, to
partake of refreshments. The warmth of our reception
excited my gratitude, and instead of starting home when
the horn blew for preaching, I sat down respectfully to
hear the sermon. Bigelow was to preach. I dreaded
the occasion ; but had always been taught to venerate
religion, and had never seen the day when I could
ridicule or disturb even the Mohammedan at his prayers
or the pagan at his idol. In the pulpit were many
clergymen, two of whom I knew and esteemed — the one
a tall, majestic man, whose vigorous frame symbolized
his noble mind and generous heart — the other a small,
delicate, graceful gentleman, whom nature had fitted
for a universal favorite. Had I been consulted, one
of them should have occupied the pulpit at that
time. All was stillness and attention when the presiding
elder stepped forward. Never was I so disappointed in
a man's personal appearance. He was below the middle

RUSSEL BIGELOW. 77
stature, and clad in coarse, ill-made garments. His un
combed hair hung loosely over his forehead. His atti
tudes and motions were exceedingly ungraceful, and
every feature of his countenance was unprepossessing.
Upon minutely examining him, however, I became better
pleased. The long hair that came down to his cheeks,
concealed a broad and prominent forehead ; the keen
eye that peered from beneath his heavy and overjutting
eyebrows, beamed with deep and penetrating intelligence;
the prominent cheek-bones, projecting chin, and large
nose, indicated any thing but intellectual feebleness;
while the wide mouth, depressed at its corners, the
slightly-expanded nostril, and the tout ensemble, indicated
sorrow and love, and well assorted with the message,
"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest." As he commenced I determ
ined to watch for his faults ; but before he had closed
his introduction I concluded that his words were pure
and well chosen, his accents never misplaced, his sen
tences grammatical, artistically constructed, and well ar
ranged, both for harmony and effect; and when he entered
fully upon his subject I was disposed to resign myself to
the argument, and leave the speaker in the hands of
more skillful critics. Having stated and illustrated his
position clearly, he laid broad the foundation of his
argument, and piled stone upon stone, hewed and pol
ished, till he stood upon a majestic pyramid, with
heaven's own light around him, pointing the astonished
multitude to a brighter home beyond the sun, and bid
ding defiance to the enemy to move one fragment of
the rock on which his feet were planted. His argument
being completed, his peroration commenced. This was
grand beyond description. The whole universe seemed
animated by its Creator to aid him in persuading the
sinner to return to God, and the angels commissioned to

78 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
open heaven and come down to strengthen him. Now
he opens the mouth of the pit, and takes us through
its gloomy avenues, while the bolts retreat, and the
doors of damnation burst open, and the wail of the lost
enters our ears ; and now he opens heaven, transports us
to the fiowery plains, stands us amid the armies of the
blest, to sweep, with celestial fingers, angelic harps, and
join the eternal chorus, "Worthy, worthy is the Lamb !"
As he closed his discourse every energy of his body and
mind was stretched to the utmost point of tension.
His soul appeared to be too great for its tenement, and
every moment ready to burst through and soar away as
an eagle toward heaven. His lungs labored, his arms
rose, the perspiration flowed in a steady stream upon
the floor, and every thing about him seemed to say, " 0
that my head were waters !" But the audience thought
not of the struggling body, nor even of the giant mind
within ; for they were paralyzed beneath the avalanche
of thought that descended upon them.
I lost the man, but the subject was all in all. I re
turned from the ground dissatisfied with myself, saying
within me, " 0 that I were a Christian !"
It was two or three years after this that, being intro
duced into the Church, I became acquainted personally
with this excellent man, of whose character I propose to
record what I recollect.
1. He was modest. To receive the plaudits of thou
sands, without forming a high estimate of one's talents,
requires much grace. Hence, the orator is generally
proud. Bigelow preached to audiences as large, and
with results as astonishing as we have ever witnessed.
Though he could not have been insensible of his power,
yet he appeared to set no high estimate on his superior
qualifications or endowments; for he rarely alluded to
them, or suffered any one else, unrebuked, to do so in

RUSSEL BIGELOW. 79
his presence. He was a perfect gentleman in his de
portment — to his inferiors kind — to his equals courte
ous — to those who had the rule over him submissive —
toward those of elevated station independent, yet duly
respectful — toward the civil magistrate conscientiously
regardful, rendering unto "Caesar the things that are
Caesar's." Though he scorned not the palace, he courted
not its inmates ; and while the circles of fashion de
lighted to honor him, he " condescended to men of low
estate." Capable of standing like the cedar on Lebanon,
he loved the place " Where purple violets lurk.
With aU the lo-wiy children of the shade.''
Though modest, he was not bashful. Without any
thing assuming in look, word, or action, he was a fine
illustration of the truth, "The righteous is bold as a
lion." He was as far from diffidence as presumption.
Never pushing himself beyond his post, he was always
ready to maintain it. His eye knew not to quail, nor his
knee to tremble before mortal man. He asked no one
to stand in his place in the hour of trial or of duty.
Yet after the sharpest conflict, and most glorious mental
conquest, he was ready to wash the feet of the humblest
saint. The lark is his emblem, which, after pouring its
heavenly strains upon the upper skies, descends to build
its nest upon the ground. It may be matter of surprise
to some that sueh a man should be so modest; but the
explanation is at hand. He knew that he had nothing
but what he had received. When his wondering audi
ence seemed to say, " He can do all things," his spirit
and manner breathed the addition, "through Christ
strengthening me." Moreover, he seemed to have a
method of hiding and diminishing his own excellences,
while he sought out and magnified those of every one
else. He was, however, far from every thing mean or

80 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
low; indeed, there was an exquisite delicacy about all
his thoughts, illustrations, and manners.
2. He was humble. If any man could boast of graces
he could. In him they all abounded — faith that works
by love, and purifies the heart — hope, the anchor of the
soul, sure and steadfast — love that burns with an even,
intense flame, consuming all that "opposeth or exalteth
itself against the knowledge of God" — zeal, ardent and
uncompromising, bringing body and soul to the altar;
and yet he was " Of boasting more than of a tomb afraid."
He worked out his salvation "with fear and trembling ;"
he was meek and lowly in heart; he inserted the peti
tion "forgive us our trespasses" in all his prayers, and
felt that his best actions needed the "sprinkling of the
blood of Jesus."
3. He was affable. His natural sweetness of temper,
refined by the spirit of Christianity, gave him an unaffected
politeness, which rendered every person perfectly easy in
his presence. The young approached him as a father,
the aged as a friend, and both felt encouraged, by his
engaging air, to express their wants or inquiries without
reserve. There are some whose affability invites famil
iarity, and leads to contempt; but he mingled with his
urbanity a dignity which imposed respect, and a solem
nity which banished levity. In his public addresses he
would go before you as a pillar of fire, but in private he
would suffer you to lead wherever you desired, taking
care to follow you like the smitten rock which followed
Israel, to pour blessings at your feet. His mind, like
that of Christ, seemed filled with beautiful analogies, by
which he could rise from the material to the spiritual,
and make an easy path to heaven from any point of
earth. He could charm even the worldly heart that

RUSSEL BIGELOW. 81
would hold communion with him; for, although he would
direct it outward from its own defiled chambers, and up
ward to God, he would make the ascent so smooth and
green, and would throw so much light and loveliness on
all the paths of piety, that his retiring footsteps would
call forth the assurance, "At a more convenient season I
will send for thee."
When he spent the night with a religious family, he
was in the habit of conversing in a religious manner,
without seeming to aim at it; and when his host lighted
him to his chamber, he would take him by the hand
when they were alone, and, alluding to the kindness be
stowed upon him, would make his own gratitude an
apology for inquiring into the highest welfare of his hos
pitable friend. He would speak of God's goodness,
man's accountability, a, parent's influence, a Savior's love,
an approaching judgment; and when, with streaming
eyes, he bowed down to plead with God for his friend, it
would seem as though the heart of stone must melt.
Wherever he went he was hailed as a messenger of God;
and whenever he departed, it seemed as though an angel
was taking leave. His name still sheds fragrance from a
thousand family altars. It is impossible to describe the
estimate in which he is held by those with whom he was
frequently called to hold communion in the discharge of
his official duty. He was the man whom his brethren in
the ministry delighted to honor. At the conference, at
the quarterly meeting, you might see them gather around
him to hear his counsel, receive his blessing, and present
some token of their love. In such seasons he had no
reason to envy the crowned or the mitered head. No in
cense offered to the conqueror of a hundred of earth's
battle-fields, like the incense offered to him at such
periods. But he was not vain; and when he was the
object of kind attention his heart was overwhelmed.

82 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
and he wept as a father in the midst of his children.
The stranger who witnessed such a scene could not re
frain from saying in his heart, "Behold, how they love
him !"
4. He was cheerful, notwithstanding his habitual seri
ousness. Bearing in his bosom a load which might make
an apostle cry out, "I have great heaviness and continual
sorrow in my heart," he nevertheless stood aloof from
melancholy or despair. The shades of his brow were
generally like the flying clouds of a serene day, which,
chasing each other, "now hide and now reveal the sun."
Meridian faith beamed from his countenance even in the
storm, and threw the bow of promise over the darkest
cloud. He illustrated the paradox, " As sorrowful, yet
always rejoicing."
5. He was frank. Perhaps this is the first character
istic which a stranger would notice on being introduced
to him. He was far from every thing like reserve, hy
pocrisy, or concealment. His thought, words, and feel
ings were at ease, his natural language under no restraint,
and his lips ready to utter the uppermost thoughts of his
soul. Indeed, his countenance seemed so transparent,
that you could see his heart as plainly as his features.
At the same time, he had none of the impertinence of
freedom, nor the indiscretion of openness. He was more
ready to confess his own faults than correct another's.
If he opened his heart, it was not from conceit, but from
natural warmth; and when he poured forth its treasures,
it was not that they might flow any where, but only over
those fields which thirsted for refreshment. When he
saw a friend in danger, he did not hesitate to proffer
counsel; but this he did in such a manner as to inspire
respect, if not to secure salvation. There was no super
ciliousness or display of superiority — no aggravation of
the offender's faults — no tone of authority in his reproof;

RUSSELBIOELOW. 83
but he came upon you with such "meekness of wisdom,"
such a kind estimate of your virtues, such a voice of
tenderness, that you could not but bless him, even though
he probed you to the quick.
There is a frank man who is not to be depended on.
He will smile upon you, and promise you a favor, and the
next moment, if he meet with your enemy, can promise
him the same ; not that he would be false — he is only
changeable. But his inconsistencies often involve his
honor, and place his ingenuity upon the rack to rescue it.
BigeloVs promises were to be relied on. Of him we
might say : " His words are bonds— his oaths are oracles — ¦
His love sincere."
There is a character that can not be understood — a per
fect mystery. The more you explore it, the more you are
confounded. It is a Proteus — you know not whether to
love or hate— whether to regard it as foe or friend, saint
or devil. One moment you are allured by an excellence,
and the next repelled by a blemish. But the greatest of
all difficulties is, that it communicates with the world
entirely by artificial language. You can not traCe it : it
seems to adopt its motives by stealth, and drag them to
its heart as Cacus did the cattle of Hercules to his
cave — by the tail instead of the horns; so that, if you
follow their track, you are sure to go the wrong way. It
can hardly "take tea without a stratagem;" and, like the
ancient warrior, if it thought its coat could tell what it
was about, it would burn it. Its whole business seems to
be to elude the world, which it draws, like a pack of gray-
hounds, in its scent. Now, the very reverse of all this
was Eussel Bigelow.
I shall never forget the childlike simplicity with
which, on one occasion, in conversation about the com-

84 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
parative advantages of extempore and written sermons,
he having dropped the remark, "My happiest efforts,"
added, "0, pardon me for having used that term in
speaking of any effort of mine." A stranger having
taken him aside, and presented him with a suit of
clothes, which he much needed, he seized his hand, and
looking up to him with tearful eyes, said, " 0, doctor, I
will pray for you as long as I live." If about to make a
speech, he would tell you so, and perhaps explain to you
the ground he was about to take, and the arguments he
would employ; so that, if you chose, you might digest
a reply before his effort was heard. Had ho been
in Joseph's place, he, too, would have told his dreams,
and looked for his brethren in Shechem or in Do
th am. C. He was benevolent and beneficent. Like his Mas
ter, he was touched with a feeling of human infirmities.
He had learned how to weep with them that weep, and to
rejoice with them that rejoice. One needed but to see him
in the asylum, or the prison, or standing before an object
of distress by the road-side, or uttering the sympathies
of his broad heart at the pillow of the sick, to be con
vinced, without argument, that there is sueh a thing as
disinterested benevolence.
His faith did not overlook the present world in its con
cerns for the future ; and while he struggled, and wept,
and prayed for the sinful soul, he did not forget the suf
fering body. Nor was he content with knowing the sor
rows of those who came in his way: "The cause he
knew not he searched out." He was, emphatically, the
good Samaritan. His expansive benevolence embraced
the whole human family; not that he cherished the wild
speculation that all mankind should be regarded alike,
but warming his charity at the fireside of his sweet home,
he bade it expand till it overleaped all national boundaries,

RUSSEL BIGELOW. 85
and natural and artificial distinctions. He was not of
those who content themselves with elevated views and
warm sympathies, and who say to the shivering brother,
" Be thou warmed and clothed." His beneficence knew
no limits but his ability. As he received presents where-
ever he went — and his brethren, knowing his worth,
would not suffer him to be deficient in his allowance — ^if
he had husbanded what he received, he would have accu
mulated money. But his resources were expended as fast
as they were received, and he died poor. Indeed, to
those who walk by sight he did not seem to have a proper
regard for the wants of his family; and when he ap
proached the borders of the grave, the sight of his help
less children, whom he was soon to leave fatherless, some
times induced seZ/^reproaches, which, however, were
instantly banished by the recollection of some sweet
promise of Scripture, and a view of God's tender relation
to the fatherless and the widow.
7. He was liberal in his views. Never compromiting
or disguising the truth, warmly attached to his own Dis
cipline, and firmly persuaded ofhis own doctrine, ho was,
nevertheless, as far from narrowness and bigotry as the
east is from the west. He delighted to hail every Church
that bore the banner of the Savior, under whatever uni
form or name ; and to the image of Christ his heart and
hand turned as the needle to the pole. He looked with
joy upon the prosperity of sister Churches; and not
withstanding he felt a deep interest in the welfare of his
own department of Zion, he never could be accused of
proselyting. His great aim was to bring honor to Christ,
souls to heaven, and glory to God. But, although he felt
so little concern to attract converts into his own Church,
the people would follow him in flocks, as sheep follow a
shepherd. 8. His character was harmonious. We have heard of

86 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
many a good man whose home was no paradise. Bigelow
was to his family what he was to his congregation. In
deed, his spirit is said to have been, if possible, even
more sweet and fragrant at the fireside than in the pul
pit; and his prayers at the family altar were as fervent
as those which were audible to the multitude. In short,
his words and his works, his inner and his outer life, his
public and his private character, were alike lovely and
accordant. "Did you know Bigelow?" said the writer to Chief
Justice L. "Yes," he replied; "and it is one of the
greatest regrets of my life that I did not know him bet
ter. Had I never known him, I should have loved him
for the effects of his apostolic labors and holy example.
We were a rude people when he was among us, and we
never appreciated his worth." That he had his faults
and his imperfections we do not deny, but they weri
almost lost amid his excellences. Let the poet look out
upon the plain or the mountain, the gorgeous sunset or
the thundering cataract, but let me look upon a good
man. The artist may mold matter into forms of enrap
turing beauty, and make us feel their elevating and puri
fying influences ; but what is the marble Moses of a
Michael Angelo, or the cold statue of his living Christ,
compared to the embodiment of the Hebrew law and the
spirit of Jesus in the sculpture of a holy life ? Goethe
said that he was not half himself who had never seen the
Juno in the Eondanini palace at Eome. Well, then,
may we say, that he knows not to what race he belongs
who has never gazed upon such a man as Bigelow. If an
angel were to move among us in celestial sheen, with
"what sublimity would he inspire us ! But how much
more is it to see moral majesty and beauty beaming from
human clay !

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 87

iigtl0to as k '§xtut\&t.
VE have spoken of Eussel Bigelow as a man : in this
article we describe him as a preacher. Correct
taste, strong thought, and powerful emotion were his
characteristics. I. Correct taste. This was evidenced
In his language. It is the fault of young and partially-
educated speakers to be ever seeking showy words; as if
to make up in sound what is wanting in sense. There is
an opposite extreme. Many in their desire to be intelli
gible, become vulgar. The practice of TiUotson, who
read his discourses prior to their delivery, to an illiterate
but sensible woman, is a good one. Bigelow's language
appeared to have been sifted by a similar process. A
large proportion of his words were Saxon, which, because
they can be traced by most hearers directly to their roots,
are more lively and effective than those from foreign
sources. His acquaintance with men, rather than tongues,
gave him advantage in selecting words ; but had he been
a ripe scholar, we have no reason to suppose that his ex
pressions would have been less forcible. A knowledge
of the original fountains of our language enables us read
ily to lay aside words of foreign derivation, at the same
time giving taste to do so. While the ignorant is pedan
tic, the man best able to write with elegance generally
chooses chaste and simple terms. In the pulpit, espe
cially, good taste requires that the garment of our
thoughts should be simple and transparent. While

88 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
chaste in his language, Bigelow was free from that con
versational style, and those commonplace remarks which,
though unsuitable to grave subjects, are often found in
the pulpit of the day.
In the management of his figures. He avoided the
apostrophe and other bold figures peculiarly adapted to
poetry. His comparisons, whether for illustration, argu
ment, or embellishment, were neither too obvious on the
one hand, nor unnatural on the other. His metaphors
were generally original, striking, radiant, free from confu
sion, reserved for the moment of emotion, and dropped
while yet warm. Sometimes his figurative language
would convey and point an argument, which, though con
cealed by the luster of its vehicle, lost none of its force.
He rarely introduced anecdotes in his discourses. It is
not to be denied that Christian experience is a rich fount
ain of spiritual knowledge, and that the preacher may
often draw thence for edification, instruction, and com
fort. But the frequent use of anecdote, not only for
illustration, but even for argument, to which there is so
strong a tendency in our times, finds no countenance in
the dignified models of golden ages, and vitiates the ora
tory of our country. Moreover, by presenting tempta
tions to embellish a story not sufficiently attractive, and to
mend one not precisely suitable, it has pernicious tenden
cies upon morals. Bigelow's allusions were frequently
historical or classical — such, for instance, as the story of
Damon and Pythias, to illustrate a passage of the apostle,
"Greater love hath no man than that a man lay down his
life for his friend" — but generally they were Scriptural.
Scarce a point to be illustrated, for which history or the
Bible does not afford the means of illustration — scarce an
anecdote to be related, for which holy Scripture doth not
proffer a substitute ; and in this age, when the Bible is
so well studied in Sabbath schools, allusions even to its

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 89
less striking and familiar incidents can be understood by
mere children.
In the sources of his arguments. These were chiefly
the human heart, well-known facts, strong, sound, com
prehensive common sense, and the Bible. He plunged
not into the region of metaphysics, or barren philosophy,
and never resorted to any proof but in subordination to
the Scriptures. If he preached truth, or justice, or grat
itude, it was not as a heathen ; and though he might use
the same means of conviction as Seneca, he made all his
arguments lie in Christ Jesus. He was content to em
ploy his reason in ascertaining what the Bible teaches,
and explaining its lessons to others. Generally his de
partures from this great luminary were short, and only to
blast some refuge of lies behind which the sinner was en
deavoring to hide. Like Moses in Midian he lingered
not in the desert, but led his flock to the mount of God.
His style was easy. His phrases, and the construction
of his sentences were English; not the English of the
crowd, nor the English of the king, but the king's Eng
lish, as it is spoken in the dignified conversation of intel
ligent men — no inversions, or circumlocution, or involu
tions of clauses. His sentences, as to length, were not
sufficiently varied; as to structure, though loose, yet
clear. Advancing in his argument, his mind moves with
a firmer, director footstep. He seems to believe what he
says, and to be determined to make others know that he
is rigtt. He uses arguments as if perfectly acquainted
with their force. In his peroration he was usually vehe
ment; not like a mighty river marching steadily to the
ocean, but like Niagara dashing, foaming, rushing, filling
the heavens with its echoes. But his vehemence was not
rant — it was the outgushing of energy from a great mind,
of ardent temperament, strongly excited by ao important
object — a vehemence which can not be imitated, which

90 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
presupposes a mind so intensely interested in its subject
as to be incapable of surveying its own movements.
II. He was a man of strong thought. He held an
iron will over his powers — taught imagination the length
of her chain — made memory a watchful and submissive
servant, and compelled reason to sit for hours in one spot,
like the patient weaver at his loom, producing his beauti
ful fabric slowly by the movements of his shuttle. He
who would have a soul thus trained must labor. The
mind, like the infant, is, though active, yet restless —
always busy, but never laborious — constantly at work, but
never accomplishing any thing, not because its powers
are feeble, but because its thoughts are fickle. Hence, in
all civilized countries, systems of education are devised
with a view to train mind to consecutive thinking.
Whatever aids Bigelow had employed in mental training,
he had the power to concatenate thought. Though
mindful of books, industrious in study, observant of the
progress of science, and deferential to authority, yet he
used assistance at a proper time — not before, but after he
had investigated his subject. His patient thought was
evident From the choice of his subjects. As he had a versatil
ity of genius which enabled him to adapt himself to any
occasion, and a purity of intention which never allowed
him to put his inclinations in competition with convic
tions of duty, there was a fitness in his discourses, which
constituted one of their chief charms and made them
shine. Though he did not often preach discourses exclu
sively hortatory, yet he often charmed his audience with
a historical or practical sermon; and his efforts of this
description were always masterly. Some of them, had
they been written out, might have ranked among the
finest models of glowing description and impressive per
suasion the English language affords. But it was not in

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 91
description, or declamation, or exhortation, that he chiefly
delighted. It was mere pastime to him to point out
Zion's spicy hills, or hurl the terrors of the law; he pre
ferred the theme that could task his reason. Hence,
doctrinal subjects were his favorite ones.
His mode of treating his themes. In entering on an
argumentative discourse, he advanced slowly through a
beautiful and appropriate introduction; but when he
fully encountered the argument, he underwent a sudden
transformation. As .33neas, in the temple of Juno,
when he sees Ilioneus, bursts the cloud with which his
goddess mother had inwrapt him, so he, when he meets
his argument, seems "to shuffle off his mortal coil;"
and now divine odors breathe from his lips, and the light
of heaven flashes from his eye. Having shown the im
portance of his theme, and its bearings and consequen
ces, he lays down his position in simple terms, shows his
line of argument, and challenges the closest scrutiny.
There is a rule of rhetoric which directs the speaker, if
his audience he fortified by invincible prejudice, to sup
press his position till his argument be completed — to
attack the enemy before he suspects your approach — to
post all your arguments ere he is aware of your design;
and, while he looks, unarmed, upon your movements, to
close your lines around him and take him captive. We
inquire not whether this rule is appropriate to the bar,
the hall of legislation, or the arena for intellectual gladi-
atorship; but we deny its applicability to the pulpit.
The subjects, relations, and circumstances of the minis
ter are too solemn and important to need or allow rhetor
ical guile ; nor is it to be presumed that, upon a general
scale, it will tend to secure the object of the pulpit.
Prejudice is not much to be feared; it may prevent im
mediate conviction; but it can not restrain the reason,
nor silence the conscience; and it will fall off like the

92 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
chrysalis from the fledged insect, if you convince the un
derstanding. Were concealment allowable, Bigelow could
not have resorted to it. The panther may spring from
the bushes upon his prey — the lion needs no advantages.
Had he been Agamemnon, Troy might not have been
taken; he could not have employed the "wooden horse."
In the commencement of his argument, he was accus
tomed to meet objections; and here his candor was as ap
parent in the fairness of his statements as was his ability
in the completeness of his refutations. At this point the
hearer began to perceive that nicety of discrimination,
that felicity of illustration, that searching power of anal
ysis, and that grasp of comprehension, which, at the
hight of his argument, were little less than amazing.
His penetration knew error despite its disguises; and,
as a sagacious warrior knows where is the ambush, and
when will be the coup de main, so he fixed his eye on the
spot where the enemy lurked, and anticipated his move
ments. Many sagacious minds which can find error, are
unable to bring it out to the gaze of others. But he was
as expert in exposure as in detection. One false prem
iss — inconsiderable in itself — often vitiates a whole vol
ume of valid reasoning. Such a book may be com
pared to a long and strong chain, rolled up, having, how
ever, one broken link. There are two ways of finding
the fracture — the usual one is to examine each link till
you come to it. Bigelow fixed a weight to one end, and
walked off with the other, thus separating the fragments
so far that his audience could stand between them.
Sometimes, when not hurried, he would do as the king
of the forest does when not hungry — play with his prey.
It was interesting to see him amuse himself and his con
gregation with an ingenious sophism. He was wont to
question it in the Socratio method, till he made it confess
not only its falseness, but its folly, and slink away, while

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 93
a good-natured smile played upon the eager countenances
of his hearers. Error, like Pharaoh, though convinced,
is obstinate. Under the lash of resistless argument, it
calls upon every species of delusion to throw discredit
upon the means which have wrought conviction. Bige
low, aware of this, combated objection after objection,
and heaped argument upon argument. Fancy the con
vinced infidel in his audience. The preacher turns his
eye upon him, watches him, turns every stream from
which his soul dips into blood, animates the dust he raises
before his eyes into torturing insects, sends locusts before
him to eat up every green thing, adds plague to plague.
Presently the thunder peals, the lightning flashes; the
infidel feels the darkness on his eyeballs, and is com
pelled to let the truth he holds a prisoner "have free
course and be glorified." A pause ensues, and the con
gregation, on their feet, look with sympathy and prayer
for a converted man.
Bigelow, like an accomplished orator, observed the proc
esses going on in the minds of his hearers. If one ar
gument did not succeed, he used another — if an illustra
tion did not answer, he seized one that would. He
seemed to be as familiar with the hearts of his hearers
as the musician with the keys of his instrument, know
ing when, and where, and how to touch, detecting the
least discord, and even restraining his magic finger — if,
perchance, it grazed the wrong key — before the false note
was formed. This nice discernment in a mind concen
trated on its theme, and engaged in the most complicated
processes of which human intellect is capable, presup
poses strong and patient exercise of the reason.
His mode of amplification was, generally, to commence
with his weakest argument, and, proceeding to the better
in the order of their strength, to close with the strong
est — a mode which could not, perhaps, always be safely

94 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
followed, since a weak argument may so prejudice the
hearers against the speaker as to prevent the force of
such as may follow. His plan was, however, adapted to
his talents. He used no argument too weak to make an
impression. Perhaps in the weight of his argument lay
the greatest objection to his discourses. A man may be
willing to give up his error, if you allow some reason in
it, whereas he would cling to it to the last if surrender
were to be shame. The injurious tendency of Bigelow's
surplus power was, however, corrected by the sweetness
and solemnity of his manner. He indulged in no re
proaches — made due allowance for the sinner — often —
like St. Paul — by using the first person plural, coupled
himself with the object of reproof — avoided personalities
and harsh language; and after exposing folly and guilt,
pointed not to himself, but to "the Shepherd and Bishop
of souls." His strength was not the rude and fitful
blast, which binds the traveler's cloak tighter and tighter
around him, but the steady, increasing, noiseless power
of the rising sun, which, while it illumines, softens and
subdues. His capacity for argument did not betray him
into fruitless discus.sion. He used it not as a boy his pen
knife, but as a warrior his sword. He assailed no mush
room heresy — he warred with no frog-pond adversary.
There is in the Church a capillary ambition, the stronger
in proportion to the narrowness of its tube, which is con
stantly rising into notice on some spongy theology. You
may urge it down by the slightest pressure; but the in
stant you remove your fingers, it swells up again from
its watery foundation. He seemed to know that this was
better dried by warmth than pressure. He was not in
sensible to error, however feebly advocated, nor unwilling
to instruct the honest inquirer, however humble; but
when a man sought distinction at the expense of heresy,
and plunged into argument with a certainty of disgrace,

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 95
he treated him as he would certain animals that have
more obstinacy than reason, and are better managed with
the palm of the hand than the knots of the lash.
In the mode of his argument he was not formal.
There is a class of speakers called logical. The term is
generally used to denote an arguer distinguished rather
for the forms than the essence of argument. This use of
it has arisen from two palpable mistakes — the one that
the logical mode of reasoning differs from the common —
the other that to reason logically a man must use formal
syllogisms — mistakes as great as if we were to regard
anatomy as a kind of animal, and suppose that to move
the arm we must name its flexor or extensor muscles.
Bigelow was, doubtless, practiced in the principles of
opposition, conversion, and reduction ; but he confined the
forms of logic to the study. His argumentation, though
without forms, was logical in the proper sense of the
word. There was a perceptible connection and a beauti
ful proportion between all its parts. It was not, however,
a chain of cold iron links, susceptible of expression by a
diagram. He passed through his arguments like a botan
ist through his garden : every thing around him seemed
living and green ; and, though he showed you a regular
connection from the hyssop by the wall to the cedar of
Lebanon, yet he was wont to pause at each step, to point
out some nice discrimination, some connected history,
some practical use, some collateral relation, or some felic
itous illustration; and often, ere he passed, the object
nf his touch would suddenly burst into blossom. In
the commencement of some of his severe efforts, the con
nection of parts was not perceptible. He often appeared
like an architect in the midst of his materials, bearing
off a beam now, and a rafter then, the purpose of which
you could not at once discover; but he moved among his
lines and plummets with so much grace that he would

96 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
inspire your confidence, while he excited your curiosity;
and, when he brought his work together, he made all the
parts unite, with a dovetail fitness, into one harmonious
whole. He took a limited field for each discourse. Patient
labor is wont to limit its bounds. The sluggish Indian
ranges mountains and valleys, forests and streams, for his
scanty fare, while he whose hand has brought agriculture
to comparative perfection, derives ample sustenance from
one blooming acre. Thus, the mental sluggard sweeps
half a universe for a discourse, while he who has learned
to use the intellectual spade, educes a rich storehouse
from each narrow footstep. To make a discovery one
must fix the microscope, or teach the telescope to follow
one star around the heavens. The preacher who always
takes a text which allows him "to preach up and down
the Scriptures," is not the steward who from his treas
ury brings forth new things. Nor can he bring sweet
things — honey comes from a pressed comb; nor rich
things — gold is not gathered on horseback. Bigelow was
particularly careful to limit his walk. If he attacked
skepticism, he took such a subject as the folly of atheism,
or the nakedness of deism, stripped of its borrowed
garments; if he discoursed of the evidence of revelation,
he was accustomed first to select some branch — if it were
the external, he would take some subdivision — if that
were prophecy, he would limit himself to one fulfilled
prediction. But though his subject was bounded, his
thoughts were free — an exceeding copiousness and rich
ness of idea characterized his efforts, but not the copious
ness of repetition. True, he often repeated, in figurative
language, what he had expressed in literal ; he sometimes
expanded in a long sentence what he had announced in a
sententious one ; he often detained the audience upon an
idea till it was sufficiently impressed; but he marched

BIGliLOW AS A PREACHER. 97
onward as soon as it was allowable, through a beautiful
variety of conception. Indeed, such was the vigor of his
mind that he found it difficult to restrain himself from
digression, and in going through his subject, often ac
quired such a mental momentum that, like a race-horse at
the goal, he plunged beyond it. Hence he frequently pro
tracted his discourses too long; but such were his strength
and ardor, that he could entertain an audience in rapt
attention for three successive hours.
He had a definite design. We sometimes hear a
flowery address from a distinguished orator, who, just as
he closes, informs the hearers of his subject, supposing
that if he do not, they will never know. Sueh cases
remind us of the artist who, having painted a horse and
a house, thought it necessary to write under one, " This
is the house," and under the other, "This is the horse."
A definite purpose is so important that no excellence can
atone for its absence. It is a broad beauty, which, like
charity, covers a multitude of sins. Homer could not
have made the Iliad without a definite purpose. The
lesson that discord is weakness, and union is strength, is
constantly before him,, and gives unity to all his splendid
creations, which, without some plastic thought, would lie,
like scattered ruins, along the " city of the dead." Shak-
speare has a thousand faults; but by a majestic oneness
of purpose, he so hurries the reader through every scene
that he does not allow him to stop at the rubbish which
sometimes incumbers his path. The pulpit is often
accused of indefiniteness of purpose. If the lawyer, or the
politician, or the legislator wander from his subject, it is
at the peril of defeat. Not so the preacher: he is even
under strong temptations to stroll in a wilderness of gen
eralities. Who has not often heard discourses for which
it would be difficult to find either a name or a psalm?
Yet they may have been limited in regard to subject.
9

y» BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
You can often map the region of a man's wanderings
when you can not mark his destination. Bigelow did
not always keep a direct line. A river may have many
windings, and yet be constantly rolling to the ocean.
Nor did he travel an unornamented way. The orator,
like Hippomenes, may scatter golden apples in his path,
when they give him advantage in the race, though not
like jVtalanta, pick up ornaments when he should be
pressing to the goal. It is difficult for an orator of fine
fancy to avoid regarding his best imagery as objects in
stead of inst-ruments. When, like Iris, in his upward
flight, he cuts a bow in the cloud, he is tempted to show
its prismatic beauties to the multitude below, instead of
rushing, godlike, up the heavens. Bigelow kept his pur
pose steadily in view, and used no argument or embel
lishment for its mere power or beauty, but chose every
thing, as he advanced, with a distinct reference to its
bearing upon the leading point. If he took you through
a field of daises and buttercups, or a grove of oranges or
palm trees, it was because they happened to be in his
way. Nor did he lead you through a beauteous region, as
a father would his children, to gaze upon the flowers, but
as a general does his troops, to trample them under foot.
If he leads his audience to some Alpine hight, where,
" Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among.
Leaps the live thunder  ,
And Jura answers through her misty shroud
Back to tbe joyous Alps,"
he does not, like Byron, leap with a wild eye and a
wilder heart, through the august scenery, but, like
Napoleon surmounting the peak, and pointing to a
sunny land before him, he sends down through the fiery
clouds a still .small voice, more sublime than the thunder
itself

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 99
His habits of thought were evinced by his Variety. To
this the itinerant system is not favorable. By affording op
portunity to reproach the same sermon frequently, it sup
plies a strong temptation either to indolence, or a concen
tration of attention on favorite topics. The want of vari
ety is not, however, confined to the pulpit of the itinerancy.
Logic, in teaching that three propositions may be put to
gether in more than threescore ways, gives a hint that
heads of sermons, also, may be variously combined, and
that a few discourses, ingeniously managed by the rules
of permutation, may last a lifetime. Bigelow's fame
drew auditors from congregation to congregation, so that,
while preaching in strange pulpits, he often saw familiar
faces. He was less in want of sermons than of opportu
nities to preach them. He rarely met with a colleague
who cotdd keep pace with him. Where custom required
but thirty-two sermons, I have known him to preach one
hundred. His discourses were various as well as numer
ous. They were uniformly good. Eegarding every occa
sion of preaching to dying men as unspeakably important,
he proclaimed the truth at all times with all his might.
"Bigelow never preached a poor sermon," was the testi
mony of a competent witness. A lawyer of the Episcopal
Church, living in a city where Bigelow was stationed,
after disease had made inroads upon him, said, " I never
heard him without becoming both a wiser and a better
man." His patient thought was evident, also, from his orig
inality. He was original, not in the sense of creating,
which belongs to God, nor in the sense of discovering,
which belongs to philosophy, but in illustrating, combin
ing, and arguing. He had, too, a mode of so throwing
new light on old truth as to make it sparkle. He could
ascend from truth to truth till he reached lofty summits,
and enjoyed extended views. The ease with whieh he

100 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
moved through the most difficult arguments, the readiness
with which he turned every accident to good account,
the power with which, like an arrested stream, he heaped
up argument till he broke down resistance, convinced
every hearer that he relied upon his own resources.
Many intelligent clergymen say that, on the evidences
and doctrines of Christianity, they have never read or
heard arguments similar or superior to his. But is this
the highest originality to which the ministry dare aspire ?
True, the desire to know as angels, to see more of God,
to vindicate his ways to man, is ever pushing daring
reason toward sacred hights. But the untrodden mount
of God, like Sinai, has a trembling base and a smoking
summit; and whoever passes its borders is thrust through
with a dart. Bigelow knew his limits; and,
*' Though his adventurous spirit loved to urge
The laboring theme to reason's utmost verge.
Kindling and mounting from the enraptured sight.
Till anxious wonder watched the daring flight,"
yet he never soared so high as to give devils a triumph
by his fall. The restraint of conjecture which character
ized his public discourses, marked, also, his private inter
course. He was cautious, even with confidential and ju
dicious friends, how he supplied by conjecture, and sus
tained by probability, what God has seen fit to withhold,
or how he gathered the truths which heaven has scat
tered — to combine in theory what the Bible presents
without system. This will appear matter, at once, of sur
prise and praise, when we consider the natural tendency
of a luminous understanding, when taken into the fields
of religion, to throw its beams upon those clouds with
which the Almighty hath environed the horizon of relig
ious truth. There were occasions, however, when he
ventured beyond the bounds which reason generally re
gards as her utmost limits. An intelligent clergyman

/
BIGELOW AS A PREACHER 101
once went to him, oppressed with the moral problem of
the heathen world. No sooner had he mentioned the
subject than Bigelow began to bear him up to a region
of light, where all his doubts and perplexities vanished.
He retired perfectly satisfied, but has never been able to
recall the arguments which quieted him. Inquiring
minds, of gloomy tendencies, are sometimes to be relieved
in this manner, but let not ordinary intellects attempt
the task lest they give a serpent for a fish.
in. Bigelow was a man of acute sensibilities. He felt.
Hence the zeal, the vehemence, the rapidity, the over
mastering energy that characterized his preaching. A
susceptible heart is indispensable in oratory. No pains
can make some men orators — no neglect or misfortune
can prevent others from becoming such. Flinty intel
lect may convince, but it can not move — fine fancy may
please, but it can not rouse — as well refute arguments
with muscles as inflame passions with mere brain. Heart
responds only to heart, Feeling can not be successfully
counterfeited. The child can trace the workings of the
breast, and distinguish the feigned love or anger from
the true. To Demosthenes all ages accord the palm of
eloquence. What was the secret of his success? Not
his person, his gesticulation, his voice, or his enunci
ation ; in none of these particulars did he excel. Not
his learning; in this hundreds of his fellow-citizens sur
passed him. Not the splendor of his style ; in this he was
to Plato as a star to the sun. Not his power of reasoning;
in penetration and analysis he was a child to Socrates.
It was his deep feeling. The flames, spread all around
him, were kindled by his ^ler^ heart. The encroachments
of Philip roused his anger, his disdain, his indignation.
These kindled his eye, unloosed his tongue, and shaped
the dignified and overpowering periods which moved the
Athenian multitude to madness and to arms. But how

102 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
shall we understand him when he says that the first, the
second, the third requisite in oratory is "delivery?" He
means earnestness — such an eye, countenance, attitude,
manner, as shows that the speaker understands, believes,
feels what he says. But whence Bigelow's intense and
sustained feeling? He was imbued with the principle
which built the ark, raised the calm head of Job above
the billows, made Abraham the pattern" for all ages,
opened a dry path through the sea, and fountains in the
wilderness, scattered alien armies before David's sword,
anointed Isaiah's lips with holy fire, and charioted in
flame the ascending prophet — that principle which,
though perverted, inspired the Grecian chisel and the
Eoman easel, strewed flowers over the pages of Homer
and of Virgil, and still speaks from the opening tombs
and moldering columns of the east. His soul was borne
to sublime hights on " the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen." Mindful of the " bet
ter country," he cheerfully gave to the Church a golden
head, which, devoted to the state, would have ranked him
with Patrick Henry. " Esteeming the reproaches of
Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt,"
though welcome to the gorgeous pulpit, he chose one
every-where spoken against. He might have received
plaudits in the mansions of the east, but he dedicated
himself to the cabins of the west, and, with a glad heart,
blazed his way through the pathless forest, to seek the
hut of the settler or the wigwam of the savage. Vain
philosophy never spoiled him. To his eye the earth was
no mystery — the heavens no problem. His faith peopled
the one with undying spirits, the other with the hosts of
God. He took every step of his journey to heaven in the
midst of ascending and descending angels. In tempta
tion he endured "as seeing Him who is invisible." When
he spoke he committed his tongue to the Almighty; and

BIGELOW AS A PREACHER. 103
when his exhausted body, ready to sink into the earth as
he reached the last words, armed with sudden and un
earthly ardor, it was because he heard "his Master's foot
steps behind him."
Such was Eussel Bigelow. As a preacher he had his
faults. His discourses were often too long and elaborated,
his arguments not always in a direct line of sequence,
his peroration sometimes discursive ; but take him all
in all, the writer believes that he has yet to hear his
equal.

104 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

"D USSEL BIGELOW was the third child, but eldest
'-*' son, of respectable parents in the ordinary walks of
life, both of whom survived him. He was born in Ches
terfield, Cheshire, N. H., February 24, 1793. His oppor
tunities for education were very limited, though he
learned to read in early life, and in his very childhood
was a diligent student of the Bible, and other religious
books. When he was eight years old his father removed
to Vermont. At the age of nine he was awakened and
made a subject of converting grace under the preaching
of the Methodist ministry, though he made no profession
of religion at this time. Soon after his family removed
to a parish in Lower Canada, where religious meetings
were seldom held and religious persons rarely met with.
He became a backslider in heart, and in this condition
continued for four years. Under the earnest prayer of a
sister, he was reclaimed, and found great peace in believ
ing. He now— May, 1806 — united with the society.
Alluding to the repugnance which many feel to the re
ception of children into the Church, he often remarked,
in later life, "I expect to bless God eternally for the
privilege of becoming a member while I was so young."
In his fifteenth year he felt that he would be called to
preach. He continued to grow in grace, avoided the
company of the thoughtless and gay, sought the society
of the pious, and was derisively called by his young ac
quaintances "the Deacon," or "the old Deacon." In

BIGELOW'S EARLY LIFE. 105
1812 he removed to Worthington, 0. About this time,
when he was nineteen years of age, he was licensed to
exhort. Unexpected trials and embarrassments awaited
him in the pulpit, under the pressure of which he re
solved to give up the idea of preaching. A horror now
seized his mind, from which he could find no relief but
in a quiet submission to his convictions of duty.
He was industrious in his habits, and labored success
fully with his hands; and though early urged to enter
the itinerant ranks, he long delayed, being fearful lest he
should "run too fast." His internal confiict was so
great on one occasion that he "wandered away." De
scribing the feelings of his soul at this period, he says,
"I never came so near being willing to exchange situa
tions with the reptiles of the earth as at this time."
On the 15th of October, 1814, he started for his first
circuit, which was in Kentucky. His natural timidity,
his youthful appearance, his low stature, his awkward
manners, his unprepossessing face, and his slovenly dress,
gave his congregations but poor promise of edification
and instruction. Many a proud man sneered, and many
a pious one prayed, as ne entered the church with his
saddle-bags in one hand and hat in the other, and bash
fully hid himself in the pulpit. It was soon apparent
that he was humble and devoted ; and as he progressed
in his discourse, the wicked lost their contempt, and the
good their mortification; the sluggish were aroused, and
the intelligent were amazed; arrows of conviction flew
thick and fast; sinners were slain on the right and left;
the atoning Lamb was lifted up, and the dead were made
alive by his blood.
His next circuit was Miami, on which he was associated
with A. Cummings. In 1816, after having been ordained
deacon, he was appointed to Lawrencburg circuit, la.,
where he was favored with the counsel of Allen Wiley,

106

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

who was this year his beloved colleague. During this
year he was married to Margaret Irwin, by whom he had
seven children, who all survived him. In his journal he
writes concerning his marriage these significant words,
which the young would do well to ponder: "I now think
it would have been better had I remained single a few
years longer." His domestic embarrassments did not,
however, diminish his domestic attachments.
In 1817 he was appointed to Oxford circuit, where he
encountered many hardships, and on one occasion was
well-nigh drowned. In 1818 he was ordained elder, and
reappointed to Oxford. I can not trace his path from
year to year. He was some years after this appointed in
charge of the Wyandott mission, and in the year 1829, I
think, appointed to Portland district — so called from San
dusky City, which was then known as Portland. It was
while he occupied this position that I became acquainted
with him, and had the privilege of listening to his
strange eloquence and enjoying his paternal counsels and
pastoral care.
After twenty years of toilsome service in the itiner
ancy, his health failing, he retired, in hopes to spend
the rest of his days on a small farm. From his retire
ment he was called to tbe chaplaincy of the Ohio peni
tentiary, where, preaching to the "spirits in prison"
with the zeal, and sympathy, and power, which character
ized him in every other situation, he sank calmly and tri
umphantly into the arms of death.
I can not forbear to add a few remarks which the notes
before me suggest, although at the risk of repeating what
I have already said. He filled with honor every office in
the Church but that of bishop — an office which, had his
life been protracted, he would have adorned. He had
the manners of a gentleman, the graces of a Christian
and the gifts of an orator.

BIGELOW'S EARLY LIFE. 107
His favorite theme was the atonement. This gave ani
mation to his hopes, fire to his tongue, luster to his dis
courses, harmony to his doctrines, and efficacy to his
labors. On all the cardinal doctrines of the Gospel he
was clear and uncompromising, eliminating them from
error with a hand that never wanted cunning, and heart
that never wanted courage.
His favorite book was the Bible, which he was accus
tomed to study through and through, by course, upon his
knees. His favorite refreshment was prayer. To this he de
voted the first moments after he rose from his bed. At
eight o'clock he retired again for closet devotion. For
the last five years of his life, however, in order that he
might be at the throne of grace at the same time that a
beloved brother — Eev. Mr. S. — was there, he changed
the hour to nine o'clock. At midday he sought again
the Sun of righteousness; three o'clock, and twilight,
and the hour before retiring to rest, were other periods
when he devoutly and privately communed with God.
Thus, morning, noon, and night — at nine, at three, aud
at twilight, did this good man regularly retire to his
" closet." The hour which he most prized was twilight,
because it was associated with his regeneration. At this
time he was accustomed to remember every preacher on
his district, and every awakened person who had within
the last three months solicited an interest in his prayers.
He would bring them, name by name, before God, dwell
ing upon the peculiar dangers, or trials, or wants of each
case as a father would plead for his children.
His family prayers were marked by all the fervor and
energy of his more public ministration. Indeed, earn
estness marked all his labors. Whether in private or
public, teaching in the Sabbath school, praying at the
altar, preaching on the camp-ground, presiding in the

108 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
conference, or writing in the committee-room, he was a
man of zeal. Love animated and sustained him; so that
his zeal was tempered with sweetness, his firmness with
mildness, his courage with tenderness, and his godly
daring with a most subduing affection, as if, like his Mas
ter, he would "draw all men unto him." Just to consci
entiousness, exact to scrupulousness, and orderly as a
field-marshal, he avoided even the appearance of evil.
Long-suffering and forbearing, his expostulations with
sinners were in tones of mercy, till mercy ceased to be a
virtue, when he rose with the majesty of a monarch to
assert the dignity of law in tones that made the rebell
ious tremble. This, however, was not often the case.
His charity covered a multitude of sins. It was inge
nious perhaps to a fault, in devising excuses for offenders,
and putting the most favorable aspects upon every case.
At the root of all his excellences was a mighty faith.
He believed God implicitly; relied upon him unwaver
ingly; wrestled with him victoriously; continuing in
prayer till petition burst into thanksgiving.

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 109

THE year 1852 is noted for the death of great men.
It has sealed the eyes of few greater than Daniel
Drake. In 1827, when the writer commenced the sttidy
of medicine, Dr. Drake both stood confessedly at the
head of his profession in the west, and occupied a high
rank among philanthropists and men of letters. He had
founded the Medical College of Ohio, established a
scientific and medical journal, distinguished himself as
a professor in the Medical Department of Transylvania
University, published his " Picture of Cincinnati,''
stamped his character on many of the aspiring youth of
our country, and sent his name abroad on several valua
ble and well-written essays, either on medical topics or
kindred ones. Cincinnati is largely indebted to him
both for her fame and her prosperity.
Among the articles from his pen, which at that early
day I had met with, were his sketch of Dr. Hines, of
Kentucky, his review of a ease of murder tried in the
Supreme Court of Ohio, hints on medical education, and
speculations concerning the modus operandi of medicines.
He was a western man in education, habits, and feelings.
Though a native of New Jersey — where he was born,
1785 — he was reared in the woods of Kentucky, the
chivalrous spirit of whose pioneer sons he had early
imbibed. His preparatory education inust have been
very limited, for the west had but few educational facili
ties at that early period. He commenced the study of
medicine in his sixteenth year, in the office of Dr. Go-

110 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
forth, at the city of Cincinnati, which he always regarded
as his home. The following characteristic letter, which I
received, as secretary of one of the district medical soci
eties, shows at once his attachment to our state, from
which he could not be driven either by injustice or
ingratitude, and his perseverance, which neither opposi
tion nor misfortune could subdue :
"Cincinnati, May 6, 1831.
"To the Physicians resident in the Twenty-Third Medical District of Ohio:
" Gentlemen, — It must be known to such of you as
have long resided in the state of Ohio, that in the
year 1819 I had the honor to obtain from the General
Assembly an act of incorporation for a medical college
in this city; it is also generally known that circum
stances, which at this late period I shall not recount,
separated me unwillingly from the infant institution,
and united me successively with two other schools in
Lexington and Philadelphia.
" During my sojourn abroad, however, I could not
forget that Ohio was my home ; and having been the
first to project a medical institution within her limits,
I felt myself at liberty to resume medical instruction on
the spot where I had begun it. By the accompanying
circular you will perceive that I have, at length, had
the good fortune to acquire a body of associates, most of
whom are experienced and eminent professors. Both
they and myself are deeply impressed with the value of
your respect and patronage; and I beg leave to say, that
we shall labor unceasingly to deserve the former as the
only honorable means of acquiring the latter.
"We have asked nothing from the Miami Univer
sity — from the state — from society — from or of the ex
isting institution in this city. We are creating and
collecting, with our own private means, the material

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. Ill
requisite to our enterprise ; and relying on nothing but
our own exertions, they will, of course, be such as can
scarcely fail to be beneficial to those who may become
our pupils, and must contribute something to the gen
eral advancement of the profession in the west.
"As a fellow-citizen of Ohio, I take the liberty of
soliciting your individual confidence and support toward a
project which I shall continue zealously, if not ably, to
prosecute for the remainder of my life.
" I have the honor to be, respectfully,
"Your obedient servant, "Daniel Drake."
Some things in this letter can hardly be understood
¦without an inkling of Cincinnati medical politics, which,
by the way, would make a very curious chapter. One
particular only can be referred to here. At a meeting
of the Faculty of the Medical College of Ohio, at which
three members were present — Dr. Drake presiding — one
gentleman made a motion that the presiding officer be
expelled ; the other seconded it. Dr. Drake, as in duty
bound, put it, and, of course, it carried; after which he
left the chair, made his bow, and retired. With all the
Doctor's talent, he seemed to lack the ability to control
men ; he had but little cunning — that resource of weak
minds. Had he been Aristomenes, he would not have
escaped to the fortress of Ira; for he could not have
followed the tracks of a fox. Perhaps he was ambitious;
perhaps he was headstrong and uncompromising; per
haps he was impatient at seeing colleagues, from whom
he had hoped much, doing comparatively little to ad
vance the interests of the College or of the profession
to which they belonged. Certain it is that he had diffi
culties and antagonists wherever he went. Sanguine and
energetic, he was himself an unsparing adversary. Woe
to the man, sooner or later, upon whom he directed his

112 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
ire. He had wit, argument, satire in abundance, and a
dauntless, relentless spirit of pursuit. It has been said
that he sometimes, under strong provocation, used the
ad hominem without the argumentum. But this, perhaps,
is apocryphal. Well do I know, however, from the
manner in which he talked of a duel that was arranged
between a certain professor and a certain non-professor,
but whieh the magistrate luckily exploded before the
pistols were loaded, that he had "combativeness" pretty
well developed. Although the Doctor had foes, he
never failed to have friends, whom he could command to
almost any extent.
His manners were remarkably engaging. I know a
clergyman, having no claims upon him further than an
introduction, who was so kindly treated by him that he
remembers him with gratitude to this day. The Doctor,
having taken him by the hand, set him at ease at once;
and, after a short and pleasant interview, as the clergy
man arose to depart, the Doctor seized him by the hand,
as if he had been an old acquaintance, and said, "Let
me see you this evening to tea. Dr. B., of Oxford, will
sup with me, and I expect a few friends to meet him.
Will you make one of the number?" According to his
invitation, the young clergyman called in the afternoon,
and found, to his surprise, many of the magnates of the
land. Being but a youth, a clergyman, a Methodist, the
only Methodist in company, and being dressed according
to the straitest sect of Methodists, he felt no little em
barrassment. Formerly he had been something of a
dandy, but no sooner had he united with the Church
than his beloved brethren disrobed him of his usual
guise, and arrayed him in their most approved clerical
habit, made, however, iii the most disapproved manner,
so that it called forth many a humorous remark from
his former friends — a circumstance which, while it in-

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 113
creased his embarrassment in company, did not prevent
him from being an obedient son in the Gospel. He
remembered that St. Paul said, "If meat make my
brother to offend, I will eat no meat while the world
standeth;" and he inferred, if fashionable clothing
make my brother to offend, etc. The Doctor did not fail
to observe his uneasiness, and took special pains to allay
it, directing his conversation especially to him, till he
made him forget every thing in his own gratification.
In personal appearance the Doctor was not imposing.
He was of medium hight, rather slender, but compactly
built, with muscular, agile limbs; his face had coarse
and expressive features; his head was long and his
forehead low. It appeared lower, however, than it actu
ally was, from two circumstances — one was that his curly
auburn hair grew low down toward his eyebrows; another
was the full development of what phrenologists call the
organs of perception. From this region his head rose
with a gentle slope till you reached the crown, where
the organs that strengthen all the rest, to speak phreno-
logically, sat upon a massive throne. He dressed in a
plain though neat manner. I never saw him wear orna
ments of any description, or even use a cane. He
walked generally with rapidity; and as he pressed through
the thronged streets, he would hardly be taken by any one
for a man of consequence.
His social qualities were remarkable. His acquaint
ance being extensive, his threshold was often crossed by
guests, whom he always treated hospitably. Indeed, his
house was almost always open ; and whenever a notable
stranger was in the city, it was usually the scene of a
party. On several of these occasions it was my good
fortune to make one of the number. It was one of the
Doctor's weaknesses not to count the cost. Although he
always had a leading and lucrative practice, and during
10

114 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
the latter half of his fifty years' professional service
added the avails of a professorship to his fees, he never
became rich. He was not oue of those doctors who
count the fees more carefully than the pulse. Addition
did not seem to enter into his pecuniary calculations — if,
indeed, he ever made any — and the only rule of arith
metic in which he appeared skillful was reduction. This
is a peculiarity which often attaches to greatness, but
rarely to littleness. It is gratifying to learn that toward
the close of life he was much more agreeably situated,
and that he left behind him a comfortable home. Per
haps this was owing to the fact, that in later years, as
he traveled abroad considerably, he had fewer opportuni
ties of displaying his hospitality and generosity. It may
be, too, that his former embarrassments had learned him
a lesson of prudence, though he did not seem inclined
to that species of instruction ; his mind was too much
absorbed, and his hand too near his heart. Indeed, I
think he felt somewhat like Carlyle, who says. "Nature,
when her scorn of a slave is divinest, and blazes like
the blinding lightning against his slavehood, often enough
flings him a bag of money, saying, 'That, away; thy doom
is that !' "
On occasions of ingathering at his mansion the Doctor
appeared to be the happiest of the happy. He, however,
never indulged in levity, but, with all the radiations of
his cheerfulness and the flashes of his wit, maintained a
becoming dignity; he appeared to illumine every one
who came within the light of his countenance. On one
occasion, which is fresh in my memory, in the winter of
1836, he invited the professors and pupils of both the
medical schools — Ohio Medical College and Cincinnati
College — together with the lawyers, judges, doctors, etc.,
of the city. His double parlor and hall were well filled;
few, if any, pretended to sit. We were distributed into

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 115
little groups, according to elective affinity. In one cor
ner, as I learned, there was placed, after I left, a buck
eye stump, to call forth a species of oratory peculiar to
western genius — a kind, too, in which few men could
excel the Doctor himself. In due time the company
moved, as best they could, to an adjoining room, where a
splendid supper was in waiting. As there were no
ladies to soften the intercourse of the party, except the
beautiful misses — now, I am told, sage matrons — who
poured the coffee, it was somewhat surprising that good
order and good feeling were preserved to the close.
None but a genius presiding could have prevented occa
sional outbursts of unpleasant feeling. Those will ap
preciate this remark who know any thing of the genus
irritahile of which the party was chiefly composed. Dr.
Drake had just brought into existence the Medical De
partment of the Cincinnati College; the jealousy of the
Ohio Medical College was at its hight; the students of
the different schools sympathized with their respective
professors; the medical societies were debating doctrinal
points in relation to which the different colleges in the
city took opposite sides. Well, out of the abundance of
the heart the mouth will speak, and there must be in
these groups unpleasant altercations. But the Doctor
will interpose. Here he is, coming toward a group
rather larger than the rest, who have gathered around
two disputants that have grown warm in debate. Having
gently made his way to the contending parties, the Doctor
stands a moment, with smiling countenance, and seeing
a Dr. Woolley opposite to him, he takes one of the dis
putants by the arm, and nodding to Dr. Woolley, says,
" You take that gentleman under your wool, and I will
take this one under my feathers." The group joined in
the hearty laugh, and, as the Doctor moved off with his
willing captive, one cried out, "I hope you will hatch

116 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
him out a young Drake." "Nay, nay," replied the
Doctor, "a young eagle." In this way the presiding
genius kept order in the midst of confusion, and har
mony in the midst of strife. I have often contrasted
such exhibitions of his power with the storms that he is
said to have raised around him in the colleges with
which he was connected, though, doubtless, these have
been greatly exaggerated.
He was a man of very extensive information and un
ceasing application. In mathematics I have no doubt he
was well educated. In the languages he had, I suppose,
respectable attainments. I have been told that he stud
ied the Latin grammar after he entered upon practice,
and devoted to it regularly the spare moments during
which he waited for his meals. He did not, however,
value languages very highly; he was wont to say, "Wo
need minds, rather than tongues, in the medical pro
fession." In the natural sciences he was a master; and
his composition shows him to have been versed in belles-
lettres. All his accomplishments were probably due to
his own unaided exertions. The only professional charge
which I ever heard brought against him was, that, in
stead of confining his attention strictly to his profession,
he extended his researches over the whole domain of
science. It were well, as he once shrewdly observed, if
such a charge could be brought against some other mem
bers of the profession, whose walks, to say the least, are
none too extensive. He was a foe to all narrow-minded
ness. He was at home any where in nature, of which
he was a fond observer — in science, in poetry, in philoso
phy, in the practical arts and the fine arts. Hence, his
conversation was remarkably interesting to almost every
one with whom he met.
Although devoted to his profession, he did not neglect
the general interests of society. Few men had more

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 117
public spirit. He was among the most able and earnest
champions of the temperance cause. To no man, not
even Dr. Beecher himself, is that cause in the west more
indebted. Disconnected with the clergy, and a leading
member of a most influential profession, his words told
with irresistible effect upon the masses. Nor was his
eloquence addressed to the populace alone. At an early
day he delivered an address on temperance before the
Legislature of Ohio, which, being published and dis
tributed by the members of that body, contributed greatly
to enlighten all classes. The mode in which he treats
the subject is so philosophical, the illustrations are so
impressive, and the argumentation is so clear, that it
could not fail to carry conviction to every candid reader.
It is not the less valuable, in a certain circle, because it
is confined chiefly to the physiological causes and conse
quences of this sin, and its temporal bearings upon indi
vidual and national character and happiness. Some
time during the winter of 1836, if I err not, at a meet
ing called to consider the propriety of a railroad connec
tion with the Atlantic at Charleston, South Carolina, I
found among the chief advocates of the measure Dr.
Drake and General Harrison. Many of the leading cap
italists of the city looked with jealousy upon the propo
sition; and, as it was understood to be a favorite with
Dr. Drake, he was looked to for answers to the objections
which the jealousy had conjured up. He was called for
toward the close of the meeting by general request, and
dispersed the opposition. He subsequently attended the
Knoxville Convention — the salient point of those move-
rnents which will soon connect the Ohio with the south
ern Atlantic seaboard, and enable the north and the
south to exchange fruits in a few hours. In the College
of Teachers he was a leading spirit, taxing his energies,
in the most busy season of the year, to prepare ad-

118 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
dresses or reports for it, or to participate in its discus
sions. As a writer Dr. Drake stands in the first rank. His
matter is always important ; and considering how much
he wrote, this is no small praise. His style is generally
viforous and neat — often elegant; he expresses truth
clearly, and by his lively fancy often throws an irre
sistible fascination around the most repulsive theme. It
is not a little remarkable, considering how the Doctor was
educated, that his pages frequently sparkle with tasteful
classical allusions. To illustrate these observations, I
introduce a few quotations from a semi-professional re
view of some works on physical education.
Of stimulating drinks he says : " Students commit
upon their physical systems the most deplorable outrages
with these fascinating stimulants. No other drinks
impart such excitement to the feelings and faculties of
the mind. To the sprightly they are nectar; to the
dull, the waters of Pierus — who under their influence
rise like Dedalus, and soar for an hour on the wings of
genius." Of absurdities in dress he says: "Did our daughters
escape from the trammels of fashion when they escape
from their leading strings, one source of our professional
income would be dried up. But fortunately for the
faculty, a time arrives when, fascinated by fashion, as
tho sparrow by the serpent, they yield themselves up,
and walk deliberately into new shackles, prepared and
brandished to their view by maternal affection. Now
comes the bed of Procrustes — not, however, to bring all
our daughters to the same length, but the same breadth.
The shaft of the animated column must be compressed
in the middle; its proportions improved, till it shall
approach the beau ideal of the beau monde, and captivate
the beaux. What does it signify if the stomach, lun"-s

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 119
and heart, like plants sprouting beneath logs and stones,
should germinate in new and unnatural directions, or be
arrested in their growth, or fall into disuse — will not the
end justify the means? Who would not prefer sick
ness and premature death to the criticisms of the haut
ton ?" This extract has been extended to give you a
specimen of his delicate and peculiarly characteristic
raillery. Touching irregularities in sleep, he says : " The ambi
tious and excitable should not be permitted to abridge
the necessary hours of sleep for the prosecution of their
elass studies. They should never sit up to a late hour
for this purpose. They study much better, and with less
injury to the constitution, in the morning than at night.
To retire early and rise early is the law and inclination of
childhood, which the usages of society frequently contra
vene. Young men devoted to study frequently perpetrate
the same violation, and never escape the penalty — weak,
watery, and inflamed eyts, headaches, indigestion, or
irritability. The emulous youth should be admonished
that he can not scale the hights of Parnassus by mid
night assaults. Even the Ogre boots of Fairy-land would
avail him nothing if drawn on during the hours conse
crated to rest."
Concerning exercise he says: "The dandy of the
drawing-room can not expand into an Apollo Belvidere,
nor the sluggard into a Hercules. Animated grace and
living strength can come only from exercise."
Speaking of the ancients he says: "The motives for
promoting a good development and preserving health and
vigor in ancient times, connected themselves with the
great functions which men were called on to perform in
society; while the methods by which they of necessity
acquired their knowledge were favorable to the same ob
jects. Having, as we have seen, when compared with the

130 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
moderns, but few books, they supplied the aliment of
thought by observation, and the practice of observation
kept them active. The great map of external nature lay
unfolded before them, all fresh and beautiful from the
hand of the Creator; they traversed its untrodden wilds;
clambered its frowning and unsealed precipices ; de
scended into its deep and unexplored valleys; meandered
its streams, as they murmured through vast and unpeo
pled solitude; marked the external features of general
nature; listened to the chorus of the animal kingdom,
from the bee of Mount Hymettus to the lion of Abyssinia;
inhaled the fragrance of the vegetable world, and feasted
their vision on its forms and colors in a region which,
more than any other, combines the useful plants of the
north with the luscious fruits and beautiful flowers of the
south; their eyes wandered among the clouds, and noted
the forms and colors which portend changes in the con
stitution of the air, the causes of which philosophy has not
yet revealed ; beyond the clouds they counted the stars,
and gave names to the various con-stellations ; finally,
turning upon themselves, they studied man in society as
he then was, not as he had been, by observation instead
of historical research, made him display himself in action
through all the stages of life, and looked on, and
applauded, and registered his feats in the Elean, funeral,
and Neptunean games — in the gymnasium, the portico,
and the grove — in the arena, the circus, the forum, and
the senate. Philosophers then traveled on foot from city
to city, as a means of that improvement which is now
sought by crawling from alcove to alcove of our molder
ing libraries; inhabiting a genial climate, they read and
conversed, and thought in the wide and moving air; the
teacher then assembled his pupils around him in open
colonnades, or under the shade of majestic and embower
ing trees, where they breathed a pure atmosphere; while

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 121
the fanning trees kept down that fever of the brain which
consumes the studeilt of modern days."
I have made this extract to let you into the secret of
the Doctor's power as a thinker and writer. His educa
tion, from necessity at first, and subsequently from
choice, was, in a great measure, under the open arch of
heaven. Imitating the ancients in their mode of learn
ing, he imitated them also in their raciness and origin
ality of thought, in sternness and inflexibility of will, and
in freshness and wealth of illustration. In his strictly-
professional productions his style is more chastened ; he
rarely indulges himself in any play of fancy; but in his
non-professional articles, where he gives loose to his im-
ao-ination and emotions, he sometimes holds the heart
O I
spell-bound. What can exceed the following description?
I wish I could give it to you as I received it fresh from
the author's lips, "in a voice soft as the breath of the
south on abed of violets." He is describing a pleasure-
excursion of a school :
"Spring is unfolding her beauties; the air is genial;
the light is now and then interrupted by a passing cloud
raised high in the heavens, and threatening no shower to
damp their ardor; the meadow lark perched on the crag
of a decaying stump, and the cat-bird in the thicket,
raise their notes, and the urchins hasten to the spot, and
put the songsters to flight; the squirrel is then treed,
and lies flat and quiet on the limb, while club after club
flies harmless by; one boy, more aspiring than the rest,
attempts to climb the trunk, becomes dizzy and slides
sheepishly over its rough bark, ashamed to catch the eye
of her whose admiration he sought to win, and half pro
voked at the shouts of merriment which his failure called
forth, to die away the next moment when some straggler
announces a now violet raising its timid head through
the leaves of the preceding autumn. Then the steep hill,
11

122 BIOGR.A.PHICAL SKETCHES.
and the race of the boys and girls to its top; the descent
to the new and shaded hollow beyond ; the jumping of
the little brook, and the young gallantries it brings forth ;
the lying down to drink of some thirsty boy, and another,
filled with mischief, putting his face into the water from
behind; the discovery of a petrifaction, and the gathering
together to wonder at its form and struggle for its pos
session. Now the admiration of the half-expanded buds,
and a transient comparison of those of different bushes !
Then the union of all the boys under some leader, desig
nated, as it were, by instinct, to roll over the rotten log,
and the discovery of a harmless little snake ; the instinct
ive impulse to kill, the haste and uproar of the execution,
and the terror of the girls, who afterward see a snake in
every stick they are about to tread upon ! The continu
ance of the ramble till it reaches the dogwood, the rose
bud, and the buckeye, with their blooming limbs ;
the climbing, the breaking, the throwing down, and the
scrambling below, till all are loaded to their heart's con
tent; and, by some new route, they return home, fatigued
and hungry, to tell of great discoveries and boast of great
deeds." As a lecturer Doctor Drake was very interesting. It is
not always, nor even often, that good writers are good
speakers; &r example, Burke, a most magnificent writer,
was called the Dinner-bell of Parliament, because his
rising was a signal for the members to depart. Doctor
Drake possessed great versatility of genius. I have heard
him, I suppose, a hundred times in the lecture-room, and
rarely have I seen him use a manuscript in giving in
struction to his class. In his earlier years he probably
wrote his lectures in full — when I heard him he was
about fifty years of age. He often hesitated, both in
private conversation and in lecturing, as if at a loss for a
word, but when he found it, he sounded it like a clap of

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 123
thunder. Frequently, at the commencement of a lecture,
he was cold, but he would seldom conclude without
kindling into a blaze. On one occasion, when I took a
stranger — a physician from the north — to hear him, he
was dull throughout; and, on leaving the lecture-room, my
friend could hardly be persuaded that he had been listen
ing to Doctor Drake. When, at last, his doubts were
dissipated, although he was assured that the Doctor was
unusually prosing, he insisted that, as a lecturer, he was
vastly overrated. The next day he heard him again, and
was better pleased; the third day he listened to him once
more. This time the Doctor was peculiarly happy. Dur
ing the two preceding lectures he had been hewing the
beams of his chambers, cutting his columns from the
marble, and melting the metal for his spire ; and now
eaeh stone, eaeh beam, seeks its place, shaft after shaft
rises on its base, the walls are finished, the cap-stone is
put on with shouting, the spire pierces the lower clouds,
and the architect walks around to point out the order,
and magnitude, and proportions of the edifice. Glancing
at my friend's countenance, I pould but perceive the
working of strong emotions — admiration, surprise, aston
ishment. As we passed out of the door he said, with his
fa«e, nay, his whole person, full of expression: "I give it
up ; don't say a word; that is Doctor Drake." His chair
at this time was "The Theory and Practice of Medicine."
I had heard Chapman, Eberle, and Jackson on the same
subject, but I could not think any of them equal to
Drake. Disregarding all former systems, he, with pro
found and searching analysis, laid hold of general prin
ciples, and traced them to their legitima,te results; ho
taught men to prescribe, not for the names of diseases,
but for their symptoms ; he grouped diseases according
to their pathology, following, in general, the works of
Andral; he put the young mind upon the track of

124 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
thought; he encouraged it to observe, to reason, to gen
eralize for itself, and, while it paid a due respect to
authority, to seek a better repose for its conclusions.
He was still more brilliant in debate. He knew, at a
glance, his adversary's position — its strength and its
weakness; he was conscious of his own power; he laid
down no proposition which he did not feel sure that he
could sustain; he quoted no evidence of dpubtful author
ity; he arrayed his argumentative forces with consummate
skill ; and, being very ambitious, he was fully determ
ined on victory; so that, when he charged, it was with
a soul well equipped, well disciplined, and wrought up to
its highest energies — at times appearing terrific by its
majesty. I have been told that in debate with Doctor J.,
of Philadelphia — the best debater of that medical
Athen.s — ^Doctor Drake came off triumphant; but this I
can not affirm. I saw him in debate with Doctor H., one
of his own colleagues. The subject was the modus ope
randi of medicines. Doctor H. contended that they
always operate by sympathy; Doctor Drake that they
sometimes operate by absorption also. The champions
approached the arena in the prime of life : each had a
favorite for which to contend — one around which his
thoughts had centered, by day and night, for many of
his best years; each seemed anxious for the contest;
each confident of the victory; each with his chosen
weapons, firm and furbished; each with a proud, determ
ined soul. During the first evening it was doubtful
which had the advantage. Doctor H. moved upon his
antagonist strongly, steadily, nobly. Doctor Drake sus
tained the attack firmly— that is all. They seemed like
two well-matched regiments in the charge, when, from
line's end to line's end, steel meets steel and shoulder
answers to shoulder. The next evening the debate was
less sustained ; there were heavy blows given and received

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 125
on both sides, but there were occasional relaxations and
pauses It was pretty evident, however, that victory had
shown a disposition to perch upon the Drake standard,
though both parties claimed her. The third evening
Doctor Drake proceeded slowly, but steadily, to erect
around himself a Gibraltar of defenses, in spite of all the
annoyances of the foe. And now he looks out from his
castle, to defy his assailant. The besieger plants his
battering-rams, and thunders with all his power, and
thunders again with redoubled fury; but all in vain.
And now that he is exhausted, his secure antagonist
comes forth to show him how easily he could spear him,
and how friendly he is to spare. How hard pressed Doc
tor H. was, is clear from this : he resorted to the despe
rate proposition that God has given both to animals and
vegetables, under certain circumstances, the power of
creation; and, in illustration, he asked, "How other
wise can we account for the immense quantity of carbon
which is necessary for the annual growth of our forests?
or for the lime with which the coral reefs of the ocean
are built up?" — lime, as he assumed, not being contained
in sea- water. His object was to show, that the foreign
substances proved to have been found in the fluids and
even solids of the body had been created there by the
vital functions, and not taken into the general circulation
by absorption. It was easy to answer the questions of
the Doctor, and also to show the absurdity of the general
proposition. Dr. H., however, bore himself so gallantly
that next day, when he entered the lecture-room, he was
greeted with three times three cheers.
As a traveler perhaps Dr. Drake performed his great
est service. For many years he spent the summer season
in tours of observation, with a view to his great work :
"A Systematic Treatise, Historical, Etiological, and
Practical, on the principal Diseases of the Interior Valley

126 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
tT,Pv annear in the Caucasian, Af-
of North America as^tW^app^^^^^^^^.^^ of its Popula-
rican, Indian ^^^^^^^ ,,g^,ded as the labor of his life,
'"a"o7wrch the first volume is before the country-I
''" the world ; and it has been pronounced abroad
thTiTatest scientific work which America has produced.
It has placed Ohio, in literary and scientific character,
beside Massachusetts; Cincinnati beside Philadelphia;
and has borne the name of Daniel Drake as far as those
of Physick, Franklin, Eush. True, it does not announce
any startling discoveries ; but it embodies valuable facts,
which could have been gathered only by immense and
discriminating labor, combines recent improvements from
foreign sources with those of our own country, and binds
the whole together with practical observations, which
serve nicely to eliminate the doubtful from the certain,
and direct to a right application of all the truth that it
communicates. As a practitioner Dr. Drake was eminent. Many say,
however, that as a mere practitioner he had competitors
who ranked above him. This statement is not all unrea
sonable. There are certain natural gifts that fit a man
for clinical service which are not generally bestowed;
such as a peculiar delicacy of sense, of touch, of taste,
of eyesight ; a rapidity of thought which reaches conclu
sions as by instinct, and which is the very opposite of the
cool reasoning which marks every step of its progress ; a
nice discrimination^ which can divide "a hair twixt
north and north-west side " — above all, a determined
dogmatism that sets all doubt at defiance. Nevertheless,
the Doctor was a safe physician; he seemed to practice
rather more upon the expectant system than his brethren
in the west generally did twenty years ago. I say not
that he followed Stahl in a practice which has been styled
a "meditation on death," or that his practice was not

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 127
sufficiently bold and vigorous. It was my good fortune
to be under his care, and to enjoy his attention, his kind
ness and his benevolence. During the prevalence of
cholera, several cases of that disease occurred in the fam
ily in which I boarded, and came under his treatment.
The patients were young children, and it was delightful
to mark the solicitude he felt for them, the sympathy he
manifested for the friends, the tenderness and love with
which he watched over the little sufferers or received
them to his arms, and his serene countenance, which was
enough of itself "to purge a pestilence;" finally, to
mark the success of his treatment.
His moral influence was good. He was reared, I be
lieve, under Baptist influence; but after his marriage,
which occurred in 1806, he usually attended the Protest
ant Episcopal Church, of which, during the last eight or
ten years of his life, he was a consistent member. He
always entertained a profound veneration for God, and
respect for the Bible, the Sabbath, and the Church. I
heard him deliver a set of Sabbath morning lectures, in
the hall of the Cincinnati College, to his medical class,
and such others as desired to attend. One of these was
on the Bible — its perfection, its grandeur, its title to uni
versal acceptation; another on the Sabbath; a third on
temperance; a fourth on gaming — its causes and fearful
consecjuences; another on Sabbath reading, in which he
enumerated a long list of works in theology, showing
himself as familiar with theological as with medical liter
ature. I never heard him advance any heterodox opin
ion, or recommend any theological work but such as or
thodox divines approve. He had no bigotry. Though
he admired the unsurpassed literature of the English
Church, he could do justice to others. For example, he
often remarked that he thought the Methodist preachers
the most truly eloquent men in the country. His regard

128 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
for sacred things was not that of the politician; he felt
their divinity; and it was not so much because he would
have the world virtuous and happy that he recommended
the Bible, as because he believed it to be true. In Janu
ary, 1845, he writes, in the medical journal of which he
was one of the editors, as follows — he is speaking of the
Bible: "A faith in its wisdom as a book of mere human
origin, such a faith as its careful study will never fail to
inspire, may exert on the character of tho individual the
most genial influence. Under this view of its power it is
that we recommend it to all who desire to cultivate their
moral sentiments, their social feelings, and their man
ners. If it should not succeed, the case is hopeless.
The deductions of moral philosophy will in vain essay to
mold the heart which has resisted the sublime and simple
precepts of the Bible. But there are higher and holier
considerations, to which we now ascend. The Bible de
clares itself a book of revelation on the destiny and duty
of man. If this be a fact, its profound and diligent
study must be the duty of every man. But here steps in
skepticism, and pronounces that, as it does not know that
such was its origin, it is under no obligation to study it.
Now, let us suppose that when Dr. Jenner published to
the world that cow-pox was a preventive to small-pox,
and would preserve the vaccinated, the profession at large
had cherished the same skepticism, and refused to read
his book, would they have been guiltless ? Would not
the lives of the victims of small-pox have been required
at their hands? Do we not carefully examine every new
system of medicine before we condemn it? Is it not ac
cording to the plainest dictates of common sense that we
should do so ? What is the firm fabric of modern medi
cine, but the combined materials which a critical exam
ination of all the books that have been written for more
than two thousand years has extracted from so many

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 129
masses of error, and perpetuated to the present time?
Why, then, apply a different rule to the Bible?"
When he became a subject of grace, and united with
the Church on profession of his faith, he manifested a
remarkable change in spirit; he seemed all at once to
pass from the heroic character to the Christian. Once
"daring and active, quick in his sensibilities, jealous of
his fame, eager in his attachments, inflexible in his pur
poses, violent in his resentments;" now "meek, yield
ing, cotnplying, forgiving, not prompt to act but willing
to suffer, silent and gentle under rudeness and insult,
sueing for reconciliation when others would demand satis
faction, giving way to the pushes of impudence, conced
ing and indulgent to the prejudices, the wrongheaded-
ness, the intractability of those with whom he had to
do." His private virtues were as notable as his public la
bors; as a friend faithful, as a father affectionate, as a
husband most attached and loving. I would not, if I
could, lift up the vail to show his private hours, but I
know enough to utter what I have. It was his misfor
tune to lose his wife, a most lovely woman — a niece of
General Mansfield — in 1826, when he had scarce reached
his prime. The loss of a wife is a most appalling one.
It is awful to follow to the grave a father or mother,
worse to yield up to the arms of death a child; but
neither of these bereavements can, perhaps, be compared
to the burial of a wife. When this wife has been re
garded with romantic affection, how shall it be endured?
And such was the love of Dr. Drake for his bosom com
panion. In treating of pulmonary diseases he sometimes
alluded to her in strains fitted to draw tears from every
eye. Dr. Darwin — in that strange book, the Zoonomia —
says, that the more happy a man is in domestic life the
more certainly and speedily will he escape from widowhood,

130 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
should he fall into it; but the world does not indorse
the opinion. If it be true, it certainly needs qualifica
tion. It is right that a man who loses his companion
should seek to replace her; but it is also right that he
should show a decent respect to her memory. Where af
fection for a first wife is intense, there is generally an un
willingness to contract a second matrimonial alliance;
the grief occasioned by the loss is overwhelming, and
bears the mourner onward in sorrow to the grave. Dr.
Drake never married a second time, although he moved
in a circle in which he could have found many a lady
well worthy of his hand. He mourned over his loss till
he died, not with murmuring, not without hope, but with
a chastened, abiding, luxurious grief.
In conclusion : we have in Dr. Drake an example of a
self-educated man. Let no one despair because he does
not enjoy collegiate training; let no one presume because
he does. Although a man may rise to the highest emi
nence by his own unaided exertions, let him not despise
aids. He will find difficulties enough in the great battle
of life to develop all his energies. Dr. Drake, after he
had placed himself on a par with his best competitors,
crossed the mountains to attend medical lectures, and ac
cepted, with becoming pride, a medical diploma. He
had three qualities which will sooner or later make any
man great: Industry. He labored assiduously; he inves
tigated thoroughly; he left no stone unturned till he got
to the bottom of his subject. Unity of aim. He was a
man of one work. Although he studied other books be
side those of medicine, he made them subordinate, and
even tributary to it. Although he took an interest in
common schools, in colleges, in railroads, in temperance;
in fine, in every enterprise which promised to advance the
interests or happiness of the community, he never forgot
that he was a physician; he never forsook the bedside

RECOLLECTIONS OF DR. DRAKE. 131
of the sick or the pillow of the dying. He was not at
tracted from the path of duty by the fascinations of poli
tics, the allurements of trade, or the golden visions of
speculation; he was not repelled from it bythe ingrati
tude of patients, the power of pestilence, or the progress
of quackery. Confident in his principles and his prac
tice, he clung to them to the last in faith and hope.
Had he turned his attention to politics, he would have
been distinguished ; he was a great man, not merely a
great physician; his greatness did not depend upon those
qualities or combinations which peculiarly fit men for
medical and surgical practice, but upon those which make
men great in any sphere, particularly the parliamentary.
At Washington he might have placed himself beside
Clay or Ewing — the former of whom he resembled in
many points of character ; but he was wedded to his pro
fession. He was right; he might have acquired more
ephemeral fame, more pecuniary reward ; but he needed
no stronger stimulus to exertion, no higher sphere of use
fulness, than his profession afforded him — no loftier name
than posterity will award him — no richer benison than the
gratitude of a suffering race. He had moral principle.
Without this he might have been distinguished but not
beloved. I doubt, however, whether he would have ac
quired distinction; for I believe that both his industry
and his professional devotion were mainly due to his
moral principles. These, too, preserved him from many
temptations, especially in early life. Formerly the bottle
was presented to the physician wherever he went, and
thousands fell beneath its power — thousands, too, who
had talents equal to those of Drake. Moral and religious
feeling bore him up against intemperance as well as
many other fashionable vices, and carried him onward
through years of buoyant health to a green old age. He
might, perhaps, have still lived had he not prescribed for

132 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
himself in his last illness — an imprudence to which phy
sicians are too prone. I am told that he committed the
same mistake as Dr. Eush did under similar circumstan
ces : he bled himself, even under the protest of medical
friends, and soon sank down into a typhoid state.
He died — November 5, 1852 — leaving his great work
unfinished; but he died in tranquillity and in the Chris
tian's hope. I say he died, and yet he did not die;
" For " is Ae dead whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high ?
To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die !"
Eather let us say, he is fallen — not as the rain-drops on
the mountain's side, soon to pass away — not as the ava
lanche, to carry destruction in its descent; but as the
tree falls in due season, to fatten the earth with its fruits
and scatter wide its seeds — seeds which the winds and tbe
waters shall bear away, to germinate and bring forth in
climes which have never known the parent trunk ; and
yet, he has not fallen like the tree, to perish from the
earth which it has blest; he is transplanted to the para
dise of God, to bloom forever by the river of life. Who
has caught the mantle of this ascended medical prophet?

JOHN BEMO, THE SEMINOLE. 133

ITTE had the pleasure of hearing, in Cincinnati, in
'' 1846, from this young man, a sketch of his life.
He is a Seminole Indian, and was born in the year
1825, in Florida. When quite young his father took
him to St. Augustine, where his tribe were accus
tomed to sell their furs. In the streets of that city his
father met with an old and familiar friend of the same
tribe — King Philip. After exchanging salutations, these
attached acquaintances repaired to a grog-shop, or, as
John describes it, "a poison-shop, where they hang the
red curtain behind the door." After drinking freely,
they quarreled, and were pushed fighting into the street,
where, for a long time, they were the sport of a crowd
of white men, who gathered around them. Having
fought to exhaustion, they sank down, gory with wounds,
upon the pavement slippery with their blood. When
they had somewhat recovered from their fatigue, the
whites, by signs and taunts, provoked them again to
combat. The second engagement was more protracted
and bloody than the first. At length John's father fell,
and King Philip, after staggering a few paces, fell also.
The crowd now dispersed, and John took a seat by the
head of his father, upon the bloody pavement, weeping
and begging to go home; but the father made no re
sponse. Toward evening, however, he arose, and, silent
and staggering, led his son to a deserted house on the
shore, where he lay down, and placed by his side his

134 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
boy, who was still begging to return home. In the
morning the child arose and found his father dead. He
remained seated by his side, and weeping, till some per
sons came with a wagon, dragged the corpse into the
woods and buried it. Upon the grave John seated him
self to weep over his father, and think of his mother.
But soon becoming alarmed, he started to look for King
Philip, to take him home. He found that the chief had
gone. What was he to do? He had heard that all
white men, except the William Penn men, were enemies
to the Indians. He walked the streets, and looked into
every lane, and habitation, and store, but could see no
broad hats. In several windows, as he walked through
the town, he saw cakes and loaves; but, though pinched
with hunger, he dare not ask for them. As he walked
down to the beach in despair, a sailor met him, invited
him on board a vessel, and gave him a biscuit. At this he
was astonished. "Why," thought he, "here is one good
white man who is not a 'broad hat.' " Presently others
came around him, and treated him with equal kindness.
He counted them and found there were eight. "Now,"
said he, within himself, "if ever I get home, I will tell
my nation that there are eight good white men besides
the William Penn men, and that I have seen them all."
An interpreter was brought on board, through whom he
was informed that if he would stay in the vessel he might
go round to Key West, and afterward return home. To
this he assented. Next morning he woke up and saw
nothing but sea and sky. "Ah!" thought he, "this may
be the way to go home,,but it does not look like it." He
sailed from port to port for many years, and visited
Europe, Asia, and Africa. At length he became much
distressed on account of his sins. Day by day his agony
increased, till he became unable to do any thing but
mourn. An old pious sailor inquired into his case, and

JOHN BEMO, THE SEMINOLE. 135
found that he was convicted. "Don't grieve so," said
he, "your Savior has died for you — for all. You are
young, and have had no opportunities of doing much
wickedness. I committed many and grievous sins, but
when I went to Jesus he forgave them all. He will for
give yours.'' After much reflection he went into the
hold of the ship to seek his Savior. "When I sank down
upon my knees," said he, " there was a great world of
light. In the distance was a very beautiful, smiling
image, and I called to it, but it would not come. It
pointed to my feet. On looking down I saw all my sins — :¦
every little boy that I had fought with, every bad word I
had said, everything, all around me. I wept and prayed
for forgiveness. I took up one sin and held it up, and
said, 'My Jesus, I did this, will you forgive me?' and
another, and said likewise, and so on, till I felt that all
were forgiven. Then my Savior made a door in my
bosom and entered in. I then went on deck and told
what the Lord had done for me. The sailors gathered
around me and wept at my words; and I wanted to open
the door in my breast to let them peep in and see my
Jesus. God has been my father from that time." He
would have returned to his mother long since, but for
the Florida war. After sailing several years, he met, in
Philadelphia, with a mariner's preacher, who persuaded
him to attend a school among the Friends. Here he
remained a year, and learned to read. He then pro
ceeded to rejoin his people, who had been removed to
their new home in the west, when he found them in great
want and distress. Upon inquiring for his relatives, he
ascertained that they had been killed in the war. He
commenced laboring in the Sabbath school, the day
school, and the pulpit, but found it necessary to quit
these labors of love, for the purpose of going east to
make an appeal to the whites, that he might obtain food

136 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
and raiment to preserve the Seminoles from starvation.
He succeeded in raising four thousand dollars for this
object, which was converted, chiefly, into goods, and
shipped. The vessel in which they were sent was sunk,
the goods being uninsured. Thus he was compelled to
renew his appeals.
There were several things pretty clearly developed, in
cidentally, in the course of the young man's address :
1. The unjustifiable character of the war upon the Sem
inoles: in which flfty million dollars were consumed, and
many valuable lives lost.
2. The warmth of attachment felt by the savage heart.
"When," said he, "a white man loses his wife, he sheds
a few tears, feels sorry a few days, and wears crape on his
hat a month or so, and all is over; but when a Seminole
loses his companion, he buries her in front of his wig
wam, and fences up her grave. He goes to his native
mountains to gather wild flowers, to plant upon the place
of her rest, and watches, year after year, that no bird, nor
beast, nor child shall find footing upon it, to disturb its
quiet, or trample upon its flowers. If he is driven from
his country, he goes to that grave, digs up the bones that
it conceals, wraps them in his blanket, and bears them on
his back till he finds another resting-place for himself
and his dead." This attachment to the graves of their
friends is the great reason why they are so reluctant to
migrate. 3. The cruel manner in which Indians are generally
treated by the whites. A civilized city saw the Indians
referred to battle each other just as they would have seen
dogs fight. They saw the savage gladiator creep into a
deserted house to die, without offering to bind up his
wounds. They saw the lone and fatherless child wander
their streets, without offering him a morsel of bread to
appease his hunger, or a shelter under which to repose

JOHN BEMO, THE SEMINOLE. 137
his head. A few sailors alone had pity upon him ; but
mark the obtuseness of their feelings, or the laxity of
their morals. Would they have taken away a white child
without making efforts to restore it to its friends? What
sympathy had they for the heart of his Indian mother?
Had they heard the boy describe his mother, and his last
parting with her, they must have known something of the
strength of an Indian mother's love, as well as an. Indian
son's attachment.
The above is a very imperfect sketch ; nor can I pre
tend to have given the language used. The day may
come when the American will blush at that page of his
tory which will record the origin, the progress, and the
termination of the Florida war, in which human beings
were hunted by blood-hounds, and driven from a sunny
home — entombing the dead they revered— to a cheerless,
sterile wilderness, toward the setting sun.
12

138 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

|r. |0ttij|jtjCnt.
IN the death of Dr. Houghton, geologist of the United
States in the copper region of Lake Superior, the
west, the whole nation, science, suffered loss. * * *
In personal appearance he was far from commanding.
He was of short stature, slender form, light hair, and ef
feminate features; but his head was long physically as well
as metaphysically, and his eye keen and animated. In
nearly all these respects he resembled the Stagirite.
Well educated, both academically and professionally, he
found a welcome and a home in the west, where he en
tered upon the practice of medicine — an employment
well suited to his talents. His mind was not contempla
tive, nor ideal, nor metaphysical, but eminently practical.
His thoughts rested upon the outer world, rarely glanc
ing at the upper or the inner. Largely endowed with the
perceptive powers, he was not deficient in the reflective ;
but he used the latter chiefly to compare, to classify, to
generalize; and when he reasoned, it was by induction
rather than analogy. He was little inclined for the fine
arts; he cared more for the quarry than the column; the
song of the wind, than that of the muses. For a priori
reasoning and metaphysical investigations in general, he
had a sort of contempt. Passing with me one day
through the library of the University of Michigan, he
pointed to Kant, when the following dialogue ensued :
Dr. H. "Do you know President M. of Ohio?"
T. "Partially."

DR. HOUGHTON. 139
Dr. H. "I once took him through my cabinet, showing
all its beauties, and attracting his attention; but I could
not elicit from him one expression of approbation or de
light. After I had wearied myself in vain, we came to
the library, when, seizing upon Kant, as if he had found
a gold mine, he cried with rapture, 'Ah ! here is the
thing — have you ever read it. Dr. Houghton?' 'Enough
of it,' I replied, ' to know that the author did not under
stand what he was writing about.' Now, sir, any man
who can prefer a volume of metaphysics to the beautiful
works of God that we have collected in that cabinet,
from the three kingdoms of nature, is a simpleton."
Dr. Houghton was distinguished rather for intensity
than power of mental action. He differed from Frank
lin as the galvanic trough of many small plates differs
from the calorimeter of two large ones. The one goes
through obstacles with a shock, the other calmly con
sumes them. He had an amazing celerity of movement
in mind as well as muscle; he could form and execute a
judgment at a moment's notice. His labors were unre
mitted. Inheriting a good constitution from nature, he
strengthened it by industry and temperance; hence, his
health and cheerfulness were rarely disturbed. He had
mechanical genius, which was of great service to him in
dentistry, surgery, the laboratory, and the geological sur
vey. He was one of the few favored chemists who excel
both as lecturers and experimenters. Medical practice,
it seems, did not afford him sufficient excitement, for he
spent his summers, during the last fifteen years, in ex
ploring expeditions in the north-west. Having an enthu
siastic love of nature, an indomitable perseverance, a re
markable faculty for observation, and a good foundation
of elementary knowledge, he soon became distinguished
as a naturalist, and his talents were called into requisi
tion both by the state and general governments. Before

140 BIOGR.VPHICAL SKETCHES.
his death, he had acquired a knowledge of the regions
of his investigation which no other man has, and which,
may be, ages of exploring will be necessary to recover.
In many respects he was an exception among students.
They are generally slovenly, he was remarkably neat;
students are usually negligent in pecuniary interests, he
was keen-sighted. I believe he passed safely, and more,
through the speculating mania, which ruined so many of
his neighbors; and if I am not greatly mistaken, he had
been, for years, rapidly accumulating wealth. Men dis
tinguished for science rarely meddle with government :
he, like Arago, often moved the capital by his political
maneuvers. We blame him not for this, for he turned
all his political power to the advancement of science. It
would be well for the country if more of our scientific
minds had influence at Washington.
He was remarkably courteous. Whatever were his en
gagements — whether drawing draughts, arranging his
cabinet, poring over some new work, with animated eye
and fervid mind, or making out a report for the govern
ment — he instantly suspended his labors to welcome his
guest with cheerfulness and cordiality. How different
from the ordinary student ! If you happen to call upon
him when his thinking-cap sits uncomfortably upon his
brow, or when, having finished the labors of the day, he
wishes to calm his mind for the repose of the night; or
if you come to introduce to him a favorite author, or
some means to facilitate his enchanting study, or some
scientific news of deep interest, you may expect a smiling
countenance. But, perchance, he has a systematic meth
od — assigning one definite period of the day to Greek,
another to natural science, another to composition, an
other to devotion, and the rest to domestic and worldly
duties, and the enjoyment of society; now suppose you call
upon him at one of his sacred periods, or drop in for

DR. HOUGHTON. 141
foolish chitchat just as he is in the midst of important
and perplexing problems, or when under an inspiration he
has never felt before, and may never feel again, he is
driving his pen over pages of light, what sort of recep
tion will he give you? He may not treat you rudely, for
intelligence implies politeness; but he will treat you
coolly; and the more you strive to talk him into a good
humor the darker will his brow become. And no won
der; would the miser be pleasant if you thrust your
hand into his coffers to abstract his gold ? Time is the
student's gold, or, rather, his philosopher's stone, with
which he transmutes every thing into gold. Dr. Hough
ton, however, was always lively, always cordial. If he
wished to get rid of a troublesome guest, he would do it
with a sweet ingenuity, which, while it increased your
admiration of his genius, would not diminish your esti
mation of his friendship; but, generally, when oppressed
with company in study hours, he preferred, after making
a pleasant apology, to work and talk together ; a twofold
task which few men are able to perform. To ministers
of the Gospel, he was peculiarly kind, respectful, and
hospitable. Besides contributing his full share to the
support of the Gospel in several Churches, I have known
him occasionally to slip a ten dollar bill into the hands
of a clergyman, in such a way as to illustrate the direc
tion, "Let not thy right hand know what thy left hand
doth;" nor was this with any sinister intention, for his
ambition was not for popular favor.
He was a man of dauntless courage. Though very
small in person, he seemed to fear nothing when in the
discharge of duty, or the pursuit of knowledge. He was
at home in the wilderness, and knew how to control the
wild beast and the wilder savage. He stood fearless with
his hammer on the solitary sand beach, or the lonely
reef, far away from the utmost verge of civilization.

142 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
Foremost he walked in the hour of danger; firmly he
held his helm, and raised the voice of encouragement
amid the white caps when the hardy voyagers trembled.
Nor mountain, nor rock, nor storm, nor stream, was a
passless barrier to his adventurous footsteps.
We often apply the term courage to pusillanimity, fe
rocity, and even madness; but, surely, we use it properly
when we apply it to the man who toils, at the risk of life,
to discover and develop the resources of a country, and
thus multiply the means of human support and human
happiness. Dr. Houghton's death was eminently characteristic.
He was in pursuit of science — on a dangerous voyage.
When the sailors said, "We had better go ashore," he
replied, "We had better go on." The storm increases —
the breakers dash — a sailor significantly hands him a life-
preserver, but he lays it by his side; a heavy sea fills the
vessel — it is bailed out, and followed by another — the
boat capsizes — a sailor ascends from the water and seizes
the keel; on looking round, he sees the geologist and
draws him up. Even under these circumstances. Dr.
Houghton's courage and hope fail not. Mark, too, his
nobility of spirit. Addressing the sailor, he says, " Nev
er mind me, Peter, try to go ashore if you can. I will
go ashore well enough."
Perhaps some may deem him to have been imprudent
and rash; but we should beware how we censure. In his
fifteen years' experience in similar excursions, I have no
doubt he often escaped under circumstances of even
greater apparent perih
Wilson, the ornithologist, died from the ardent pursuit
of a rare bird, of which he had long been in search.
But who would convict him of imprudence before consid
ering his character, and the circumstances in which he
was placed ?

DR. HOUGHTON. 143
Of Dr. Houghton's religious character, although long
acquainted with him, I can say but little.
He was no atheist; he repudiated atheism as the
grossest absurdity. The pages of nature, which he was
continually studying, were to him so many hymns of
praise to God.
He was no deist. He never expressed to me any
doubts of the authenticity and divine authority of the
holy Scriptures.
He was not heterodox in his views of religious doc
trine. The last time I saw him, he said to me very earn
estly, "I believe in the doctrine you preached last Sab
bath." The sermon was on total depravity, and the ne
cessity of regeneration. His mind was too philosophical
to admit this doctrine and deny its dependent ones.
He was no stranger to religious thought or feeling.
This he directly assured me in the conversation just al
luded to. "But," he exclaimed, "how can I attend
to religion in the whirlpool of business ?" "Insufficient
excuse," I replied. "David, with his immense kingdom,
found time for devotion. Daniel, with the concerns of a
hundred and twenty provinces on his hands, could kneel
down to pray, morning, noon, and night." Alas ! how
many professing Christians devote themselves, with a zeal
no less ardent, and an effort no less constant, to much
less dignified and useful pursuits, and with far less wor
thy motives ! Let the reader see that he estimates more
correctly the worth of an immortal soul, the pleasures of
religion, and the treasures of the skies.
Men, such as Dr. Houghton, have often more religious
feeling than they are willing to admit, or we are willing
to allow them. For aught we know, there may have been
moments of anguish when he bowed before the cross, and
sent out an arm of faith, and felt something within him
far better and holier than a sentimental or philosophical

144 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
admiration of the Almighty. May we not hope that,
when the fires of the final day shall shine, not only
through the history of the world, but also through that of
the hearts of all the rational beings who shall have been
its inhabitants, we may see reason why the Divine Being
may, under the plan of redemption, welcome the subject
of this brief article to the world of light?
Our acquaintance with Dr. Houghton terminated some
time since. He may have become truly and publicly re
ligious since that period, as he had a beautiful exemplifi
cation of the divinity of the Gospel in his own happy
family.

JAMES m'intire. 145

AEUDE wind was blowing from Lake Erie, and dense
masses of broken clouds were darkening the heavens,
and sending down their snow-flakes upon the earth,
already whitened, when I emerged from a small, new,
unpainted, frame dwelling, in the middle of a ten-acre
field, and glanced at the deep forest that encompassed
the clearing, and the solitary road that led through it.
" 0," said my hostess, as she folded her arms, shrugged
her shoulders, and, shivering, drove the little children
back to the fire, "you had better not go." "No, no,"
said a kind-hearted man in a round-breasted coat, as the
wind played with the long, rich locks that hung over his
shoulders, "you had better stay till the roads freeze up —
you don't realize what you are undertaking." "Let him
go," said the tall, bald circuit preacher as his blue eyes
sparkled above his Eoman nose, and the blast whirled
off the pen that was sticking above the ear, "he must
have his way. Let him work out his own salvation."
"0," said I, "I promised to go home after the first
quarterly meeting. I expect to meet all my brothers
and sisters there at the_Christmas holidays." Adjusting
my leggins, tying my handkerchief around my camlet
cloak at the waist, and drawing down tightly my new
broad-brimmed hat, I plunged into the snow, followed by
my host — who had just come round the house from the
haystack— and soon mounted my little pony, which had
been some time kicking at the gate-post. I will not
13

146 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
attempt to describe my journey; for I kept no account
of the mud-holes or the stumps, nor how many times I
had to dismount to get poor Dido out of the mud, one
leg at a time. I was going home to see mother, brother,
and sister. "God, and home," were in my heart. Com
ing back, however, the road seemed the longest and the
worst that ever horse or human footstep traveled. On
my last day's journey, I was twelve miles from my des
tination, when the sun was near the horizon, and a
driving rain commenced. On one side was a dense
forest, on the other a small clearing, at one extremity of
which, on a little eminence, stood a neat frame school-
house. From this building a multitude was slowly dis
persing. It was pleasing to see them, young and old,
male and female, some on horseback, some in carriages,
.some in wagons drawn by oxen, and here and there one
picking his way by the roadside, walking on a log, or
eluding a mud-hole by creeping along the post-and-rail
fence. All seemed cheerful and happy; the young ex
changing glances, the old congratulations, the youthful
saint making the woods echo the praises of Jehovah,
and the mother in Israel uttering a subdued amen, as,
musing, " the fire burned." I halted a moment to in
quire the character of the meeting, and was informed
that it was a two days' meeting of the Methodists, held
by father M'intire and a few other local preachers. No
sooner was the name of the presiding preacher an
nounced, than I began to feel a strong inclination to
stay. Having heard of his eccentricity and his elo
quence, I wished to see and hear him for myself. But,
then, what would my colleague say ? Where could I put
up ? I had not yet recovered from the solemn admoni
tion of my venerable father, given on the eve of my
recent departure from home. " Edward," said he, as
he puffed the curling clouds from his long pipe, "Ed-

JAMES m'intire. 147
ward, if you must be a Methodist parson, be a high-
minded one; don't sponge."
E. " What do you mean, father ?"
F. "Mean ! why you know what I mean — pay your way.''
- E. " But St. Paul says, 1 Timothy v, 18, speaking of
the ministry, 'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth
out the corn. And, the laborer is worthy of his reward.'
Do not all denominations act upon the principle that
'they which preach the Gospel should live of the Gos
pel ?' Did not the Savior, in sending out the seventy
disciples, give the following instruction : ' And in the
same house remain, eating and drinking such things as
they give; for the laborer is worthy of his hire ?' Luke
X, 7. Moreover, ministers are forbidden to entangle
themselves with the affairs of this life."
F. "Well, well, my boy, you are learning to quote
Scripture, at any rate. I am pleased to see that. But
other ministers don't sponge as Methodists do."
E. "Because the Church does not require them to
travel so much."
F. "Yes, yes; but I have known ministers to travel
extensively, and yet refuse to seek the hospitality of their
brethren." E. " Ay, but the Church gave them good salaries, aud
we Methodist ministers get but one hundred dollars a
year. But what am I to do? I am called to appointments
where there are no taverns."
F. " Then stop at the nearest."
E. "But my means would soon be exhausted."
F. "Then cease till you can recruit."
E. "After all, father, whence your aversion to this
arrangement ?"
F. " Why ask such a question ? Does not your own
sense Of propriety answer it? Intrude upon people, and
not ashamed !"

148 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
E. "They don't consider it intrusion, but accommoda
tion. When I bring a minister home you seem to be
delighted, and anxious to render him happy. Now judge
other people by yourself."
F. "Well, but promise me you'll do the best you can
to avoid intrusion."
E. "Certainly."
While recalling this conversation my horse halted at
the school-house door, and a friendly voice cried out,
"Brother T., how do you do? Dismount, and let me
introduce you to brother M." This warm reception
evaporated my scruples, and I was soon walking up the
aisle after my guide. On the steps of the temporary
pulpit stood a tall, stoop-shouldered man, in earnest dis
course with a crowd that had gathered around him. His
outer garments were of linsey-woolsey — his manly breast
was scarce concealed by a coarse fiannel shirt, buttoned
around a neck incumbered with no cravat. In one hand
he held a rude cap, scarcely large enough for a boy of
thirteen, while he slowly passed the other around among
the motley crowd about him. His countenance was inde
scribably fascinating; and yet I can give no good de
scription of it; his chin and cheeks were prominent;
his nose not exactly Eoman nor exactly Grecian, but
small and straight, and turned up at the end; his eye
sparkled charmingly between long, dark eyelashes, while
from his heavy, black eyebrows a broad, smooth, finely-
arched forehead rose up like Olympus. Mothers and
daughters, fathers and sons, were weeping and rejoicing
beneath the kind words which distilled from his lips, and
the sweet remembrances which they called up. Taking
one by the hand, he says :
"And are we yet alive.
And see each other's face ?
Glory and praise to Jesus give,
For his redeeming grace."

jAJiES m'intire. 149
Taking another: "Well, mother, you are much nearer
the grave than when we last met. Is Jesus precious?
Does he lead you into green pastures and beside still
waters ?" Turning to a young man : " And is this James ?
The Lord be gracious unto thee, young man." Then turn
ing to a young mother, who had long waited to catch his
eye, he says, "Is it well "with thee, Susan — is it well
with thy child? Jesus took little children in his arms
and blessed them. 0, sister, raise this child for God.
If Christ should meet you on your way home, and give
you a drop of his blood, what would you do with it?
You would bring it to this altar, would you not, sister ?
Ah, he has given you something more precious than his
blood; for he shed that to redeem this dear boy." Pres
ently my turn came. "And this is brother T., is it?
Well, how is my friend and your colleague Harry ? Ah !
brother T., you have entered upon an arduous work ; but,
if faithful, you shall have your reward. The path of an
itinerant minister is not thorny, but rosy. Be humble and
prayerful, and you shall realize the assurance given to
Paul, 'My grace is sufficient for thee.'" Then putting
his broad hand upon my shoulder, he said in a sweet but
commanding manner, "Brother T., you must preach to
night." T. "0, I hope you will excuse me; I am tired and
unprepared; and, moreover, I would much rather hear
you." With a singular expression of countenance, he
replied, "And I suppose the people would, too; hut you
must preach any how." This was my introduction to a
man of rare excellence, with whom it was my privilege
afterward to become somewhat familiar.
He was eccentric. I have received the following ac
count of his conversion. While yet young, and the
acknowledged leader of a band of generous, brave, but
frolicsome youth, over whom he exercised an undisputed

150 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
sway, he all at once became thoughtful, and in a season of
religious declension, before even his most intimate friends
knew that he was serious, he went around the neighborhood
notifying the people that there would be a religious meet
ing in the school-house in the. evening. The lass at her
spinning-wheel, the matron at the loom, the young man
at the wood-pile, and the old one at the barn, suspended
their work for a moment to inquire who was to be the
preacher. The answer of the youth was always the
same, and given with imperturbable gravity: "I intend
to talk to the people myself to-night.' Some laughed
outright, others stared, and some became alarmed, think
ing the young man crazy or profane. During the day
he went to the chase with his comrades, and toward
evening he was seen approaching home with a grave but
cheerful countenance, bearing his share of the game.
After a light supper, taken in haste, he marched to the
place of convocation, and, lo I what a crowd. As he
looked around upon them, it seemed as though every
body he had ever seen was before him. And what
various emotions moved the assembly ! Some had come
expecting an exhibition of mirth and wit, some to pre
vent a riot, of which they had some apprehension, and
some to gratify a vain curiosity. The speaker arose, and
with perfect self-possession delivered a most solemn and
impressive discourse, showing the responsibility of man
and his obligations to God— the sublimity of Christian
doctrines and the purity of Christian precepts — the
blessedness of a holy life and the necessity of a pro
fession of Jesus Christ before men. He then alluded,
with humiliation, to his former folly and impiety, spoke
delicately of the change which he believed grace had
wrought in his soul, and in tones, terms, and looks of
manly tenderness, expostulated with his unconverted
friends upon their ingratitude and rebellion, and invited

JAMES m'intire. 151
them to the cross of Christ, the path of obedience, and
the bosom of God. The effect of this address can be
better imagined than described. There are times when,
although no extraordinary instrumentalities are employed,
and those who love Zion weep over its desolation, God
comes from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount
Paran, covering the heavens with glory, and filling the
earth with light; he charges the whole atmosphere with
divine influence, and cleaves, as with electric fire, the
high places of wickedness; the dwellings of man mourn,
the curtains of the land tremble, and the people, with
quivering lips, cry out, " 0 Lord, we have heard thy
speech, and are afraid." Then come the bow of promise,
and the chariots of salvation. There are Other times
when he speaks silently, but widely and powerfully, to
the hearts of men, spreading conviction as with the
breath of the pestilence; but here is an instance in
which, without apparent instrumentality, he speaks to one
poor soul as with the still, small voice, in which he came
to the prophet, after the wind, and the fire, and the
earthquake had passed, and makes that soul the instru
ment in the conversion of a community.
Not long after this he emigrated to the northern part
of Ohio, then a wilderness, and entered the itinerancy.
He wore but little clothing, and that of the coarsest
kind. He divested himself, in public, of coat and shoes,
whenever they were unnecessary, with as much noncha
lance as he would take off his hat. He once delivered a
Fourth of July oration. In the audience collected to
listen to it, was a gentleman from New Haven, Connecti
cut, who stopped on his journey to celebrate the day, and
listen to a western speaker. He had been long seated on
a backless bench, near the stand erected in the grove for
the occasion, when the orator appeared, slowly walking
up the steps, without hat, coat, shoes, or stockings.

152 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
Such were the gentleman's disgust and mortification at
the sight, that he could hardly persuade himself to
remain. But he had scarce gazed into the light of the
preacher's countenance before his prejudices began to
dissolve ; and when he heard a voice sweet as an Eolian
harp, uttering periods of surpassing power and beauty, he
lost sight of naked feet and shoulders, and, with open
mouth, gazed spell-bound upon the charmer till the
peroration was ended. Eeturning to his lodgings, he
had something to talk about beside missing garments.
Brother M'Intire's negligence as to personal appearance
was not the result of monasticism or superstition. One
of his first circuits embraced an incipient city on the
bank of a bay scarcely less beautiful than that of Naples.
In this place there was a small society of Methodists,
and a large proportion of gay people, au fait to all the
refinements of attenuated civilization. They who think
that all the cultivation is in the east are mistaken. In
this little city were collected, from different points of
New England and Old, a number of families of broken
fortunes but indomitable energy, determined to recover
from the forest the comforts they had lost in the city.
They presented, on the Sabbath, a congregation which
would do no discredit to Trinity, Broadway. When
brother M'intire first came among this people, some of
the good sisters, headed by the wife of his colleague,
waited upon him to request him to "trim up." "My
dress," he remarked, "is suitable and comfortable."
" But," said the ladies, " you are now to preach to a very
fashionable people, and if you go into the pulpit with
such an appearance of negligence, many will refuse to
hear you, others will listen with prejudice, while some
may make you the subject of ridicule. Will you not
wear some collars and bosoms which we have made for
you?" "Certainly," said the preacher, if you think it

JAMES m'intire. 153
necessary in order that I may gain access to the hearts
of the people; but you must put them on, for I don't
know how." Sunday morning came, and sister P. and
her friends came to perform the duty. The preacher
threw back his head as if he were to have his lower jaw
amputated, or the carotid artery tied. The ladies oper
ated with much care and many pins, and presently
brother M'intire was able, "by the skin of his teeth,"
to pass muster. During his discourse, the pins getting
loose, out came the bosom, first at one corner and then at
the other. Finally, the collar would get in the mouth,
and when drawn out at one side, was drawn in at the
other. On returning to dinner, he carefully dragged the
linen over his head, and, handing it to the hostess,
remarked, "Here, sister, lay this by till I come again —
I shall not need it on the circuit."
His rusticity was not the result of parsimony, for he
was sufficiently liberal ; nor of poverty, for his circum
stances were good. Perhaps it was owing to an indiffer
ence for public opinion; perhaps to a. peculiar taste,
created by communing with the "wood nymphs;" but
whatever may have been the cause, it did not create prej
udices in his mind against those of a different taste.
He rarely made a remark on the subject of dress in pri
vate or public. In allusion to the course of a common
friend, who, though remarkably neat in personal appear
ance, frequently preached on plainness of apparel, he
once observed: "I am a plain man, and love plain
things. Plainness of apparel is a legitimate subject of
pulpit discourse ; but I believe the better way is to try
to get the heart right, and then the dress will be right."
How much better would it be for us to strive to increase
the piety of the vain by kind admonitions, than to arouse
their resentment, and push them farther from God by
harsh public reproof !

154 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
He had a peculiar method of impressing and illustrating
religion wherever he went. There are some ministers
whom you know to be such only by peeping into the
Church records or the pulpit. On the other hand, there
are some who make their profession known wherever
they go, either by a long face, a haughty reserve, and a
clerical mannerism, or by reciting their experience, and
turning every company into which they enter into a
class-room. Brother M'intire hit upon a happy medium ;
he exhibited the sympathies of a man with the character
of a Christian. He seemed to penetrate the feelings and
ascertain the views of those around him by a kind of
intuition; and while free to converse on any rational
topic, he made religion, like a gentle rivulet, fiow through
the whole range of his conversation. He introduced
Christianity at home and abroad, in the field, the shop,
the street, or even the bar-room, surrounded by world
lings or deists, with just as much freedom as he did in
the pulpit. In his pastoral instruction he was wonder
fully happy. It was his custom to collect the family at a
suitable time around the fireside, and preach to them a
regular sermon, extemporaneous, but, nevertheless, as
systematic as his public discourses — making his instruc
tions and exhortations comprehensible to his youngest
auditor — treating of the duties of children and domes
tics, the responsibilities of parents, the goodness of God,
the excellence and safety of a religious life, and illustra
ting his points by interesting incidents from profane or
sacred history, passing events, or the arts of agriculture.
At the table his conversation was often impressive and
charming. For instance, on one occasion, taking an egg,
he held it up and said : "Is it not wonderful that such
an inanimate mass as this should emerge from the wings
of a mother a beautiful bird, and leap from branch to
branch, gazing upon this lovely universe, or soaring up-

JAMES m'intire. 155
ward toward that sun, filling the breeze with joyful carols?
How can we doubt what God hath promised, that after we
shall have slept beneath the wings of Jesus, we shall
rise, in angelic forms, to enjoy a world of light, and soar
upward to God's throne with the wing, and the song, and
the joy, and the triumph of a seraph ?"
Like Dow, he was remarkably fond of going among
men when they were most off their guard. The tavern
was no unusual place for him — in this respect men of
different genius dare not imitate him. Here he would
sit sometimes for hours, reasoning out of the Scrip
tures. On a certain occasion, a kind of semi-infidel invited a
preacher of his own sentiments to enlighten his neighbor
hood. A crowd collected, composed of such materials as
the reader may imagine; but foremost in this crowd was
brother M'intire, who had come to refute the speaker,
if he should produce any impression against religion.
There was, in this region, a noted Sot, whom we shall
call Tam O'Shanter. The discourse being ended, the
gentleman who had gathered the congregation brought
forward a large decanter of brandy to treat the audience.
After handing it to the preacher he presented it to
brother M'intire, who made no reply, but looked in his
face and smiled. "What are you laughing at?" said the
host, passing the bottle to another. " 0," replied brother
M'intire, "I was thinking how Tam O'Shanter would
like such meetings !" A loud laugh served for a bene
diction, and no reply to the evening address was deemed
necessary. He was adroit and powerful in argumentation. The
west is a great country. Hither population flows from a
thousand distant and dissimilar fountains. The social
mass is heterogeneous — the social elements are incom
patible. Whigs, Tories, Democrats; Americans, Afri-

156 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
cans, Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen; Episcopalians,
Baptists, Presbyterians, Quakers, Methodists, deists,
Jews, and Universalists, are often found in one small
frontier settlement. Here, too, are the land and the
air of freedom. Every thing around is an emblem of
wild independence, and invites to bold thought and fear
less expression. Here, too, are motives to restless exer
tion. Every man sees, not established institutions, and
stereotyped thoughts, and automatic movements, and
minds in straight-jackets, but a vast land, natural, moral,
intellectual, to be possessed — an arena where mind can
grapple with mind, in fair, and fierce, and unembarrassed
conflict — where every thing is to be tried, and nothing to
be favored. Immigration, for the most part, brings
energetic minds. The sluggard sighs, and dies, and
rots by his native stream. The man conscious of muscle
and mind is he who penetrates the wilderness. Western
population has two striking characteristics : fearless
expression and broad charity. We do not keep our
thoughts till they dry up. We do not start from a deist
as a child from a bear; nor look for thirty years before
we see a live Catholic, nor run when we do see him.
Every borderer learns to examine and defend his creed,
and to bear patiently with those who differ with him.
The truth is, the more we know of our fellows, the less
are our prejudices, generally. Men often differ because
they do not compare notes, and hate and dread each
other for want of mutual acquaintance. Brother M'in
tire was a fine specimen of a western preacher. He saw
institutions in a forming state, and put forth a molding
hand; he saw error laying its crumbling foundations,
and he drew his battle-ax. He feared no man. He
attacked what he thought wrong, boldly. He knew how
to distinguish between the heresy and the heretic, and
never failed to trace, through every human head and

JAMES m'intire. 157
heart, a fine vein of thought and sentiment, which he
ascribed, with gratitude, to God's grace. Hence he
shook hands with the infidel, and sympathized with the
Catholic, while he spared not the folly of the one, nor
the superstition of the other. Few men were either
feared or loved by errorists so much as he. His daring
assaults of false systems, and his unshrinking contact
with their defenders, frequently brought him into public
controversy. He was wont to say, "Truth can do no man
harm; error can do no one goOd ; if I can't defend my
system, I'll relinquish it : and if you can't yours, better
give it up." I believe he never refused a challenge. I
once asked him if he was not tired of controversy. "No,"
said he, "I am ready to meet any man, at any time, any
where between Mt. Vernon and the lakes, to debate by
the day, or by the week, or during life." Nature had
formed him for debate. He had an unusual command of
his passions. He sat down to a public discussion as a
Dutchman would to his pipe, and listened to the most
provoking satire from an enraged antagonist, as though
he were sitting for a portrait of tranquillity. When he
replied to bitter personalities, it was with the most glow
ing good nature, and as his red-hot words of love fell and
heaped up on the head of his adversary, it would seem as
though the face of the latter would be quite an acquisi
tion to one who wished to warm his hands. He was
always self-possessed; no new argument, no ingenious
appeal to popular sympathy, no unexpected applause, no
attempt at brow-beating took him by surprise — there he
sits, in the most calm immobility. Sometimes his
friends become excited and alarmed, and endeavor to
excite his fears, or rouse him to exertion, but he responds
with apparent indifference. Perhaps the adversary would
take great encouragement from his quiescence, and toss
about as though his victory was gained, or perchance he

158 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
might take alarm and endeavor to draw him out, or get
his views from his friends. He was original. There are
some men who have a particular track, from which if
they are diverted, they are "babes in the woods;" but,
as Bishop E. said, "A Methodist preacher is always at
home when in the road with his saddle-bags on his arm,"
so brother M'intire was wont to say he was always at
home in debate with his Bible in hand. He read few
books but the Bible, and relied upon his own strong com
mon sense for arguments; hence, though he could not be
drawn out of his track, he often drew others out of
theirs, by presenting views new and sparkling from un
sounded depths. Nor could he be hurried, or shamed,
or worried out of an argument which he knew to be
sound ; he would hold it up till it could be seen, and
apply it till it could be felt. It was amusing, sometimes,
to see him examine an opponent's ground. With all the
sang-froid of a chemist, he would draw out his mental cru-
crucible and put in an argument, and blowup his fires, and
ultimately hook up the worthless residuum and hold it be
fore the audience on the long wire of his logical battery.
His custom was to make but little effort in the commence
ment of debate, except to lead out his antagonist slowly
to a full committal ; then he would bind him hand and
foot, and tie him up to the post, and let him sleep a
whole night in bands; and when, at length, he pro
ceeded to apply the lash, he would go to work so slowly,
and with such unpardonable gravity, that you would sup
pose he was giving his opponent time to say his prayers
between each stroke. He had wit and irony as keen as
Elijah's, and he sometimes called them into requisition.
In the course of a debate in which he once engaged, his
opponent entered into a tedious criticism before an audi
ence that had never seen a Greek grammar, on certain
Greek words, particularly Kd^oais, (kolasis) — accenting

JAMES M'INTIRE. 159
and prolonging the penult — which he inserted in almost
every sentence ; just when the impatience of the hearers
reached its exacerbation, brother M'intire rose and ad
dressed the moderator, with a look that belongs only to
dramatic genius, in words to the following purport : " I
am sorry to interrupt my friend in an argument of such
surpassing interest and power; but that my response may
be appropriate and intelligible, I must beg an explanation
of one word which recurs very frequently in the course
of his argument. Does the gentleman mean molasses?"
It was enough — peal after peal broke forth — old men held
their sides, and young ones roared aloud. The opponent,
however, kept his feet till order was restored, and en
deavored to cover his retreat by a thundering declama
tion against the "gentleman's unpardonable ignorance."
This closed the evening's debate.
The next morning brother M'intire appeared with a
Greek Testament under his arm, and commenced in
something like the following strain : "I, sir, have never
been to college — this is my grief, not my boast. It has
been my fortune to be reared in the west, and to be
compelled to reap from a generous soil the rewards of my
own industry. The little information I have, has been
obtained at my own cheerful fireside during the hours
unpropitious to toil. True, I might have collected a
few Latin and Greek phrases, and assumed an appearance
of learning before an auditory as ignorant as myself,
but I detest quackery in all its forms. I am happy on
this occasion that I have a learned opponent, and, I
trust, also a generous one. I must avail myself, through
you, of his scholarship, at the commencement of my
argument this morning." Then taking his Greek Testa
ment, he opened it where a leaf had been turned down,
and pointing to a particular verse he said, "Mr. Mod
erator, will you request my learned opponent to translate

160 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
that passage for myself and the audience?" Tho gen
tleman stood up, took the book from the Moderator,
turned over the leaves backward and forward, looked
confused, uttered some indistinct sounds, and at length
confessed that he could not translate. As he resumed
his seat, brother M'intire rose in triumph, and cast
ing first a withering look at the opponent, and then
a significant glance at the audience, as if to say, " I
spare him," he remarked that he had no reply to make
to the criticisms on Ko^aeis; and then proceeded in his
argument, much to the relief of the opposite party.
He was eloquent. I had learned so much of his tact
in controversy, and his fondness for polemics, that when
I first sat down to hear him, I expected to listen to a
cold, flinty argument; but I was agreeably disappointed.
He drew, in a masterly manner, the comparison between
the old and the new dispensation. His descriptions of
Moses, and the sanctuary, and the altar, and the priest
hood, were graphic, and to me entirely new. At the
close he became exceedingly pathetic. He appeared to
make no effort; but the words, freighted with beautiful
thought, flowed in a steady, gentle, silvery stream, as
water from a perennial fountain. Every eye was fixed
upon his lips, and a breathless silence pervaded the
assembly. He seemed to study to restrain emotion ; and
yet his apparent efforts to allay served only to highten
excitement. He had but little gesticulation, and his
voice fell when he swept the heart's chords with the
greatest power. Hall said Wesley was "the quiescence
of turbulence." I know no man whom this description
would better suit than brother M'intire. Though far
from being showy, he was an orator. Who is the orator?
On this question there are great mistakes. Celebrated
orators are rarely such. They may have excellences,
high excellences, but not oratory. Listen to that crowd

JAMES m'intire. 161
as they disperse. "0 what a splendid orator! what a
fine forehead!" cries one. "Did you notice liis spark
ling eye, and his gesticulation?" cries another. "0, it
was the music of his voice that charmed me !" exclaims
a third. "But," says a young gentleman, "his ex
cellence consists in his chaste diction, his classic style,
and his splendid metaphors." Pshaw! if you had been
listening to an orator, you could have thought of none
of these things. What is oratory? The power to sway
the mind and passi.ons of mankind. It is indicated by
its effects, not by praiSes. Perfect oratory implies a
perfect concealment of oratorical art. When the orator
inflames the passions of an audience, let the thought
that the excitement is the result of art creep over the
assembly, and it is as though a cataract were turned
down the chimney of a furnace. Peep into this crowded
old church — see the people seated on benches without
backs, all intently flxed upon the preacher — they have
been listening for an hour in this position — see how they
lean forward toward the pulpit, and when the speaker
turns, mark how, like a wave of the sea, they turn too.
Notice their mouths open as if to catch every pulsation
of the air, and see how steadily and sweetly the tears
flow down the furrowed cheeks, while all is profound
silence, save the broken sighs that ever and anon break
from the troubled bosom. When the minister argues,
he takes you by a path so smooth, so green, and by steps
so easy, that, although he leads you entirely round the
hill, you can scarce believe that your position has been
altered. When he rouses your feeling, it seems to be
the spontaneous outgushings of your unsealed heart.
Now ask the audience what sort of a speaker is that Mr.
M'intire. " Why," they say, " he is not so much of an
orator; he reasons along like an old farmer — it is all
plain common sense. We wonder we had not thought
14

162 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
of it before; but then we like to hear him, for he
always happens to strike upon something that just suits
our case ; while he was preaching to-day, I felt my sin
and ingratitude more deeply than ever. I really did
resolve no longer to resist God's grace, but henceforth to
lead a new life."
A Baptist merchant once visited England. On his
return his friends gathered around him to hear his de
scription of the two celebrated Baptist clergymen then
in the zenith of their glory. " When I heard  ,"
said he, " I admired the man. When I heard F. I lost
the man, and have been so in love "with Jesus ever since
that I have hardly found him yet." Which was the
orator ?
For many years after his location he was a magistrate;
in which capacity he won a golden fame. Indeed, he
was peculiarly fltted, both by nature and education, to
hold a cool balance.
.Si's death was serene and glorious — fit end for a tran
quil, useful life. I met him a few weeks before his
death, and he seated me beside him on a log in the
woods for quiet converse. His countenance was pale, his
manly frame enfeebled, and a hollow cough indicated too
surely that insidious disease had undermined his iron
constitution ; but the same serenity was seated upon his
marble brow, the same kindness beamed from his ani
mated eyes, and the same wisdom and wit sparkled in
his enchanting words. When I expressed my fears in
relation to his case, he manifested no emotion — he ut
tered not a murmur nor a fear; but presented a most
lovely picture of Christian resignation. He was willing
to endure afflictions, and continue his labors, if such
were God's will; but he had a home in heaven, and he
knew that it was better to depart and be with Jesus.
A friend of mine visited him a few days previous to

JAMES M'INTIRE. 163
his decease. The scene seems to rise before me. There
is the dying saint in that rude cabin, which has been
his peaceful abode for so many years ; he lies upon that
pillow, where his weary head has so often been lulled to
quiet slumbers by the music of a conscience void of
offense ; his eye, yet unquenched, is turned toward the
window, through which the declining sun — emblem of his
beauteous death — is pouring mellow beams. The golden
harvest is waving over the lovely eminence he has se
lected for the repose of his ashes ; and the wild birds,
as if to invite him to his rest, are singing in the
branches of those green oaks that throw their shadows
around it. There sits the loved partner of his life at
the foot of his bed, watching and waiting, while the
tears fall fast upon the ground, as she contemplates an
event which, to her, seems as the loss of all earthly
comfort. There stands the son, the only child, as if to
catch some words of consolation for the painful hour.
A whisper comes from the couch, " Sorrow not as those
who have no hope."
" Well, father M'intire," says my friend, " how do you
feel in the near view of death ?"
M. "Peaceful, peaceful. My worldly business is all
settled, my will made, my property adequate to the rea
sonable wants of my family. As to my eternal interests,
they have all been attended to long since. I have nothing
more to desire than my Savior. I have faith in his
cross, he comforts me, and I rest upon hi.s bosom. I
could wish that my child, whom I am to leave in this
world, were in the arms of the Church, but I commend
him to God with a father's blessing. I have given him
and his mother my dying counsel; and I have their
promise that, at the hour of prayer, they will meet daily
at the family altar for the audible and prayerful reading
of God's word." Then, with a look full of eloquence,

164 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
he added, after a short pause, "I have great faith in
God's word. And now what wait I for but the summons
of the grave?"
He was followed to the house appointed for all living,
without pomp or parade, by a few friends whom he loved
while on earth, and whom, we trust, he will meet in the
skies. A few men of this class still survive among us ; but
they are fast passing away; they belong to a state of
society that no longer exists here — a state of simple
manners — of noble virtues — of much thought and little
reading — of communion with God and nature, rather
than a world of confusion.
God takes care of his Church, and, with infinite skill,
adapts his laborers to their work. How beautiful the
variety of the Creator's works ! The same hand that
paints the landscape, builds and beautifies the spiritual
temple. There are diversities of operations under the
same spirit. Let no one, therefore, judge rashly, or
make his own experience the standard by which to ex
amine all other Christians. Let no one judge by appear
ance. Our Savior made no show — he talked with pub
licans and sinners.

MBS. MARTHA M'CABB. 166

THE character of the faithful is the property of the
Church, and its delineation is often the means of
bringing sinners to her doors. Even when it is not thus
blessed, it may be traced with both interest and profit.
Martha Sewall, the child of Daniel and Martha Se
wall, was born- — some tWenty-eight years since — on the
banks of the Kennebec. It was her lot to be reared
among those virtuous, intelligent, and happy people who
dwell in the fruitful tract which lies between that stream
and the Penobscot. Her childhood was serene; and
long before she encountered the sorrows that shade ma-
turer life, her heart was renovated and fortified by grace.
She was a relative of that great and good man, the late
Dr. Sewall, of Washington City, and at the age of thir
teen was received into his family as an adopted daughter.
At his peaceful fireside she acquired, not only those
graceful manners and elegant accomplishments which
rendered her so easy and attractive in the social circle,
but those enlightened views and expansive religious af
fections which enabled her to feel at home within the
doors of any Christian temple, and which gave to her
prayers and charities an intense fervor and a cosmopoli
tan breadth.
At the age of twenty-four she was iinited in marriage
to the Eev. L. D. M'Oabe, Professor of Mathematics iu
the Ohio Wesleyan University, whom she loved with an
ardor that many waters could not quen«h.

166 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
She had but just entered on the arena of life when — ¦
November 7, 1850 — she was called away, not to darkness,
but to serener light and angelic ministry. Though her
record is on high, she will long be remembered on earth.
Nothing seemed wanting to render her lovely. I have
found excellence so rare, and, therefore, so precious, that
I am prone to magnify rather than disparage it. Lest,
however, I be thought to exaggerate here, I will bring a
sober, silver-haired patriarch to speak for me. S. W.,
Esq., says:
"My acquaintance with our beloved sister, brief as it
was, had attached me to her in sincere friendship, and I
could but admire the amiableness of her character, and
the sweetness of her spirit, and, when speaking of her,
often thought of an epitaph of some lady, which I read
somewhere — 'Underneath this stone doth lie
As much of virtue as could die ;
Who, while she lived, did vigor give
To as much virtue as could live ;'
for I thought hers a most beautiful countenance, and the
very personification of sweetness."
Her beautiful form was a fit tenement for her majestic
spirit. Professor J. thus writes :
"I can see sister M'Cabe only as I have seen her; her
eyes still beaming from the necessity of the warmth and
light within; her face brightening out anew into its
ready smile. I say face; for hers was a smile, not of
the mouth, but of the face, each feature radiant of the
inner emotion. I can see her hasting to some new act of
kindness, of tenderness to some dear object of her reo-ard
and affection. Such is the expression of her life which
is impressed on my mind. Such is the image of her
which I shall carry with me ; ever doing, or preparing to
do, some act of goodness. If at rest, her soul seemed

MRS. MARTHA M'CABE. 167
only composing itself for some new outgoing of affec
tion." Beautiful picture !
Benevolence was the foundation of her moral excel
lence — a grace attainable by all, though its manifesta
tions may not be equally pleasing in every individual.
Indeed, few are gifted with that gentleness of disposition,
that delicacy of sensibility, that tempered enthusiasm,
which characterized the subject of this sketch. Eev.
Mr. Sewall says :
"Is it true that our dear Martha is no more? Then
stood still as warm and unselfish a heart as ever beat.
Before religion assumed its empire there, it seemed guilt
less and pure; and what other fruit the progress of grace
produced in her character and life, I am almost at a loss
to conceive. I never had a sister; but yet I was at no
loss in understanding a sister's love; for that love was
hers. ... I only find myself able to call up the
general picture of excellence, which was never marred
by look or word, and which will remain ever fresh upon
my memory."
Her character, her life was eminently symmetrical.
A lady — Mrs. Cruikshank — has given us the following
outline of it:
"The first time I saw Martha, I was impressed by the
peculiar artlessness and simplicity of her character. I
have watched her steadily treading the varied path of
life, sometimes through the gay and bewildering scenes
of prosperity, sometimes through the dark and thorny
wilds of adversity. The scene varied; but she was the
same; ever modest, and abstemious in the enjoyment of
worldly pleasures; patient, resigned, and self-abased
under chastisement. I have seen her when her smile
and gentle courtesies adorned the drawing-room, and
when, in obedience to the call of filial duty, she left the

168 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
attractions of the metropolis, and hastened to the remote
farm-house, to minister to the comfort of her beloved
parents. Even in a fashionable morning call, the words
of kindness and piety were found on her lips, and the
same gladdened the hearts of her friends when immersed
in the cares of a household in the rigorous climate of
Maine. As a daughter and niece, she was dutiful and
affectionate; as a sister, she was kind and sympathizing;
always ready to weep with those who weep, and rejoice
with those that rejoice. Her conversion and religious
experience were marked by the same quiet simplicity and
affectionate earnestness that always attended her. She
maintained her Christian integrity as long as I was near
her, and, I have reason to believe, continued to grow in
grace to the end. Let me not be supposed to flatter.
The subject of these remarks has gone to a pure and im
partial tribunal, and would look with disapproval on that
which would have offended her while encompassed with
the infirmities of the flesh. Now I feel as if her eye
was upon me, and would only say what her spirit would
approve. She was mortal, and, therefore, not without im
perfection; but, if she erred, she erred in judgment, not
in heart. If resentment ever stirred the tranquillity of
her feelings, it was excited only against what she thought
wrong, and was always mitigated by her kindly feelings
for the offender. Her taste and intellectual ability were
superior to what usually accompany so much softness of
manner and tenderness of heart. I can speak of her
with impartiality; for I have experienced her deep and
warm affection, and have suffered under her displeasure ;
and I feel assured that the first was the habitual-_tend-
ency of her heart toward her friends, and the last the
result of that misunderstanding to which human judg
ment is liable. For myself, I can only say that I never
viewed it in any other light, and never ceased to love her,

MRS. MARTHA M'CABE. 169
and to estimate her beautiful character, as here faintly
drawn." Though she had a well-balanced mind and a well-regu
lated heart, her character was not unmarked. The pecu
liar charm of Mrs. M'Cabe's mind was found in her pow
ers of conception, taste, and affection. So vigorous was
her conception, that it seemed to me she could, at any
time, transport herself to the past. If one could write
the history of himself from the first dawn of reason,
what a volume would he produce ! — full of interest, both
to men and angels ! Eeader, would you taste the sweets
of the past? Go, then, to such a lady as Mrs. M'Cabe,
and let her transport you backward, as by enchantment,
so that, with her, you think as a' child, and laugh as a
child, till the illusion is broken, and you grieve that you
have "put away childish things."
Eschewing the exact sciences, unless a sense of duty
forbade, Mrs. M. reveled in history, romance, and geog
raphy. Her conversation was animated. Mention to her, for
example, the Eanz des Vaches, and her eye would kindle,
her whole countenance light up, as though she saw the
Swiss shepherd following his herds to the mountain,
heard the echoes of his Alpine horn, and even caught
the intervals of the beautiful melody. She could have
talked to you of the bridges of Icononzo till you grew
giddy, or of the Andes till you almost felt the contrast
from perpetual verdure to eternal snows. Her husband,
perplexed by the descriptions of Solomon's temple that
he has been reading, avails himself of her powers of de
scription, and soon he seems to stand on Mount Moriah.
He passes through the porch, opens the folding-doors of
fir, enters the holy place, observes the carved figures that
adorn the sides and ceiling, and the precious stones that
garnish them. He stands before the glittering altar of
15

170 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
incense, and between the rows of golden candlesticks.
He marks the high-priest opening the folds of the richly-
ornamented doors of olive wood that close the entrance
to the holy of holies. He looks through to the sacred
ark overshadowed bythe cherubim. Turning, he ascends
the winding stairs, and walks the galleries, and looks into
the chambers. He surveys the inner court, with its altar
of burnt-offering and molten sea, and the outer one, with
its goodly gates and royal causeway to the palace. On
this side he sees Jerusalem; on that. Mount Zion; be
low, the brook that "flowed fast by the oracle of God;"
in the distance, the olive groves, whence the gales come,
wafted with perfume, and, from all quarters, the will
ing worshipers thronging the ways. Presently he hears
music burst from the choir, and roll its thrilling notes of
praise all over the city of our God. But why should I
attempt to describe it? I must send you to some edu
cated and imaginative lady, that you may learn from her
sweet lips how Martha drew the picture, and exclaim, as
did her lover, "Now all is clear."
Her writing was sprightly. Eev. Mr. S. says of her,
"What a mind had she. Epistolary composition is
thought to be the peculiar province of woman; and in
how eminent a degree did she illustrate the remark with
her pen ! She displayed even more talent than in her
conversation; and with what accuracy, and elegance of
expression, did she favor her correspondents !
Her sympathies were lively. No one can weep with
them that weep, or rejoice with them that rejoice, unless
he can place himself in another's stead; and the more
completely he can do this, the more powerful will be his
sympathy. Mrs. M'Cabe's heart was responsive to the
softest sigh, and her tears always flowed freely with the
tears of the sufferer. Her sympathy was not, however,
irrational ; not expended equally upon the dro"wning kit-

MRS. MARTHA M'OABE. 171
ten and the dying man. Nor was it in vain, as that of
those who weep over the novel, and pass by the poor;
but it gave wings to her efforts to relieve.
Her discernment of character was nice. She could
judge of one's capacities at a distance, as the sailor can
of the burden of a ship at sea. She could measure at
tainments, as a farmer often measures hay — by an eye
glance. She could detect a mental weakness or strength,
as a practiced military engineer can spy out a defensible
or impregnable position. Hence, she rarely found her
self embarrassed in company.
Her knowledge of the human heart was still more re
markable. She could almost read your thoughts. She
put herself in your stead; and this awakened the emo
tions and passions which you yourself felt. This was the
secret of her inimitable art of pleasing. She could keep
a whole company happy, and make each one feel that he
was the object of her special attention, and that without
any art, except that of throwing out, on every side, her
sensitive soul-feelers, to ascertain each one's wishes, and
then casting those " apples of gold in pictures of sil
ver" — the fltly-spoken words of kindness — to gratify
them. Had she cultivated her powers of combination as well as
those of conception, she would, doubtless, have possessed
a glowing imagination, and, perhaps, have produced
fine poetry. Had she cultivated "form and color" —
to borrow words from phrenology — she might have ex
celled in the fine arts. She seemed, however, to have
no ambition to shine, and so little taste for study that her
friends often wondered where she obtained her stores of
information. With her softer charms she blended sterner
qualities. She had firmness, patience, energy. She could
subdue what could be mastered, or endure what could
not. Her mind, however, always moved with feminine

172 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
grace. Gentleness clothed her thoughts, beamed in her
countenance, and gave her boldest expressions a stamp
corresponding with her own sweet physiognomy, and in
dicative of a queenly soul, that never failed to disarm, if
it did not awe, the foe, and please, when it did not cap
tivate, the friend.
She had a just appreciation of the beautiful, both in
nature and morals. She had, also, a fine sense of the lu
dicrous, unseemly, and incongruous, though she sup
pressed the wit and raillery for which her tongue was so
well adapted. She had an intense abhorrence of every
thing mean. Who ever heard her expose the infirmities,
sneer at the misfortunes, ridicule the ignorance, publish
the failings, misinterpret the motives, or deny the virtues
of others ? If you did, my reader, then did you hear
what one, at least, of her friends never did, and what
doubtless, provoked from her, in her moments of reflec
tion, a fearful atonement.
Her generosity was not that of the Bedouin, who lav
ishes his kindness upon you in the tent, and shoots you
down in the plain. She thought it her pleasure to di-
mi'nis^ rather than multiply \ihiB sorrows of mankind; and
well she knew that "a wounded spirit who can bear!"
She delighted to delineate the beauties, not the deformi
ties, of God's handiwork. Especially was she pleased to
set character in its better attitudes, to study heart in its
happier moods, to trace motives by the ingenuity of that
charity which thinketh no evil, and search for graces with
the spirit of him that would not "break the bruised
reed." Pardon me, gentle reader, I must say I love the
artist that can look at your countenance, even if it is
ugly, and look on, till he looks you into a good humor,
and then, catching the expression, and seizing the brush,
cry out, " How beautiful are the works of God !" Such
an artist was the subject of this sketch.

MRS. MARTHA M'CABE. 173-
Her dress was always neat, and, though without pearls
or gold, yet tasteful, and often rich.
Her manners were simple, dignified, and marked with
propriety, civility, and kindness.
She observed with strictness the limits of her sphere.
She had no sympathy with those Amazons, booted and
breastless, who harangue the mob and clamor for the
property and the "polls." She was a warrior; but she
conquered like the sun, not like the storm. She had her
field ; but it was within the sanctuary of home. She
had her rights and privileges — to heal the sick, to re
claim the erring, to soothe the sorrowing, to revive the
fainting, and to train up souls to bless man and worship
God. She was a reformer ; but her path was not from with
out inward, but from within outward. Her plan was to
make a virtuous and happy world, by making virtuous and
happy homes. She achieved her triumphs, but in her
own way — the way of exalted womanhood. She could
shine upon the hights of prosperity; not, however, with
the maddened and fitful flames of the volcano, but with
the calm, steady, and peaceful light of the beacon. She
could descend to the vale of adversity; but not like the
"hell of waters," that dash from shelf to shelf of the
frightful precipice, and send up from the abyss an ever
lasting roar; but rather as the ribbon-like stream that
glides, with a gentle music, over the edge of the rock, to
light up the chasm with a shower of diamonds, and span
it with an arch of rainbows.
But her chief excellence was to be found in the depth
of her affections. Her heart was womanly; eminently
so. This is all that need or ought to be said. Alas ! we
men know but little of the power or the mysteries of
love. Now and then there is a Petrarch, whom neither
the temptations of greatness, nor the love of gold, nor

174 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
the shouts of praise, can divert from a beloved Laura,
and who, turning his back on kings and courts, retires to
a secluded vale to breathe out his life in songs of affec
tion for one whom neither the sweetness of his matchless
poetry, nor the graces of his magic muse, nor the admi
ration of his passionate heart, can win. Such cases,
though rare among men, are common among women.
Often, however, they are not obvious; for of many a one
it may be said —
" She let concealment, like a worm i' the bud.
Feed on her damask eheek."
Mrs. M'Cabe's love was such as the waters can not drown,
nor death itself destroy. Perhaps it was too strong; yet
may we not hope that " He that sits above,
In his calm glory, will forgive the love
His creatures bear each other, even if blent
With a vain worship, for its close is dim
Ever with grief, which leads the wrung soul back to him ?"
She was no stranger to Divine love ; for she was an
exemplary Christian. She was, however, slow to claim
the promises of the Gospel, and reluctant to profess her
own attainments in grace. In her character conscien
tiousness seemed to prevail over hope, filial fear over
faith, and penitence over religious joy. Sometimes, in
happy mood, her soul would tune a harp in Eden's bower,
or stand with Mcses on the mountain of God, or join in
the halleluiahs of the heavenly city; but it soon grew
timid, and fled to the temple, to hide beneath the wings
of the cherub that shade the mercy-seat. We may ac
count for this timidity. She was deeply read in the hu
man heart, and had formed just conceptions of the ex
ceeding breadth of the Divine law, and the awful purity
of the Divine character, without, perhaps, having taken
the same comprehensive views of the plan of salvation

MRS. MARTHA M'CABE. 175
I am told that Dr. Sewall, when he was dying, having
called around him his family, gave to each member ap
propriate counsel and blessing. On this solemn occasion
he said to Martha, his adopted daughter, "I find no fault
in you." What her uncle could not flnd in her, however,
God, no doubt, could; yet may we not hope that he, also,
found in her breast the humble and contrite heart ?
Her death was answerable to her life. She passed
away steadily, gently, beautifully, like the setting sun on
a serene autumn evening. 0, how sweetly did she say,
" Jesus, O Jesus, I lay my all upon thine altar ! I will
not remove it ; Jesus is mine, and I am his !" " Tell
my dear father and mother, and brothers and sisters, that
life is sweet; but I joyfully lay it down if it will be the
means of bringing them to .Jesus." " The Lord has dealt
so gently with me through this sickness — yes, so gently
with me all my life — I praise him; I do praise him for
dealing thus gently with me. Living or dying, Jesus is
precious." Eeader, are you a husband ? and would you learn the
value of your wife, and learn to show her the love and
tenderness which is her due ? Go, listen to the solil
oquy of the widower. Methinks I hear him exclaiming,
"0, the dreadful desolation, 0, the unutterable anguish
I feel ! I knew not the love I bare her, till I saw her
dying. She never spoke an unkind word ; she was as
considerate of my wants and infirmities as if she had
been a ministering angel. How sweet her words when
she took me in her cold arms, and said, 'I love you, and
know that you love.' When I saw on her eyelids the
shadow of death, the pillars of my soul crumbled." But
perhaps, reader, " thou art the man." Be consoled, then.
The lost one is still your "wife. Though she return not
to you, you may go to her. As you cross the remainder
of life's thorny field, let this prospect cheer you.

176 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

A T the conference of Springfield, held in the fall of
-^¦*- 1835, Eev. A. P. was recommending Thomas Dunn
for admission, on trial, into the traveling connection.
Having done justice to the applicant's abilities as a
preacher, his merits as a man, and his graces as a Chris
tian, he closed the representation by stating facts rela
tive to his age, his infirmities, and the size of his family,
which were likely to prove fatal to his application. The
conference, at that time, was accustomed to reject men of
the finest capacities and highest professional character, if
they were likely to serve but a few years, and then entail
a heavy charge upon the Church. Brother G. E., who long
since passed, though green in years, yet ripe in graces, to
the world of light, arose as soon as the presiding elder
took his seat, to say that brother Dunn was a man of
industry, economy, and thrift; that he was of such high-
minded and honorable feelings as to be incapable of bur
dening any association to which he might belong, and
that, so far from asking, in consequence of his age and
family, appointments in the vicinity of his abode, he was
ready to go to the ends of the earth at the bidding of the
Church. This speech had an electric effect. An aged
chief, seated near the President, cried out with a strong
voice, "Let us have him !" Instantly, the vote being
taken, the candidate was admitted as by acclamation.
A year after that time, brother Dunn was at the Mans
field conference. He was of benignant countenance,

THOMAS DUNN. 177
courteous manners, and unassuming deportment. In
strong contrast to the obtrusive youth who determined
"to be something in conference," even though they
should add nothing, and who were frequently speaking,
to the comfort of themselves and the annoyance of
others, he sat, an uncomplaining, silent, respectful spec
tator. One was so struck with his private conversation,
that, when it fell to his lot to make arrangements for the
preachers at the ensuing conference, at Detroit, wishing
to make a strong impression in favor of the Gospel on an
irreligious family that opened its doors for the accommo
dation of our ministers, he selected Thomas Dunn as one
of their guests.
At the Mansfield conference, and toward the close of
its session, brother Dunn preached. We had listened to
many discourses, most of them addressed rather to the
intellect than the heart. Conference, you know, is not
the place for good preaching. Brother Dunn preached
to us Christ crucified, with such a winning simplicity,
such a forgetfulness of self, and such an eager appetite
for souls, that we were moved to tears and to prayer. I
went away saying, " 0, how soul-refreshing is this simple
way of preaching !" From that time I loved him. I
can now conceive him standing before me, with his up
lifted hand, his glowing cheeks, and streaming eyes; and,
though I have forgotten his loving words, I remember
the impression they made upon me. It was good, hum
bling, purifying. As often as I have thought of it, I
have said "within myself, " How great are thy triumphs,
blessed Jesus !" Here is a preacher who has never been
to college, never studied mathematics or languages,
never, perhaps, heard of the Porch, the Lyceum, or the
groves of sacred Academus, who has heretofore been
devoted to worldly business ; and yet, with all his defi
ciencies — deficiencies which he both feels and deplores —

178 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
he SO proclaims the unsearchable riches of Christ as to
make the proudest eloquence and the profoundest philos
ophy seem, in comparison, "like sounding brass or a
tinkling cymbal." Here is a man whose capacities, cap
ital, and tastes fit him for lucrative avocations. He
might enjoy the pleasures of a permanent home, an
honorable standing, and an independent condition ; but
he consents to be a pilgrim, an object of the world's
scorn, and a dependent upon the will of a bishop, who
determines, from time to time, the place of his residence,
and the character of his hearers, and who is likely to
give to younger and inferior men superior appointments
to his own.
Brother Dunn excelled in exhortation. His peculiar
charm arose from the depth of his emotions. In describ
ing the tender mercies of "our Father," or the dying
love of his Son; in depicting the deep wailings or
deplorable silences of hell; in portraying the raptures
of the redeemed, the hights of glory, and the face of an
gels, he moved and was moved. I have never heard the
sinner invited to the cross in strains more persuasive than
have flowed from his lips.
He excelled in singing. During the progress of a
meeting held at M., a notorious skeptic, who was enter
taining one of the circuit stewards — at that time his
associate upon the bench — was induced, out of politeness
to his guest, to attend, on several occasions, the services
of the Methodist Episcopal Church. Afterward, in con
versation with a friend — ^as I have been informed — he
remarked that brother Dunn's singing had done more to
inspire him with devotional feelings than all that he had
ever heard or read. I know how to appreciate this
observation. I have heard "God Save the King" burst
from the bands of the British army, and "Hail Colum
bia" wafted to the shore from the decks of the American

THOMAS DUNN. 179
navy ; I have listened to the full choir of the Tabernacle,
and the solemn organ of St. Paul's; I have heard the
strains of the weeping widow, left penniless upon the
foreign shore, as she stood before the rude crowd of the
busy streets, with her children by her side, singing, " 0
give me bread;" but never have I been so moved by
music's power as when I have heard brother Dunn,
standing in the altar, and, with an eye upon the trem
bling sinners in the aisles, and the weeping penitents at
the railing, singing, "Give me Jesus."
He was a safe counselm-. Many times did I consult
him. Never did I regret that I followed his advice. In
management he was a master. If he could not do what
was necessary, he knew who could. He had that nice
discernment which measures another's capacities, and
that enviable policy which enables one to move every
body around him to his own advantage ; and this, after
all, next to charity, is the most valuable gift By it
princes rule and warriors conquer. Like God, and under
God, it pursues its noiseless path in the world, dispensing
all affairs. It need not be Jupiter in the heaven, nor
Juno in the air, nor .iSlolus in the winds, nor Neptune in
the sea, nor Pluto in the earth, nor Minerva and the
Muses in knowledge and invention; for, at pleasure, it
summons them all to its court, and sends them on its
errands. The agents on which men gaze, as they mark
the progress of great events, are usually secondary, often
tertiary. The primary are like the insects which build
the coral reefs — at work unseen. How great a work is
the German mission ! It is seen in the city and in the
plains, on the waters and on the lands. It is pronounced
one of the most promising means of restraining Eoman-
ism in the United States, and restoring spirituality to
Germany. Yet who, when he surveys its magnitude and
its wonderful success, and hymns its praise, thinks what

180 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
was its origin ? Thomas Dunn was the prime mover of
this machinery.
Years ago there was seen wandering on the bank of
one of our western streams, a talented, educated young
German. A melancholy brooded over his mind, which
neither our glorious sky, nor lofty mountains, nor vocal
and flowery forests could dissipate. He consulted physi
cians, but they had "no balm in Gilead." He turned to
those who were reputed wise and good, and described his
wretchedness. Alas! they understood not his case. One
of them took him into his garden, and directed that he
should be kept busily at work; but the gardener had not
seen Jesus, and the mourner came out as he went in, " a
bruised reed." He sought relief in study. To him
science and profound philosophy was disclosed; but,
among all its discoveries, he could find no invention to
pluck from his memory "the rooted sorrow." To him
the classic gate was open, and, hand in hand, he walked
enchanting regions, and trod sublimest hights; but
neither the hymns of Orpheus, nor the embattled hosts
of Homer, nor the tuneful angels of Milton could charm
the demon from his heart. From books he turned again
to nature. He had a soul to kindle into enthusiasm at
her scenes. He could say,
" Sweet is the breath of Mom ; her rising sweet
With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun.
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams."
But he was seeking God ; and he could add,
" But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this deUghtful land,
= o " without Thee is sweet."
He sought relief iu friendship. He had a heart to
love; but he wanted God, and could say, "Whom have I

THOMAS DUNN. 181
in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth that I
desire beside thee." At length our wanderer found,
within the precincts of the sanctuary, " the way, the
truth, and the life." God called him to preach; but he
was " slow of speech." His friends knew not his merits,
and were not swift in extending their confidence. At
length, in 1835, at the suggestion, I believe, of the
sagacious Bishop Morris, he was appointed a missionary
to the Germans of Cincinnati. He went out to preach
Jesus in the streets; but men looked on him as one
whom much learning had made mad. God's ways are
not our ways. Abraham in his tent, Joseph in the pit,
Moses in the bulrushes, and Nast in the streets, are the
starting-points of great enterprises. Still, something was
necessary, in each case, to bring the agent's powers profit
ably to bear. Nast was contemplative, not active — pro
found rather than brilliant — better furnished for the
press than the pulpit. In the year 1837, brother Dunn
addressed a note to the Western Christian Advocate, in
which he called attention to the condition of the Ger
mans in this country, suggested the importance of a
German press, and forwarded a subscription for that pur
pose. The happy thought traveled as by telegraph.
Donations poured in, till, shortly, the little special treas
ury was filled, and the German types bought. Nast was
made an editor. He is no more " slow of speech." He
speaks, not to scores, but thousands. His words are not
traced in sand, but graven in the lead. Germans are
converted ; German preachers are sent out ; German cir
cuits and districts organized ; and now the work is to be
fortified. A permanent Methodist literature, in the
German language, is needed. The editor translates, and
the " Apologete " press prints our standard works — books
which are likely to find their way from the banks of the
Ohio to the book markets of the Ehine. Had it not

182 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
been for his types, Nast might have toiled with as little
success as Otterbein, and Beam, and Gruber, and a host
of others who labored in the same field before him. The
proposition of brother Dunn, at the critical juncture, to
call the press into requisition, may appear to be a small
thing; and so it was; but it took the wanderer from Uz,
of the Chaldees, the Joseph from the pit, the Moses
from the bulrushes. It may appear to be a very natural
thought ; and so it was ; and so was that which led Co
lumbus to the new world.
He was an excellent administrator. Not content with
selecting the best agents, and directing them to the best
plans, he superintended their operations. He made it
his duty to oversee as well as feed the flock of God.
Many good men work ruin by their neglect. You have
heard of the Florentine who plunged the dagger in
his sovereign's heart. "Why hast thou stabbed me ?"
said the dying prince; "I did thee no wrong." "But
thy minister took the life of my brother." "I knew it
not," replied the monarch. " Then," said the assassin,
"I will stab thee again." In the final day, men may
find themselves stabbed to the second death for opera
tions of which they knew not.
In the execution of discipline, brother Dunn was at
once merciful atlM faithful. He sought to cure, not kill ;
but he had not that false tenderness whieh refuses to sep
arate the living from the dead.
Wherever a church or parsonage should be built within
his jurisdiction, he stuck a stake, and soon brought car
penters and masons to the spot. The success of a circuit,
like that of an army, depends chiefly, under God, upon
its leader. His spirit is contagious. Hence the saying
of the world's conqueror, "An army of stags with a lion
for a leader, rather than an army of lions with a stag for
a leader." The prudence, punctuality, and energy which

THOMAS DUNN. 183
characterized brother Dunn, spread through all ranks of
his officiary. His appointment to a circuit was the signal
for its elevation. In making the arrangement of the
preachers, when his name was reached, inquiry was made
for the circuit most perfectly broken down. The younger
members of conference, whose business, during session,
is to watch movements, note progress, study character,
and anticipate appointments, often make shrewd guesses,
and express deep philosophy. This class described
brother Dunn in one word when they gave him the
appellation, "the Jack Screw" — an appellation more
honorable than that of conqueror or king.
Practical men among us are rarely properly appre
ciated, either in Church or state, except by sagacious
sovereigns and bishops. The reign of Queen Elizabeth
was the most brilliant in English history. Whom did
she select for her cabinet? When reproached for not
calling the famous to her councils instead of sending
them to foreign courts, she said, " I keep my working
men for work, my showy men for show." How little
could be done by an administration or a conference of
great geniuses ! What more profound or brilliant intel
lect on the continent than Daniel Webster? Give him a
pair of premises, and he will do as much with them as
any man on earth ; but what great measure did he ever
de"nse? A senate of Websters would be a mere school
of oratory and philosophy. The "Son of man" had but
one genius among his twelve apostles.
So much for brother Dunn's outer life; now for his
inner. Of this I can speak with some confidence; for I
was on terms of intimacy with him for more than ten
years. We have sat side by side in the city and in tho
wilderness. We have been companions in the pulpit, the
carriage, the tent door, and the chamber. I knew some
thing of his heart, for I often felt its pulsations.

184 BIOGRAPHICAL. SKETCHES.
He was strongly attaclied to his friends. Always cour
teous, yet always cautious, while he readily accorded his
respect, he slowly extended his friendship ; but when he
did, he grappled you to his breast as with " hooks of
steel." He was uniform — never indulging the familiar
ity which breeds contempt, nor the coldness which
engenders distrust He was reliable — ready to promote
your interest, or defend your honor, at the hazard of his
own. He had none of that vanity which is "jealous in
honor," nor of that sensitiveness which is "sudden and
quick in quarrel ;" but much of that long-suffering which
is required alike by Christianity and common sense, and
which never fails to result from either a baptism into the
spirit of Christ, or a proper estimate of human frailties
and the trials of life. As he was wont to put the best
construction on sentences of doubtful import, to refrain
from assigning a bad motive when he could find a good
one, and to take no offense unless he knew an insult was
intended — nor even then without giving the offender an
opportunity to explain — his intercourse with his friends
was rarely interrupted or imbittered. His friendship
was sanctified. He received a friend as a boon from
heaven, and prayed for increasing benedictions upon his
soul. How few in the world that are willing to pursue
the same course !
He was magnanimous to his foes. We need not won
der that he had enemies in a world where Christ was
crucified. If any had aught against him, he observed,
I believe, the Scriptural rule. If he could not reconcile
his brother by reasonable concessions, he retired, not to
complain and injure, but to forgive and pray. Though
he loved peace, he would not purchase it at the expense
of conscience. He had high notions of honor; not the
honor that seeks the bubble reputation "e'en at the
pistol's mouth" — this, though he was reared in Virginia,

THOMAS DUNN. 185
that land of chivalry, he could not understand — but
that honor which scorns all politic compliances, and
drinks " the poison of an adversary's "wrath " rather than
lose its own self-respect. He had high notions of minis
terial character. He was careful while among strangers
and dependent on their voluntary contributions, not to
condescend to any act which might be imputed to a
contemptible love of approbation, or a culpable concern
for his own interest. In this respect he may have erred;
for the minister of Jesus can not well be too humble.
But if he could not do he could suffer all that Chris
tianity requires. Whatever treatment he received from
his enemies, " he was as a Iamb before the shearers."
He was liberal to the Church. In all her enterprises
he was cordially enlisted ; and he could 'advocate them
with a good grace ; for, so far from laying burdens upon
others which he was unwilling to assume himself, he
usually took the lead in every subscription he pre
sented. He was munificent. He dealt his bread to the hungry,
and brought the poor that were cast out to his house;
not rashly, but considerately, measuring his alms, not by
his impulses, but by the claims of the beneficiary, and
never overlooking his duties to his family and the
Church, or disregarding the law of the universe, which
decrees that if any man will not work neither shall he
eat. Of the afflicted he made no inquiries as to char
acter, but opened his hand like Him who "sends his
rain on the just and on the unjust." To the children he
was kind and compassionate; for he had learned of Him
who "hears the young ravens when they cry;" toward
the weak his sympathies gushed out, and for the op
pressed he had a ready and vindicative voice. While he
has been speaking of Africa's injured sons, or of that
generous and confiding race who once held their pastimes
16

186 BIO GR.i.PHICAL SKETCHES.
in our fragrant forests, but who are now fast retreating
toward the setting sun —
" Their heraldry a broken bow —
Their history a tale of wrongs and woe" —
I have seen his righteous soul kindle with unspeakable
indignation. He was given to hospitality. Methodists, in general,
are never "forgetful to entertain strangers." Our pro
tracted meetings, our floating quarterly and annual con
ferences, our itinerant system, our tents in the wilderness,
and our advance movements in the west, where poverty
and mutual dependence bind society together with great
force, have taught us hospitality; not the hospitality of
the Arabian tent or the Indian wigwam, but a hospitality
founded on Christian principle and spiced by brotherly
love. It exists among us, however, in different degrees,
sometimes doled out with a nice calculation of the least
amount consistent with the demands of the Church,
sometimes bestowed under a calculation of the largest
extent consistent with the resources of the host. Brother
Dunn belonged to that class, who, when asked how many
they can entertain, count not their beds, but the planks
upon their floors. There are different modes as well as
degrees of hospitality. For illustration, a timid young
man who had imbibed strong prejudices against Meth
odism, and had been thrust into the pulpit, perhaps pre
maturely, once mounted his horse to start for his circuit.
Eiding up to the door of his spiritual father, he awaited
instructions, as a son in the Gospel should. Now,
said the senior minister at A., "Call on  , a mer
chant at A. Stay with P. all night," etc. "Nay," said
the youth, "I can not take such liberties." "But,"
responded the senior, "the Church pays not unnecessary
expenses. Moreover, if you avoid the brethren you will
be considered proud, and will bar your access to the

' THOMAS DUNN. 187
people's hearts." "Well, Pll try." With fear and
trembling, and many distracting doubts of his call to the
ministry, and many depressing thoughts of his deficien
cies, he had rode twenty miles through the woods, whose
howling winds and falling and fading leaves were in
harmony with his melancholy feelings, when he emerged
into the beautiful village of A. In a hesitating manner
he rode up to the door of brother  . Unpleasant
were his feelings as he saw the merchant carelessly
eyeing him through his store-window while he hitched
his horse to the post. Entering the store with all the
confidence he could command, he introduced himself as
the colleague of brother S., and stated that he had
called by request to present his friend's regards. Hav
ing asked and answered a few questions concerning his
circuit and colleague, he seated himself in a chair by
the stove, where, after he _had "mused till the fire
burned," he arose to depart. As he passed out, the
merchant dryly asked him if he would stay to dinner,
but the young man thanked him and said he would go
a little farther. As he mounted his horse he found it
difficult to dam up his tears or press down the feelings
which choked him. Seated in his saddle, he said within
himself, " This is the first and last Methodist tavern I
call at." So, spurring his pony, he moved in a direct
line toward a sign-post. On his way to it, as he passed
with averted face the store of another Methodist mer
chant, whom he knew no better than the first, he heard
a voice calling him. Turning round he saw this mer
chant moving toward him, and by the time he could stop
his horse, he found one hand of his new friend on the
bridle-rein, and the five fingers of the other feeling for
his own right hand, which was destined to a painful
squeeze. "Dismount — dismount," said the merchant;
"no excuses." Soon the young captive was ushered

188 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
through the store to the parlor, and before he could be
fairly seated he saw through the back window his little
bay nag trotting toward the stable. He was asked
nothing about dinner except to say grace when it was
ready. The class to which this merchant belonged
Thomas Dunn did also. He received you in doors with
a heart as if his house was as large as all out of doors.
Without burdening you with attentions, he soon made
you feel " No more a stranger nor a guest,
But Uke a child at home."
The negative part of his character is worthy of re
mark. He was not a bigot. "No pent-up Utica" con
tracted his religious powers. He was no politician,
though he understood his rights and responsibilities as
an American citizen, and went to the polls as he went
to prayers; he did not forget that the kingdom of Christ
is not of this world ; that the Christian should pray for
all that are in authority, and that the minister of the
Gospel should lead a quiet and peaceable life; nor did
he forget " How small of all that human hearts endure
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure."
He was no speculator. Some ministers on the frontier
make up by speculation the deficiencies of their stipends.
It is, however, a hazardous game. I would not censure
them rashly. Let him who would, enter the wilderness
with them. But it is not to be concealed that they
often involve themselves and sometimes shipwreck their
faith. Franklin uttered true philosophy in homely
phrase when he said, "It is easy to make a full bag
stand up, but not an empty one." An apostle had said
before him, " They that will be rich fall into temptation
and a snare."

THOMAS DUNN. 189
A word in regard to brother Dunn's religious expert-
enee, and I have done. His faith was mountain-moving
and sky-opening. For him heaven and earth were in
close proximity, and the living held fellowship with the
dead. The ladder of Jacob rested its foot on his pillow,
and angels waited on his path.
His hope was strong and steady, anchoring the soul to
the upper world. His love was warm. His heart seemed
to be in unbroken communication with heaven. His
life was a festival solemnity, in which he enjoyed both
God's bounty and his fellowship. It was a treat to be
with him in his religious hours. His faculties, in such
seasons, all became tuneful; his soul turned into an
orchestra, of which love was the chorister, and the bur
den of whose choral hymn was Jesus crucified. It was
well it was so. Such were his visions of the lost, his
anxieties for the sinful, his sorrow for the loved ones
that he buried, that, had not his heart been graciously
girded, it might have broken before his errand was
done. His vigorous frame was worn down by slow decay.
For years he sat upon the banks of Jordan, his Ebenezer
by his side, his eucharistic song on his lips, the perfumes
of Canaan in his breath, and the city of God in his eye.
Suddenly, after fifty-six years of life, he was ferried
across the stream, in April, 1850, and so gently that he
seemed translated to Mount Zion without being moved
from his earthly repose.
Let us not mourn, since life, like the fruits of the
earth, must be gathered. Let us account that plant of
God's happy, which, after blooming and bearing in the
garden of the Church, is borne, like a shock of corn,
fully ripe, to the garner of paradise.
Let us be thankful to God for his life and death ; for
whatever excellences he possessed were reflections of the

190 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
perfect One. Let his success encourage us to imitate
Christ; for, good as he was, he was not good enough to
be our pattern. No lower standard is before us than the
life of the blessed Jesus.

RE"V. THOMAS COOPER. 191

%i)3. ®|0mas C00pr.
THE Eev. Thomas Cooper, though an American by
adoption and character, first saw the light — March 13,
1819 — at Maidstone, England. Having been brought tO'
this country while yet young, his recollections of his na
tive isle were quite imperfect, though he could not forget
the cheerful subjects of his earliest thoughts, nor the
beauteous scenes of his youthful gambols. Doubtless
these had much to do in forming that temper which
made his presence sunshine, and that taste which threw
beauties over every thing he touched.
His parents moved in a humble sphere, and he lost his
father in his childhood. In 1837, while scarce possessed
of the rudiments of an English education, he was ap
prenticed to a painter.
Of uncommon sweetness of disposition and precocious
prudence, he secured the esteem and attachment of all
around him, and safely passed " the slippery paths of
youth." Still, he was not satisfied with his state; he
felt that he was a sinner — that, however pure his conver
sation — however harmless and even useful his conduct, it
could not be acceptable to the divine Being, unless it
sprang from the right motive. He had heard the voice
of God saying, "Son, give me thy heart," and he knew
that he had not responded to it. Though he could con
template Nature with a poet's fancy, and regard her
Author with a philosophic adoration, he could not sympa
thize with the holiness of God's nature, the rectitude of

192 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
his law, or the grace of his Gospel. He had been to the
cross, and he knew that, instead of feeling its sanctify
ing power, he was trampling it under foot. He became
a penitent— a believer — a member of the household of
faith. What was the difference between the youth un
converted and the youth converted ? It was a difference
of motive — of emotion — of aim. The converted man
may not always be sinless, nor always devotional, but he
will have a heart to grieve over his sins and shortcom
ings; not merely for their consequences, but because
they grieve one who is so pure and so loving as God.
The converted and the unconverted shopmate may ap
pear to be passing along foot to foot; but follow them,
and if days do not disclose their deviation, years will.
Two rays near the bosom of the sun, may seem destined to
the same end; but who shall tell their ultimate radiation ?
Brother Cooper, under date Cincinnati, January 15,
1849, writes as follows: "I am staying at the house of
Eev. Mr. Herr, pastor of Morris Chapel. Some fifteen
or sixteen years ago, he was stationed at Mt. Vernon;
and at the close of the conference year a large meeting
was held. Some twenty or thirty ministers were present,
on their way to conference. In the love-feast an oppor
tunity was given for persons to join the Church; but no
one came. It was urged. At length a boy came timidly
out of one of the back seats, and, weeping, went forward
to present himself for admission. That was all — a little
boy joined. The circumstance was soon forgotten, no
doubt, by all but the boy, or thought of as a matter of
little importance; but it was a step of immense import
ance to him; for it was his first step toward heaven."
Had that step not been taken, he might, after having
painted boards and bricks a few years, have died without
hope, his name never to be written in eternal histories —
his head never to be crowned with eternal stars.

REV. THOMAS COOPER. 193
When I first saw him, he was entering the Norwalk
Seminary. Though without purse or patron, he had
many of those advantages which the Stoics classed as
"preferables" — a beautiful countenance, modest mien,
and engaging manners.
Having no resources but his own labor, he economized
as much as possible. With this view, he engaged a dor
mitory, and boarded himself, at an expense not exceeding
fifty cents per week, during the whole period of his pupil
age. Here, in this central, third .story closet, neat as a
bridal chamber, and simple as a hermit's cell, opening to
the morning sun, and cheered by choirs of birds, he
spent nearly three happy years, mingling severe study
with prayers and cheerful anthems. His dormitory soon
became the center both of impulse and attraction, urg
ing the saint heavenward, and restraining the sinner in
his downward course. The voice of prayer and the life
of love, will move the moral elements by a law as sure as
that which wakes the tempest; superior age, superior
talents, superior attainments, bow before it. While
Cooper and his companion retained their room in the
Seminary we had but little trouble among its lodgers.
Seldom was it necessary to exercise vigilance or adminis
ter reproof, and perhaps the soft footfall of the watchful
tutor was never heard in the long, dark, upper hall, after
the curfew had sounded its call to slumber, while they
were among its inmates.
No sooner had he entered the classes than he attracted
attention by his punctuality, diligence, progress, and
sweetness of disposition. Never did he fail to stand
foremost — never did he murmur at any requirement, or
ask to be excused, unless for the purpose of fulfilling
some duty to the Church. Seldom was his name called
in the weekly meeting of teachers but a pause was made
to speak something in his praise. To the Church he was
17

194 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
no less faithful; the prayer meeting, the class meeting,
the public assembly of the saints, seldom missed his
presence, or the rich cadences of his animating voice.
To say that in the various relations of class-leader, ex-
horter, preacher, he was universally acceptable, would be
to say too little ; he was universally desired. To say that
he was carried onward through the various gradations of
ecclesiastical office by general consent, is not enough; he
was shouted upward. The circuit which gave him to the
traveling connection, begged his first appointment, and
placed him with triumph, in the fall of 1842, in those
pulpits in which for two years he had exercised his gifts.
When he closed his year, many were the eyes that wept
as we heard his parting words, and thought that we
could not hope for his return.
As an orator, he had many advantages. His counte
nance was of the most pleasing expression, blending the
innocence of childhood with the dignity of age, the con
descension that could sport with infancy with the majesty
that could remain serene in the presence of a throne,
and having an indescribable charm which assured you
that he loved you as the child of his almighty Father,
and the purchase of his dear Eedeemer. His voice was
of surpassing sweetness. His matter was always interest
ing, edifying, evangelical. His subject was happily
chosen, carefully studied, well arranged, beautifully intro
duced, and impressively closed. His words were few and
appropriate — his figures original and tasteful— ^his state
ments clear — his enunciation distinct — his argumentation
cogent and coherent — his manner serious, earnest, and
affectionate. These excellences were marred by no faults.
I can never think of him but I think of Apollos. But
neither in the purity of his matter, nor the clearness of
his style, nor the power of his logic, must we seek for
his charm; it was in his spirit. 0, how sweet — how

REV. THOMAS COOPER. 195
angelio the spirit of the Gospel— the spirit of Jesus — the
spirit of heaven! You felt, as he spoke, that his mes
sage was sent directly from above. Nor did he surcease
from his labors when he closed his sermon ; if he saw
that sinners were awakened, he invited them to say, in
attitude, if not in word, "I am wrong and God is right;
let me have an interest in Zion's prayers." When, in
compliance with his solicitation, .they came around him,
he welcomed them to the mercy-seat, as one who can
"weep with them that weep." On such occasions, he
was wont, by particular and pointed, but prudent inqui
ries, to feel his way into the recesses of the heart, and
to administer instruction and encouragement so specific
and appropriate, that he could scarce fail to point each
willing worshiper the shortest path to the slain Lamb,
while in prayer it would seem as though the whole cur
rent of his emotions went up with his petitions; and
when his voice ceased, his courageous spirit appeared to
struggle like Jacob's, Had he said, in the midst of
weeping penitents, as Moses on the mount, "Yet now,
if thou wilt forgive their sin; and if not, blot me, I pray
thee, out of thy book which thou hast written," we
should not have doubted his sincerity. Some men are
good ministers as long as they remain in the temple.
Cooper was a pastor as well as a preacher; and perhaps
his most useful labor was "going about," like Jesus,
"doing good" — instructing the ignorant, recovering the
wandering, animating the sluggish, strengthening weak
hands, confirming feeble knees, ministering like a cherub
at the couch of affliction, or whispering consolation in
the ear of the dying. There are those who can make
pastoral y'lsits very well, but who lose the ministerial
character in their social intercourse. Not so with our de
parted brother. At the fireside he shone. Without
cant — without affectation — without arrogance — without

196 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
ohstrusiveness, he poured a gentle, steady, silver stream
of thought through all the fields of conversation, and un
wittingly turned every mental wheel around him to the
advantage of religion. Who that has ever been in the
family circle with him can forget his cheerful songs, the
melting prayer with which he commended the little ones
to the Father of mercies, or the heavenly smile and tear
ful eye with which he closed his interviews with the fam
ilies of his flock ? But, 0, his life — how heavenly ! Ee
ligion does but sanctify; hence, there are many good men
who have peculiarities not attractive. Grace found our
brother, like the young man in the Gospel whom Jesus
loved, so amiable, so trained, so circumspect, that the
world, who can not see the spirit, might consider him
without need of regeneration; it purified his heart, and
made him but a little lower than the angels. He was
meek as a lamb. Providence wisely arranges all things.
A good man will rarely find causes of offense. Who in
jured — who provoked — who pursued Thomas Cooper?
*' None knew him but to love him —
None named him but to praise."
His excellences were not merely negative; his breast
was the orchestra for the full chorus of graces. His
faith was strong, grasping the largest with as much ease
as the smallest of God's promises. His hope was an
anchor, giving confidence even in the storm. His love
was perfect; not so as to preclude increase, but so as to
exclude fear — I mean the fear that hath torment. He
was reverent; few men more so. Like Isaiah before the
vision of God's glory, he could say, "Woe is me; fori
am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a
people of unclean lips : for mine eyes have seen the
King, the Lord of hosts." But, like the prophet, he had
heard the voice saying, "Lo, this hath touched thy lips.

REV. THOMAS COOPER. 197
and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin is purged!"
He knew that he was encompassed with infirmities, and
liable to sin; but he knew, also, that "if any man sin,
we have an Advocate with the Father." His piety,
therefore, expressed itself not in dirges, but in carols.
You felt in his presence .
" How charming is divine philosophy :
Not harsh or crabbed as dull fools suppose.
But musical as ia Apollo's lute."
He appeared to have the victory over all his foes.
While he provided with prudent foresight for the wants
of those whom the divine Goodness had intrusted to his
care, and husbanded his surplus for purposes of benevo
lence and godliness, he did not indulge that appetite of
filthy lucre which, the more it gorges itself, does but
hanker with intenser fury. He gave one-fifth of his in
come to charitable purposes. He was neither an Ascetic
nor an Epicurean. Though he had health to enjoy
earth's abundance, he preferred the spare table, which,
as he brought to it the seasoning of a good conscience,
was sufficiently spicy to his tongue. He rarely slept the
sun up, or gave his head to the pillow while good men
were astir. He was polite without perfumery, graceful
without the ratan, and meditative without stimulating
cups, narcotic juices, or voluptuous fumes. He had no
proneness to levity — always familiar, never trifling. With
little humor, less wit, and no irony or burlesque, he main
tained an unvarying cheerfulness and a delightful bon
hommie. His sobriety was natural — the spontaneous ex
pression of a spirit at once joyous and serene. He had
no solemnity of face, nor consecrated forms of speech.
With sufficient love of society to save him from the
self-concentration of monasticism, he had sufficient love
of retirement to preserve him from the contaminations
of the convivial circle. How difficult for a beautiful.

198 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
gifted, pious young minister, with a heart forraed for
friendship and domestic joys, to move for ten years, in
all circles, without being unfortunate or imprudent in his
social intercourse ! Difficult as it was. Cooper did it.
He might have been a favorite with any lass, a beau in
any coterie, but he passed along without either embar
rassment to himself, or mortification to his friends.
He had a keen sensibility to the beauties of nature;
but when he went into the world as God's he did not, as
Cowley, go out of it as man's. With the whole compass
of creation in prospect, he could preserve his man-loving
mood. Though always serious, he was never melancholy. He
had learned to walk by faith. When the flood of afflic
tion came, he looked not at the waters, but at the bridge.
When he walked through the wilderness of the tempter,
he looked not at the depth of the forest, but at the blazes
on the trees. He cherished neither that indifference to
human opinion, which is either the mark of mean mind,
or the sure percursor of disgrace, nor that feeling which
caused the great Athenian orator to rejoice when he
heard a little woman water-bearer whisper to another as
he passed by, "This is that Demosthenes."
He was fortunate. Few ministers but encounter oppo
sition, not only from the world, the flesh, and the devil,
but from misguided good men — few whose purest motives
have not been misconstrued, whose best deeds have not
been misrepresented, or whose reputation has not been
sullied by the tongue of slander. Cooper's fair fame
never felt the breath of calumny, nor his good purposes
the embarrassment of malice, envy, or ecclesiastical prej
udice. Many purchase approbation at the expense of truth.
Not so Cooper; he did not withhold — did not diminish —
did not neutralize, though he did sweeten the bitter pill

REV. THOMAS COOPER. 199
of unwelcome doctrine. Others buy favor by flattery ;
though he could compliment distinguished merit, encour
age despairing worth, and hold out the excellences of an
associate, even a superior, to public view, he had the
Eoman integrity that
" Would not flatter Neptune for his trident.
Nor Jove for his power to thunder."
Some win popularity by negative character — by that slug
gishness which disturbs nothing, that inactivity which
produces nothing, and that narrowness which never looks
beyond the precints of its petty prejudice. Cooper was
not of this class. In counsel — for one of his age — he
was wise. Though he did not figure at conference, he
was felt. Superficial observers think the man most fre
quently upon his feet, is the most important to the pro
ceedings of a body ; wiser spectators know that he who
is perpetually whirling at the circumference, is the last
to lay a strong hand upon the center. Cooper knew
what was to be done, and how, but he modestly left it
to older brethren to set the machinery in action. I do
not remember ever to have heard him make a motion
or a speech in conference. In private conversation, in
digesting the business of committees, and in drafting
reports, his influence was felt; while in electing dele
gates to the highest judicatory of the Church, his vote
was often magnetic. In the various statellite institutions
of the conference, whether as secretary, treasurer, or
manager, he was a center of motion. Of the education
society he was emphatically — of late years — the main
spring. There are beloved brethren who are capable of useful
ness only in the regular work of the ministry. Cooper
was equally fitted for the extraordinary labors which the
interests of the Church require. When a youth was

200 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
needed as an auxiliary agent for the Ohio Wesleyan
University, the conference turned at once to him, not
only because of his capacity for the work, but of the
sweetness of his spirit — it was deemed wise to give so
bright a star the widest possible orbit He did not dis
appoint the expectations of his brethren. The accuracy
and neatness of his accounts, the efficacy of his plead
ings, the patience with which he endured opposition,
the prudence with which he obviated prejudice, and the
enthusiasm with which he devoted himself to his voca
tion, elevated him greatly. In his agency he neither
lost his spirit nor suspended his ministerial functions,
but contributed to many precious revivals.
When a Superintendent of the Western Seaman's
Friend Society looked over the North Ohio conference
for one suited to sway the minds of sailors, he selected
two, of whom Cooper was one. I shall give no offense
to the other when I say, that though the Superintendent
wrote dignior after his name, he wrote dignissimus after
Cooper's. The conference gave him his choice. Thomas,
accustomed from infancy to hear of storms, and reefs,
and shipwrecks, knew how to sympathize with the gen
erous and the too often homeless and unpitied ones who
go down in .ships. In the cabin — on the decks — in the
mariner's church, he served God with all humility of
mind, and with many tears. From ship to ship he
moved on the bosom of yonder bay— Sandusky — not ceas
ing night and day to pray for the generous sailors. They
of the warehouse saw and loved him ; and by their aid
he built a "Bethel," collected a library, contributed to
establish a Sailor's Magazine, and to spread through
every cabin and steerage on the lakes the word of life.
In the winter season he passed from city to city, speak
ing for his holy cause. Indeed, so useful did he make
himself, that, as I have been informed, the society for

REV. THOMAS COOPER. 201
which he labored intended to ask the conference to give
him up entirely to the Bethel cause.
He received all his appointments as coming from God,
soliciting none — murmuring at none. When sent into a
sickly region, he went with thankfulness. What cared
he whether his errand were long or short !
" As knows the dove the task you give her,
"When loosed upon a foreign shore,"
SO knew he that his great business on earth was to hie
to heaven. From the moment of his conversion he was
deeply pious; but while preaching a sermon at Mt.
Vernon a few years ago, on the subject of sanctification,
he was con"vinced that he had not that sweet experience
which was necessary to enable him to present the subject
in all its fullness. His spirits sank, and he concluded
his discourse, though much to the satisfaction of his
hearers, little to his own. A day or two after, but
during the progress of the same meeting, he was visited
with overpowering grace, and led to feel that he fulfilled
the law, "Love the Lord with all thy heart," etc. On
this subject he must speak for himself; he writes :
"At Home, July 17, 1849.
"0, of what value is an interest in Jesus, and a well-
grounded hope of heaven ! Sabbath was a sweet day of
rest to my soul. After preaching in my Bethel, and
attending to my Sabbath school, I went to the Methodist
church to enjoy the love-feast and sacrament. I know
not when I ever had so sweet a season. My soul seemed
melted at the foot of the cross. I got such a view of
the love of the Savior to me, of his infinite condescen
sion in dying for me, and his love in pardoning me so
guilty, and blessing me so unworthy! I looked at my
life and labors, and could see nothing meritorious in any

202 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
thing I had done; then I remembered 'we have an
Advocate with the Father;' and not of us, but through
him we have ground to hope. I do feel like living anew
to the Lord. I have known the full power of the Gospel
in saving from sin. I have been enabled to testify that
the blood of Jesus can cleanse from all unrighteousness,
and for a long time have lived in the daily, hourly evi
dence of it. Sometimes the evidence has not been as
clear as at others; and though my trust is still and
always has been in the Savior, I think I have failed to
bear testimony as I should have done to the fullness of
his power to save. By his grace the time past shall
suffice; from henceforth I dedicate and solemnly con
secrate anew my all to God, and in all things seek his
will." Perhaps, gentle reader, you inquire. Had he no de
fects ? He had. As an orator, he wanted wealth of
imagery, terseness of expression, fire of passion. He
felt not the baptism that floats the soul on a full stream
of unnavigable, overwhelming thought; but we might
always say of his sermons what Sir John Denham did of
the Thames.
He was not a man of inventive genius. Timid in
speculation, and cautious in action ; had he lived half
a century he might not have brought forward any new
measure. Perhaps he was not a man of adamant, who, like
Noah, could preach righteousness while the world was
filled with violence all around him. He was not a man
of noble daring, who, like Luther, could hurl defiance at
the Vatican. He was rather like the placid MelancthoU)
that could moderate and direct the spirit of the storm —
fond of peace, patient of suffering, hopeful of good,
sparing of censure, and fearful of change. His temper,
his habits, his understanding, his instincts, all inclined

BEV. THOMAS COOPER. 203
him to be conservative. He was, however, neither of an
tininquiring mind nor of a heart too timid to maintain
his faith. He overcame the prejudices of education to
enter the Methodist Episcopal Church, and, I believe,
would have died in fire rather than renounce his creed ;
but he had no sympathy "with those children of the
Church who are prompt rashly to hack that aged parent
in pieces, and put him into the kettle of magicians, in
hope, that, by their poisonous weeds and wild incanta
tions, they may regenerate the paternal constitution and
renovate their father's life."
In this age of hero worshipers, when agitation is mis
taken for advance, and innovation for reform — when the
state assails her most venerated institutions with Van-
dalic violence, and the Church rather evokes the "New
Jerusalem" from a troubled earth, than invokes it from
a serene heaven, often trampling on holy oracles in her
zeal to bring in the "millennial reign of the saints,"
this meek and quiet spirit, so much like that of Christ,
may be deemed a weakness. Judge ye !
He was not adapted to controversy. I will not say
that he was unprepared to meet an enemy; he could
overcome when argument, satire, wit, and irony would
have been of little avail ; he could charm the foe away
by his spirit, or burn him out by his prayers, or flood
him out by his tears. Preferring, however, to stand
on the broad planks where the evangelical Protestant
Churches meet in union, and entertaining nothing of
the spirit of those divines who fancy that their ecclesi
astical lines are the limits of God's mercies, and that
the only business of Heaven is to warm and water their
moral territories, he rarely met with opposers. More
over, he seemed better pleased to persuade than contend;
the gall and vinegar of strife would have been unnatural
upon those lips formed to distill the honey of persuasion.

204 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
He was not original. By this I do not mean that he
did not arrange his own discourses and invent his own
arguments and illustrations. I believe he rarely bor
rowed, nor did he deal in commonplace remarks; but ho
had no "New Divinity." He was contented with the
doctrines of the Scripture, and preferred to state them
in language clear, plain, and Scriptural, rather than so
to cast them in the mold of human philosophy, that he
who has studied them only in the words of Christ or
Paul would not know them without a label. He did not,
as Origen, attempt to reconcile Christ to Plato, nor as
Mareneike, to fuse divine truth with the latest meta
physics. For his arguments he resorted not to that
wisdom which is "foolishness with God," but to the
sacred oracles, which he brought up not as a suspected
witness, but as decisive on all questions concerning
which it is not silent; nor did he despise consciousness,
nor undoubted facts, nor the primal Scripture common
sense, nor the pictorial Scripture nature, though he in
troduced them as collateral or corroborative. His rea
soning was not of the hair-splitting, anatomizing, ver
micular kind, but simple, vivid, rhetorical.
He was by no means inattentive to books. He made
his Greek Testament his daily critical study; and, not
withstanding his unremitting devotion to his appropriate
work, he found time to revive and even enlarge his aca
demical knowledge. In this particular multitudes might
imitate him not only without personal injury, but with
permanent profit.
He was not one of those rare men whom the Church
needs perhaps once in three centuries, who bury father,
mother, friend, and forget home, wife, child, in their
burning zeal to wrap a continent in the flames of Scrip
tural holiness. On the contrary, his domestic affections
were very strong. He had a mother — for many years a

REV. THOMAS COOPER. 205
widow; to her his heart in all his journeying turned.
Well-suited to him were the sweet words of Willis :
" Dear mother, dost thou love me yet?
Am I remembered in my home?
o D o 3 o
As turns the maiden oft ber token-
As coimts the miser aye his gold.
So, till life's silver cord is broken,
Would I of thy fond love be told."
He had sisters — afflicted sisters. They leaned upon him,
and were supported. The last time I saw him at the
capital, he had come to see and bless a sister, who
can not speak his name, but writes it with a pencil.
So much the more as they were afflicted, so much the
more did he love them. There was another object whom
he loved, and whom he would have wedded. He had
formed her acquaintance at the Seminary, and renewed
it afterward. She was beautiful, accomplished, devoted,
worthy of him. Sweet was their fellowship, such as it
may be in heaven.
In the middle of July, while immersed in his duties
at Sandusky City, the pestilence that walketh in dark
ness breathed upon him. On the twenty-third of that
month he started to see his betrothed and make arrange
ments for his nuptials. The disease returned upon him.
His beloved saw him turn pale. He smiled, said he was
happy, bade her not to be alarmed^ and forbade her calling
any one. He alluded to the cholera, said he was in the
hands of God, ready to die by that or any other agency,
and for some time lay talking sweetly of his perfect trust
in God. Summoning his energies, he mounted his
horse, and with affectionate cheerfulness, bade adieu — a
last adieu, though little, perhaps, did the fair oue list
it. Slowly he moved through the forest of the Ty-
mochtee, cheered by the robin and the thrush, and sus-

206 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
tained, doubtless, by Him, who is "ever present — ever
felt." After two hours, he arrived at Carey, four miles
distant, and during the following night sank into the
arms of death. He has left us no cause of weeping,
except the prematurity of his decease. Sleep and Death
are brothers. How do we bless the one, when rising
renovated from the couch, we "hail yon holy light!"
How shall we bless the other, when morning comes to
the graves, and we hail the eternal sunbeams? "Thy
brother shall rise again."
He was cut off in the midst of years, of useful labors,
and pious enterprises, and joyful expectations, and ripen
ing experience, and accumulating honors, suddenly, with
none but the generous stranger to hear his last words,
and lay him in a hasty grave. None, did I say ? Jesus
was there ; and " Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."
That his, end was peaceful we need not be told. The
resources of our religion, which are sufficient for a happy
life, are no less ample for a happy death. Though he
died early, he lived long. One day of his useful life is
worth a peccant immortality. He has entered paradise
young, but with a spirit radiant with its light and redo
lent of its fragrance.
I have depicted a good man — some may think in color
ing too deep. Eichard Baxter in his old age said, "I
see that good men are not so good as I once thought
they were, but have many imperfections; and that nearer
approach and fuller trial doth make the best appear more
weak and faulty than admirers at a distance think."
All this may be true, but it forms no part of my philos
ophy or my feelings. If nearer approach show greater
imperfections, perhaps a still nearer one — such as God
only can make — might show, underlying them all, a great

KEV. THOMAS COOPER. 207
principle of righteousness. True, "the commandment is
exceeding broad;" so, also, is the grace of Christ Jesus.
Let us not look only through the windows of heaven for
purity ; it may be found on this side the gates of pearl.

Incihiital Blttt\t%,

INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

Mtitttu €\KtKttix,
ONE class of philosophers maintains that circn'mstances
have little or no influence over the character of men ;
another, that they give to it its very form and being.
The truth, we think, is between these extremes. The
lion, domiciliated and reposing obediently at his mas
ter's feet, is still a lion, and the dog raised in the lion's
den is still a dog; let hut circumstances favor a full
development of their natural propensities, and the one
will be the dreaded enemy of man — the other his faith
ful guardian. The influence of circumstances over man
is greater than it is over brutes, because reason, which
governs the one, is under the power of will and habit —
instinct, which controls the other, is not. The young
bird builds its nest in the same mode, and with the same
degree of skill, as the old one. The birds of one age are
no wiser than those of a preceding one — but the individ
ual man improves mentally as he passes through the
different stages of his being, and the human race grows
wiser from age to age.
While, therefore, we deny that circumstances can
eradicate or implant capacities or propensities, or dis
arrange the combinations which give to each man his
natural peculiarities of mind, we grant that, by impress
ing, developing, and adjusting our powers, they may mod
ify our capabilities, inclinations, dispositions, and tastes,
211

212 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
and affect the course of our thoughts, emotions, and
actions. Thus the cast of mind, the turn of thought, and
the modes of expression, like the manners, habits, and cus
toms of men, are owing to accidental causes. Hence, the
different ages, nations, and social grades, are distin
guished from each other.
The circumstances which chiefly effect these modify
ing influences are climate, scenery, pursuits, and social
influences. The "Seasons" of Thomson could not have
been produced in Scotland, nor the romances of Sir
Walter Scott in England; the Pilgrim's Progress would
not have been written in the present age, nor the Con
stitution of the United States in the days of Bunyan.
Shakspeare, if he had been sent to Cambridge when he
was holding horses at the theater, might have been a
Pitt or a Cranmer, but would not have written his im
mortal plays.
What are the circumstances indicated by the term
"western?" The west, as we use the term, means not a
fixed, but a floating line — the frontier of civilization.
Three hundred years ago it was on our Atlantic shore —
forty years ago it ran through our state. A man edu
cated on the spot where the savage is neighbor to the
sage, must possess a character modified by both.
The savage state possesses advantages. The red man,
dependent for his food upon the game which he pur
sues through the forest, or the fish that he catches in the
stream, acquires a noble physical development, and a
fleetness, a dexterity in action, and a capacity of endur
ance, rarely attained in civilized life. Imperfectly pro
tected from the elements, and exposed to the incursions
of wild beasts, he acquires a delicacy of sense, a habit
of observation, and a quickness of invention, to which a
civilized man is a stranger. Protected by no battlements
from hostile tribes, guarded by no police from his own.

WESTERN CBARACTER. 213
he gains a discernment of character, a readiness in com
bining resources, and a promptitude in forming moral
judgments, not often found in a state of civilization.
Without a compass, he steers - his way by the moss on the
trees; without an eyeglass, he estimates the number of
the advancing foe by applying his ear to the ground, and
judges of the number, distance, and character of the
retreating host by the tracks which they make upon the
leaves or the snow, or the marks they impress upon the
bushes. His memory is retentive, for he has no records ;
his calculations are clear, short, and rapid, as his arith
metic is unwritten; his reasoning is simple and direct;
his imagination is excited by nature in her ruder and
grander forms. Deficient in analytic power, he has few
abstractions or generalizations, and no metaphysics; his
associations are, for the most part, accidental. Though
uncultivated in taste, he is not wanting in emotion ; he
is pleased with every painted object, moved by every
strange one. No skepticism disturbs his faith in the
Great Spirit ; no philosophy intervenes to deprive mys
tery of its grandeur; for him the unexpected cloud that
obscures the sun is the garment of God; and the breeze
that fans the council-fire is the spirit of the dead, arous
ing him to avenge his wrongs; his appetites and desires
are few, his propensities unperverted, his affections
strong; he cleaves to the graves of his fathers as to life
itself; he has a lively sense of truth, charity, and justice;
he shows hospitality, generosity, and fidelity to his
friends — bravery, fortitude, and hatred to his foes. It is
not to be concealed that he has vices — idleness, lust,
cunning, revenge ; but his excellences may well be
coveted. Man confined to the city, like a stage horse upon a
turnpike, soon wears out. If, by reason of great strength,
he bears up, his posterity gradually decays. Confine-

214 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
ment, luxury, effeminacy, care, anxiety, and morbid
passions, are extremely exhaustive of vital energy; and,
when they operate from age to age, reduce the size and
strength of the race. If a city family frequently resorts
to the country, and intermarries occasionally with persons
reared under more invigorating influences, it may be kept
up for a great length of time ; but in this republic, where
wealth can not be entailed beyond the second generation,
the elite of the city soon takes its station down town ; for
the mind sinks with the body as the station does with the
mind. Inquire for the merchants, lawyers, politicians,
bankers, editors, professors, who stand at the head of
their professions in New York, and you will find that
either they are from the country, or their fathers were.
Inquire for the children of thosg who fifty years ago con
trolled its interests, and you will find them not.
The heart, too, suffers from the contagion of the city.
Many of the arts of trade are iniquitous. The forms of
society are artificial ; hypocrisy, deception, flattery, are
too common to be rebuked ; pride, ambition, avarice, are
constantly stimulated; envy, jealousy, rivalship, lead to
detraction, backbiting, slander, and all modes of sup
planting; devotion often becomes solemn trifling —
preaching, subtile speculation — the temple of God, a
theater for display; and religion, a mere form without any
power. True, the city has its advantages. There the
best minds of the country congregate; there the best
books are published, and the largest libraries estab
lished; there all lands are represented, and the fine arts
are cultivated. A mind educated under such circum
stances, is likely to possess great accuracy, extensive
knowledge, comprehensive views, subtile distinctions,
analytical powers, and cultivated taste.
When our Pilgrim fathers came to these shores, the
extremes of civilized and savage life were brought

WESTERN CHARACTER. 215
together. Moses, Paul, Milton, Aristotle, Cicero, Cal
vin ; the refinements, the arts, the laws, the institutions,
the science, the songs, and the religion of an elevated
civilization came over with the first settlers of the new
world. Poverty, conflict, disease, and the rigors of the
elimate, soon carried off the parents, but the children
grew up adapted to their circumstances. Building,
clearing, fencing, cropping, legislating, negotiating, de
fending, exploring, educating, worshiping, they combined
the fleetness, the strength, and the sagacity of the sav
age with the policy of the statesman, the intelligence of
the philosopher, and the piety of the Christian. The pio
neers of the west resembled those of the east — with this
difference, that they did not possess uniformity of ori
gin, faith, or manners, or so deep a religious spirit ; their
circumstances were similar, only they were nearer to the
region of civilization. In many cases the western settler
laid the floor and put on the clapboards of his own
cabin, opened, fenced, and tilled his own clearing, and
guarded it from the depredation of wolves, bears, and
Indians. During the winter his children were educated
at the log school-house, which they found by following
blazed trees. No sooner had the child learned to read
than new pleasures opened to his expanding mind. The
Sabbath was beguiled by the Bible, Bunyan, or Baxter ;
the winter evening by Hume, or Eollin, or such enchant
ing verses as those of Shakspeare, Milton, or Moore.
The young mind, in greater maturity, found in Lindley
Murray an opening to Parnassus, and in Pike's Arith
metic the key to mathematics.
The village was but a larger opening, with wider
paths, and houses nearer together; it contained a meet
ing-house, usually located near the big spring, to accom
modate women and children, and surrounded by stumps
and saplings for the convenience of hitching horses ; a

216 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
school-house encompassed by oaks and ha"wthorns ; and a
graveyard begirt with hazel bushes, adorned with elder
and poke weed, and consecrated by the remains of the
departed, which were conveyed to their last resting-place
without waving plumes or tolling bells, and marked by
the simple head-stone, inscribed with Euth's words to
Naomi, or some other tear-blotted passage of the family
Bible. When the young of both sexes, and various ages and
qualifications — collected from the four quarters of the
globe, and the different grades of social elevation — meet
together, the first thing they do is to knock off the
rough corners of each other, or the smooth ones, as the
case may be, and reduce all to the model of a child's
round-about common sense. No foreign costume or cus
tom can be tolerated; no distinction acknowledged. He
who wears a seal-skin cap must be teased till he is
ashamed of it; he who will not go barefoot must be
invited by one party to run a race, while another runs
off -with his shoes. The poor boy whose father is elected
to Congress, may expect a whipping for no other reason.
The education and government are both according to cir
cumstances — though, really, there is often a great deal of
tbe former, especially in spelling-matches, and not a little
of the latter, though it is democratic in form — for,
although the pedagogue exercises authority, yet on
Christmas he is barred out tUI he treats to apples and
cider, which, like an annual rent, shows to whom the
title belongs.
The amusements are generally of the athletic order —
skating, swimming, watering horses, running races, sliding
down the snowy hill-side on the rude sledge, joining the
husking match on the neighboring farm, or watching the
squaws as they lead the drunken Indians to the encamp
ment out of town; occasionally affording opportunitie'»

WESTERN CHARACTER. 217
of gallantry, as when the girls accompany the boys, in the
spring, to the sugar-camp, or, in the fall, along the river
bank to gather the yearly supply of nuts, crab-apples, and
plums. On such occasions, woe to the well-dressed lad
who aims at superiority of attraction ; it is well for him
if he be not jostled into the creek as he essays to cross it
on the log.
In more advanced life come the dignified amusements
of hunting, fishing, rolling-bees, chopping-races, shcot-
ing-matches, etc.; or the more refined ones of quiltings,
pumpkin-pearingf!, singing-schools, and sleigh-riding.
When behind a fleet horse you have a well-painted
sleigh, and by your side the beautiful object of your
rival's love, wrapped up with you in the buffalo-robe,
while music of bells prevents you from being overheard,
and you start for the woods, you are upon the borders
of paradise. Happy if, in displaying your extraordinary
horsemanship, you do not upset everything, and thrice
happy if, when you return, the old folks have kindled
the back-log that has been so long drying in the parlor
fireplace, and set out the apples and doughnuts.
When the youth is old enough to begin the world for
himself, he usually selects his own occupation. He is
influenced in his choice by no considerations of respecta
bility, for he has been so reared as to consider all honest
labor honorable ; and his ideas of social gradation have
been obliterated in the common school, the village party,
and the town meeting. Hence, the son of the judge may
become the apprentice of the shoemaker; the son of
the Congressman the apprentice of the carpenter, as his
father was before him. His own inclinations and the
wants of the community determine his pursuit. A
young man disposed to see the world, will be very likely
to become a mechanic. He can soon learn an ordinary
art, and easily purchase its necessary tools, and when he
19

218 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
has both, he may go whither he pleases, sure of a wel
come, a home, and a living. If he be ambitious, you may
see him, erelong, in the rising city, or on the deck of a
steamer, descending the Mississippi to enjoy the rice
fields and orange groves of the south, and observe the
institutions of that region for himself. If he do not
fall in love with some rich planter's daughter, and get
planted himself, he generally comes back with more wis
dom and money than he had at his outset; but wherever
he goes, and whatever he does, you may expect him to
reserve to himself sufficient time for his personal im
provement and amusement. At early dawn or quiet
eve you may find him, perhaps, pondering, by the light
of shavings, Burke, or Jay, or Bacon, as his taste may
be. Before retiring to rest you may see him joining his
companions, to serenade, by the light of the moon, some
well-known beauties, or pouring forth from the balcony
of his boarding-house, the sweet notes of his solitary
flute, in plaintive strains, that indicate a heart pretty near
breaking. Should he terminate his wandering at the place of be
ginning, he will be an object of great interest on his
return. Travel and study have refined his manners and
enlarged his mind, without increasing his pride or dimin
ishing his early attachments. The golden age has not
passed away from his native county, the demagogue
has not yet come, and political parties have not yet been
formed; men nominate their candidates at the polls,
influenced by their views of fitness; thus, at township
elections, they take the tallest man and the shortest for
fence-viewers — one to look over and the other under;
the richest man and the most indigent for overseers of
the poor — the one to furnish means, the other sympathy.
At the state election they select for treasurer the most
responsible man ; for surveyor, the most mathematical

WESTERN CHARACTER. 219
one; for legislator, not the man who is most zealous for
party, or the most eager for spouting, or the most anx
ious for climbing, but the man who is best fitted to
represent the leading interest of the country.
At a presidential election there is perhaps one incon
venience arising from want of excitement — that is, the
difficulty of ascertaining who are the candidates. When
Mr. Monroe was running for the presidency, the second
time, there was a certain township in Montgomery
county, Ohio, where the people, even when they came
together at the polls, did not know who was the candi
date, and voted directly for a very worthy gentleman in
Dayton. But soon a change passes over the country ;
increased immigration and wealth give increased value to
public offices, and this gives rise to dishonorable arts to
secure them. Luxury and effeminacy bring increased
disease ; the enlargement of commerce . gives rise to
increased litigation; and the increasing difficulty of liv
ing increases the motives to crime. Hence, the sick-bed,
the pulpit, and the bar call aloud for service, and he who
was ready to labor for society in the more humble occu
pations, is equally ready to enter upon a professional
career. Nor does he do this without suitable qualifica
tions, if you judge him, not by an imaginary standard,
but by the circumstances in which he is placed.
Let us not be understood to have described the career
of every western man. There are families in the west,
where the grossest ignorance and superstition reign —
they are generally from Europe. There are others
where the greatest poverty and sluggishness are found —
where the table is an inverted flour-barrel, and the
chair an inverted nail-keg, and the bedstead is made of
four upright posts, bound with hickory withes; but this
is the result of intemperance. I have, however, given
the career of western Americans in general.

220 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
What are the principal characteristics of such men?
1. Much philosophy, but little metaphysics. The for
mer, as I understand it, is concerned with things within
the range of experience, the other with things without
its range. The one regards objects as they are revealed
to the senses or the consciousness, the other as they are
not revealed to either. The one relates to phenomena,
the other to essences. The western man, from his youth
upward, lives so much in the natural world, that it is dif
ficult for him to get beyond it; he is so busy with causes
and effects, that he does not penetrate into being. He
studies matter, spirit, God, in their properties and rela
tions, and there he stops.
If you ask him what he thinks of transcendentalism,
he will probably say that he could tell you better, if he
understood it; but such knowledge is too high for him.
If you tell him that God created the heavens and the
earth, he can understand you; but when you say, "God is
the entire process of thought, combining in itself the ob
jective movement in nature with the logical subjective,
and ever realizing itself in the spiritual totality of human
ity; he is the eternal movement of the universal, ever
raising itself to a subject which, first of all in the sub
ject, comes to objectivity and a real consistence, and,
accordingly, absorbs the subject into an abstract indi
viduality," you are altogether beyond his tether.
If you define chemistry "a science which investigates
the composition, the nature, and properties of material
substances, and their mutual combinations," he thinks
the definition clear; but when you tell him that "chem
istry is the identification of the different, and the differ
entiation of the identical," he is confounded.
Were a genuine westerner and a German philosopher
brought together, we could easily imagine the confusion
of the one and the perplexity of the other. A certain

WESTERN CHARACTER. 221
American professor came in contact with a Prussian phi
losopher, who attempted to explain to him the mysteries
of German metaphysics. The Yankee listened patiently
for an hour, and then asked so many questions as to con
vince his friend that he comprehended nothing of what
he had been telling him. The German went through the
subject again, but only to be probed afresh with vexa
tious questions, that proved the darkness of the mind he
had been striving to illuminate ; but grace sustained him
in a third attempt, at the close of which the same pro
voking questions came again, when the poor German,
in utter despair, raising his hands and eyes to heaven, ex
claimed, "Mien Gott, forgive Christopher Columbus for
having discovered America!"
2. Another characteristic of the western man is, that
he is a practical philosopher rather than a speculative
one. The former seeks for knowledge for its uses, the
latter for itself; the one is more concerned with causes
and effects, the other with the hidden links which
bind them together; the one simply records phenom
ena and traces their results, the other devises hypotheses
to account for them; while the one is turning facts to
good account, the other is arranging them according to
their bearing upon a certain law. Our westerner would
not depreciate the value of speculation. He admits that
it is natural, improving, dignified, and that it has import
ant relations to practice; but he can not, to any great
extent, indulge in it. On the frontier are no fortunes on
which men can spend life in the study. Indeed, there is
little chance for a study; every thing is in motion, be
cause every thing is to be done; the forest to be felled,
the city to be built, the railroad surveyed, the swamp
cleared, political, social, and religious systems to be organ
ized; a study under such circumstances would be like a
study in a vessel short-manned and swept by the tempest.

222 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Moreover, the pioneer, amid incessant action, acquires
such habits of thought as to disincline him to speculative
pursuits. Indeed, it is difficult for him to appreciate
their importance; he can not understand how, age after
age. Nominalists and Eealists could spend their time and
waste their dialectical skill in discussing the question
whether an abstract general term is a mere name, or ex
presses a reality. He is strongly disposed to treat the
whole discussion as flatus vocis. He can not understand
how exasperated monks could spend their energies in dis
cussing the question whether, when a man drove a pig to
market by means of a string tied to one of his hind legs,
the pig led the man or the man led the pig; or how
Christian nations could refuse a footing on land to exiles
floating about during the winter in the northern seas,
simply because they did not explain the sacrament of the
Lord's supper to their satisfaction. These things require
a higher degree of civilization than can be found among
the busy settlers of the wilderness. Melancthon, among
the advantages whieh he promised himself upon enter
ing into heaven, enumerated the following: First. That
he should be able to explain the mysteries which here he
could not. Second. That he should comprehend why we
are placed in our present state. Third. That he should
be able to comprehend how the two natures were united
in Christ; and among the evils which he should escape
that he should be free from the persecutions of theologi
ans. The western man desires heaven, but not on these
accounts. But though he can not speculate, he can act.
In the absence of theory there may be useful practice.
The preacher may not be able to explain the history of
religious controversies, and yet tell the way of salvation ;
he may not be able to read Hebrew or Greek, and yet be
useful in reforming society. The doctor may be at a loss
to name the veins in your arm, though he may open and

WESTERN CHARACTER. 223
close one very neatly; he may be unable to give you the
etymology of the words diagnosis and prognosis, while he
distinguishes between diseases with nicety, and indicates
their issues with surprising certainty; he may not be able
to name the catalogue of maladies, nor prescribe for
them in Latin, and still he may, by his penetration,
discern their symptoms, and, by his sagacity, relieve
them. The lawyer may be wanting in legal lore, in
classical attainments, and in obsolete forms, and yet seize
the strong points of his case, and the weak ones of his
adversary's, and, storming both the court and the jury,
satisfy at once his conscience and his client. All law is
founded on common sense, and he who can clearly show
that justice is on his side, can hardly fail to get judg
ment. It is well to have both theory and practice ; but if we
can have but one, let us have the latter. Practice will
sooner or later be followed by theory; whereas, theory
may exist forever without practice. If a man have theory
only he had better not move to the west, for there minis
ters build no houses, where they win no souls ; doctors
none, where they save no patients; and lawyers none,
where they gain no cases. It is easy to ridicule the inac
curacies and inelegancies of merely practical men, and it
is equally easy to ridicule the blunders of merely theoret
ical ones. The graduate who values knowledge for its
subjective blessings only, as if it were a perversion of sci
ence to apply it to vulgar uses, may sneer at the farmer
who will not believe that the earth turns round, because
he has never seen his camp kettle turned upside down ;
but the farmer may have his time to laugh when the
graduate is put into the wilderness. At a raising, a
learned doctor, fresh from one of the Scottish universi
ties, though he understood the subject of mechanics, got
as near to the beam that he was assisting to carry as he

224 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
could, and when his partner offered him more of the
handspike cried, "No, indeed, I can't carry what I have;"
and a venerable clergyman, full of bookish philosophy,
chalked the side of his boat to ascertain how high the
water might rise during the night.
Another characteristic of the western man is, that
though he has more of the real than the imaginary In his
thoughts, he is by no means wanting in the latter. How
ever unfavorable the circumstances of pioneer life may
be to develop abstraction, ratiocination, and memory,
they are well adapted to stimulate the imagination.
There is a distinction between the fancy and the imag
ination ; the former gives us airy shapes, the latter gives
us likenesses; fancy is concerned with trivial objects, im
agination with grand, spiritual, eternal things. In long-
settled countries, where multitudes are reared in coal
pits, or confined to ditches, or factories, or rarely pass be
yond the walls of their native cities, or, if they do, it is
to visit some thickly-populated graveyard, or some for
saken castle, the fancy may be vigorous; but in the for
est of the new world there is but little chance for hob
goblins or apparitions. Man walks abroad freely amid
the works of God — works in all the wild magnificence of
nature. He is in the midst of broad plains, lofty mount
ains, majestic streams; on every hand he meets with
some object fitted to furnish him with elevated ideas and
to arouse into healthful and vigorous action the best powers
of his mind; withal, he is not so hampered but that he can
allow his mind free scope in depicting its own creations.
It was under these circumstances that the grandest po
etry of the world was produced.
Amid the wheels of commerce, the calculations of
avarice, the struggles of ambition, or the din of daily
news, there is no time for mental painting; and when
the mind is shut up within certain rules, and compelled

WESTERN CHARACTER. 225
to cast all its forms within prescribed mental triangles
or squares, there is do elasticity to the spirit in man,
and no invitation to the inspiration of the Almighty.
Familiarity with nature gives a tendency to employ fig
urative language, and an excited imagination unchas-
tened by cultivation leads to extravagance in its use.
Judged by the mercantile, the metaphysical, or the school
master-standard, the western orator is sophomoric, sav
age ; but has it never occurred to you that, judged by the
western standard, the eastern orator may be insipid, af
fected, vaporing, or imitative? and why may not one be
judge as well as the other? But because light travels
round the earth from east to west, the east has always
borne itself toward the west with an assurance bordering
upon impudence; she assumes, by her dictum, to set up
one, and put down another; as well might the poles sit
in judgment on the equator, or the line rise up to con
demn the tropics.
Figures are natural; the world is full of them; figures
of wood and stone, light and shade ; figures in heaven
above, and on the earth beneath, and in the waters under
the earth. Human language is full of figures. The
most literal terms — spirit, penetrate, apprehend, persist,
prevent, abstract, etc. — were all originally figures. We
must represent that which is not cognizable by the senses
by that which is. Even dry commerce has its figures,
not merely arithmetical and geometrical, but rhetorical ;
figures on its signs, its advertisements, its boxes, its en
velops, and even within its envelops; figures of etymol
ogy, of syntax, and of rhetoric, some of which might be
deemed extravagant, were they not eastern. What is
more natural than to trace resemblances between objects,
or to express these resemblances? The one is nature's
mode of gaining knowledge, the other her mode of com
municating it. When we advance in civilization, we do

226 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
but exchange the emblem for the symbol — the natural
for the constituted sign.
Figures are God's language — the language of Moses,
of the prophets, of the Psalms, of Jesus Christ. From
the opening of Genesis to the close of the Apocalypse,
you progress through metaphors, allegories, types. Tried
by some modern standards, Isaiah, Paul, and John would
be insufferably sophomoric. Had their language been less
figurative, it had been less natural, less general, less per
manent. It has been alleged that figurative language is not
sufficiently intelligible. This was the great objection of
the priesthood against giving the Bible to the people; but
who ever heard of a man plucking out his right eye or
cutting off his right hand in consequence of reading
the sermon on the mount? Common men have more
sense than the wise ascribe to them. When men object
to western eloquence, they had better come out and see
its effect; for, after all, it is by its effects that oratory
must be tried. We must consider the intention of the
speaker, the occasion and connections of the speech,
and the limitations, distinctions, and qualifications with
which it is received by the auditors, before we can be
prepared for just criticism. Any thing dissevered from
its connections may be held up to ridicule.
The western country would no more endure criticism
than western eloquence. There are too many trees in
the forest — too many flowers on the prairie — too much
hill here and too little there, a slough where there
should be an eminence, and an eminence where there
should be a lake. Indeed, neither nature, nor provi
dence, nor Scripture conforms to the critic's rules, yet God
is in all. No set of rules can be devised for human
genius — it changes with the age and circumstances, both
of the individual and the race. The oratory of old

WESTERN CHARACTER, 227
age would be very bald to youth, as the eloquence of
youth is very insipid to old age. As long as the world has
both young and old, learned and ignorant, we shall need
variety in style. Shakspeare and Bunyan would have
lost many of their highest charms if they had shaped
their conceptions or expressions according to rhetorical
rules. Luther would never have shaken Europe if he
had not broken over both the canons of the schools and
the canons of the Church. A bull-dog may be much
less attractive than a gentleman, but when a man is
drowning the former may be of more service than the
latter. There is a time to bow and compliment, and a
time to lecture on specific gravity, but there is a time
also to catch a man by the hair of the head. In the
arts principles are more extended than men generally
allow. "Lines which from their propriety in one art are
strikingly beautiful, become absolutely absurd as sources
of beauty in others." . . "In all of them, fitness for
the purpose and proportion to effect the object are the
surest guide to beauty of line, and thence naturally to
beauty of form." " In vain may Burke resolve beauty
into smaUness, delicacy, smoothness, or Hogarth into
the serpentine line." These remarks, so applicable to
the fine arts, are equally so to the finer art of rhetoric
Let there be but life in the soul, and there will be form
on the tongue, and it will be the best form. Nature
makes no errors ; to every seed she appoints its own
body. It were as easy to ridicule over-refinement as excessive
ornament. Garrick represents the young collegian teach
ing his grandmother how to suck an egg: "We make
an incision at the apex and an aperture at the base;
then making a vacuum with the tongue and palate, we
suffer the contained matter to be protruded into the
mouth by atmospheric pressure." " La !" replies his

228 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
grandmother, "how clever! in my day we just made a
hole at each end and then sucked it."
The western tendency to hyperbole is natural. That
figure is founded in surprise; and here almost every thing
we meet with exceeds our expectation and warms our
imagination. We should not be judged by those whose
lives have been spent within walls, and whose views are
narrowed down to the littleness of an office wafer.
Let him who talks of western hyperbole go west ; let
him sail a lake in a canoe with four or five Indians, and,
as he is half way over, let the storm arise, and let him
save his life by bailing out the water with his hat; let
him be driven to islands of sand and compelled to live
for three days together on turtle eggs; let him cross
rivers, swimming and holding to the tail of his horse,
while his clothes are tied to the pommel of his saddle,
and have the mortification sometimes to lose his hold
and find his horse coming out on one bank and himself
on the other; let him travel through roads where he is
not unlikely to meet with a foot-traveler stalled, and
to have to dismount and pry him out, one leg at a time;
let him miss his way through the woods and sleep in a
tree-top, while the wolves howl beneath him ; let him
be benighted on the banks of a stream and lie down by
a log, with his rifle on one side and an Indian of sus
picious character on the other; let him get on a dog-
train and find his dogs fighting a pitched battle with
those of another traveler that he has met, and rolling
him and his fellow-travelers in the snow when the ther
mometer is forty degrees below zero, and he will feel a
little incUned to extravagant expression, even though he
be from a German University. The west respectfully
declines the judgment of those who know neither them
nor their circumstances. There is on the border an
imaginative oratory and poetry as grand, when judged

WESTERN CHARACTER. 229
by a proper standard, as the world ever saw. What it
lacks in learning and polish it more than makes up in
freedom and earnestness. Why do we not see it? Be
cause much of it is unwritten. And this leads me to note
another characteristic of the west : it is more inclined
to action than reflection. While the old world by gas
light dramatizes the pioneer for the amusement of gaz
ing fools, he by starlight cuts his poetry out of a wilder
ness into the beautiful forms of villages, temples, and
cities, and weaves his philosophy into steamboats and
railroads, and his politics into constitutions and laws.
Come in the next age, and see if the embodiments of his
conceptions will not bear criticism ! But the west has
produced philosophers and orators who have cast their
thoughts in words. Forty years ago, Ohio had in the
Church Bigelow, Collins, Young, Finley, Strange, Hoge,
Willson — preachers who might be compared with any
popes or bishops on earth ; in the state. Clay, M'Arthur,
Vance, Whittlesey — statesmen who might have been
placed honorably in any parliament; among her various
warriors. Perry, Jackson, Harrison — of deserved renown.
Another peculiarity of the west is the love of nature.
We know the power of habit: it can reconcile us to
almost any thing ; it can make us regard the walls of a
prison as more pleasant than the mountain's side, the
darkness as more desirable than light. So the inhab
itant of the city comes in time to regard the Strand or
the Boulevards as better than the banks of the Ehine or
the sunsets of Italy. When he goes forth to behold
nature he sees her all geometrized, and furrowed, and
sowed, and harrowed, and vocal with anxious voices or
brazen instruments — not in her native richness and lux
uriance, musical with her own happy and beautiful choirs.
The pioneer beholds her in all her charms; he com
munes with her day by day till he becomes acquainted

230 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
with her, and cultivates her acquaintance till he admires
her, and admires her till he loves her. He hails the
sun at his rising and his setting, and is baptized each
day with the morning and the evening dews. Whether
his ax resounds in the forest, or his plow breaks the
furrows, or his scythe rests beneath the tree, every
thing around him invites to pleasant thought. His
amusements and his enjoyments as well as his labors are
generally under the open sky. Here his friendships are
formed, his discussions conducted, his books studied, his
pipe smoked, his wife courted, and his children amused.
In times of seriousness he is wont to go forth as did the
Psalmist, to consider the heavens, the moon and stars
which God has ordained; and, although he may not be
able to name the pleiades, he may feel their sweet in
fluences upon his spirit. Thus he associates nature with
his happiest hours, his noblest thoughts, his best emotions.
No wonder if, like the Indian, he should contemplate
heaven as a beautiful forest. He looks not at nature
with the eye of a merchant ; it is not only for its minerals
that he values the mountain, or for its corn, the valley;
or for its power to turn wheels, the creek; or for its
capability to float ships, the river — he values them for
their power to feed the soul, to clothe it with the raiment
of glorious thought, and to lift it up toward the divine
intelligence that rays out from all that surrounds him.
He has il great love of freedom. For the most part
he is not brought up, but brings himself up. He is
free in his manners; he has neither the skulking of a
menial nor the strut of a lord; he meets you with a look
of conscious integrity, an air of confidence and fearless
ness, a mien that bespeaks a contented condition, and a
manner rustic as a patriarch's. He has no rules of
politeness, but his behavior makes you feel at ease in
his company. If you ride up to his gate as he sits

WESTERN CHARACTER. 231
smoking at his cabin door, he does not go out and bow
and ask you to alight; he sees company so rarely that
he thinks you must know that you are welcome; he does
not want you to knock at his door, indeed, it is not
always that he has one, and if he has, and you find the
latch-string out, he expects you to pull it. On entering,
you may help yourself to a seat, and then you will be
told where you may find oats for your horse, or corn if
you prefer it. You will not be asked to dine, but when
the pot is boiled you will be seated at the table. You
may look for no ceremony at dinner ; if you are timid,
the host may give you warning that he who does not
help himself will not get any thing. As for his wife
and daughters, they are all with him, and can speak for
themselves without introduction. He is free in speech
as well as manners ; he gives you your title if he thinks
of it, if not, no matter; he accords to you your claims
after you have demonstrated them ; he tells you that he
prefers his own taste to yours, and, after hearing your
opinion, he gives his own, which he thinks much better;
he frankly puts you on your guard against your infirmities,
and tells you of your faults; and he is willing that you
should communicate with him as freely as he does with
you ; if you engage him in debate, you will find him a
fearless, outspoken, and trenchant antagonist — scorning
all artifice, concealing no truth, acknowledging what is
against himself, and candidly conceding what he can not
maintain; he goes heart uppermost. Whether he be
friend or foe you know it — you will find him sincere.
When he says you are welcome to his horse, it is the
animal and not the compliment that he means ; after hav
ing pointed out your faults he does not ridicule them in
your absence. Although he may not put himself to so
much trouble and expense as the continental gentleman,
he will not recompense hiraself unknown to you by

232 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
collecting commission on your bills. He will not flatter
when he intends to stab; he will not draw his stal
wart fist according to the latest code of politeness ; nor
will he smile, and bow, and compliment you at the table
when he is maturing his dark plans to supplant you.
When he is angry he condemns openly; when he is
pleased he expresses himself " in the long, loud laugh
.sincere ;'' and when he counsels, it is in plain, direct,
and forcible words. Of many a courtier you may say,
"His words are smoother than oil, but war is in his
heart." Of the westerner you may say, " His words are
rough as cobble stones, but peace is in his heart"
He is free in his actions — not cramped by fixed rules —
but going as the spirit moves him. He eats when he is
hungry, and drinks when he is thirsty; he sows and
reaps when he gets ready, whether the moon's horns are
up or down ; he goes in and comes out as he pleases,
without consulting the almanac. If he be a schoolmas
ter, he requires no bows or curtesies; he teaches the
scholars arithmetic without formal rules; he "puts them
through," making them do every sum, and when they
ask for the principles, he tells them to find them out as he
did, for one thing found out is better than ten things
explained. Is he a druggist, he can sell you half a
dozen oils out of the same bottle. "What," cries he,
"is the use of making such petty distinctions, when oil
of stone and oil of spike and seneca oil, etc., are all about
the same thing?" Is he a surgeon, he can perform
almost any operation with a good knife. Is he a speaker,
he speaks right to the point; and although he makes
many mistakes in his terms and his pronunciation, yet,
conscious that he has the "root of the matter," he is
satisfied. Is he a warrior, he lays his plans without
Jomini's tactics, and beats the enemy without inquiring
by what rules. At the battle of Buena Vista, General

WESTERN CHARACTER. 233
Taylor said that the western troops were fairly whipped —
but they did not know it; so, after taking breath, they
were up and at it again.
When Cincinnati was in its infancy a course of lectures
in geology was called for by the public. Doctor Drake
had not studied it, but he desired to; so he notified the
committee that he would lecture on the subject once a
week. He knew that this was contrary to all rule, but
then he thought that he could keep ahead of his hear
ers; or if, perchance, any one should outstrip him, he
would have ingenuity enough to keep him still.
You may suppose that one so rash in action must nec
essarily commit blunders. What if he does ? they do
not kill him. If they are laughable, he can laugh at
them as heartily as any body; if they are serious, he
stands corrected. When his gun misses fire, he does
not throw it away, but picks the lock and tries it again.
We read of a rising poet whose song was forever
silenced in a laugh which he raised among the critics by
representing the nightingale as singing in the morning;
but he was not a western poet. When Judge M'Lean
told Doctor D. he ought not to speak of Hannibal as
the great general of the Eomans, seeing that he was a
Carthaginian, he bought a history and said, "I'll make
no more such blunders." If we wait till we get so
perfect in our rules that we shall be exempt from error,
we may wait a great while and do very little.
You silence a western man because he pronounces
hy-perbo-fe %perbole, or cue bono cui bono, or pro
nounces belle in two syllables, or puts post-herd for pot
sherd ! As well attempt to stop the Mississippi with a
paddle. He has an abhorrence of unnecessary forms in busi
ness, in law, in every thing, but particularly in religion.
You could not easily get a monk's cowl on his head. He
20

234 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
can sympathize with Hooper, who refused to be ordained
a bishop if he must have a gown on. Eobes and
miters, altars and incense, candles and chants, are out of
place when the preacher must speak in a dwelling-house
in winter and in a grove in summer, and while he
preaches is liable to have kittens play with his shoe
strings, and children with his coat, and dogs jump over
his back while he is at prayer, if a raccoon happens to
come in sight When the church is removed to the
school-house, there is still no place for complicated forms
and ceremonies. In some places it is necessary to send
children to dancing school that they may know how to
behave at church, but not in the west. Even when you
go to the brick meeting-house of the village, the needless
forms follow slowly. It requires many years to get the
choir, more to get the organ, and still more the pew
door and the black bag. The pioneer remembers the
time when he had no closet, but kneeled behind some
tree or brush-heap, or, like Isaac, meditated at even
tide, leaning upon the top of his staff. When, like
Obed Edom, he had the ark in his own house, then he
proved that God is a spirit, and seeketh such to worship
him as worship him in spirit and in truth. He rememr
bers how the power came without the form beneath the
open arch of heaven, and how, like a Pentecost, the
Holy Ghost descended upon his neighbors when, with
one consent, they were gathered together in the woods to
speak of the things of God. He remembers how the
best ministers in the world were well supported by carry
ing round the hat, and he fears these refinements.
He can not be persuaded to think much of religious
technicalities. Necessity is a great simplifier and organ
izer. If men on an island, cut off from communication
with the world, were to become converted to the Chris
tian faith, doubtless they would baptize each other apd

WESTERN CHARACTER. 236
ordain a minister for themselves, and construct an out
ward and visible Church for the inward and invisible
one that God had set up in their hearts.
He is a little inclined to be too free in his morality.
His clear notions of right and wrong are sometiraes too
strong for Jno. Doe and Eichard Eoe. If the devil is in
a barrel and there is no law to get him out, he will
knock him on the head and spill his liquid brains, or, if
he do not, his wife will.
Though he sometiraes use the club of the unwritten
law, he rarely squeezes out the venom of the written one;
and when he resorts to force, it is from good impulses,
not bad ones — it is with a view not to subvert, but to sup
plement the statute.
He is a Sabbath-keeper. Yet, if a meeting is to be
held at his house on Lord's day, and his pig — his only
resource — .should escape on Saturday night, just as he
was ready to kill him, I suppose that if, on Sabbath
morning, while at prayers, he should see a wild turkey
alight upon a tree, he would drop his prayer and take up
his gun, and, after securing the game, end his devotions
with thanksgiving for the providence that enabled him
to exercise his usual Christian hospitality.
If, in order to accommodate separate settlements, it
should be necessary to locate a camp meeting on Gov
ernment land, and the presiding elder should declare that
he could not conscientiously conduct the meeting while
the worshipers were trespassers, they would be very
likely to vote him excessively civilized, and go on with
their devotions without him.
He loves liberty. Liberty is public — freedom personal.
Civil liberty respects the state — religious respects the
Church. The pioneer's views of both are rational — his
zeal for both is ardent. Most men derive their notions
of liberty from the Grecian and Koman classics; the

236 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
western man, having no time to study these, draws his
ideas and inspiration from the Bible, and his own coun
try's history. The code of Moses, the precepts of Christ,
the writings of our fathers and the institutions which
they founded, give much better notions of liberty than
can be found in all other writings of earth. There is no
ThermopylEe like Bunker Hill, no Leonidas that has
half the glory of Washington. The democracies of an
tiquity were unjust to their citizens, oppressive to their
colonies, cruel to their children and their slaves — bewil
dered by philosophy, corrupted by sensuality, and blinded
by false gods. The western man, as he recounts the
deeds of the Pilgrims, catches their spirit; with better
views, he has equal desires of liberty; and with less
Christian doctrine, he has more Christian charity than
they. The cry of continental Europe for liberty is strong,
but it is license rather than liberty that is desired — a lib
erty which would leave man without an altar, a family,
or a home. Our liberty guards alike the family, the
fireside, and the temple. Securing the great principles
of morality, without which society could not be pre
served, it leaves untouched the great birth-right of
men — liberty of conscience — liberty to speak the things
that we have seen and heard — to obey God rather than
man. Associations, prejudices, habits, superstitions,
imaginary terrors, and inwrought depravity may prevent
the pioneer's soul from going forth in its own liberty;
but these prepossessions are not rendered venerable
by antiquity, formidable by silver shrines, and mighty by
the force of authority or the fear of power. It is in the
wilderness, where there is no caste created by office,
birth, or wealth, that we feel most deeply the equality of
man. He is honest. The Indian "within the verge of civil-

"WESTERN CHARACTER. 237
ization, exchanges the virtues of barbarism for the vices
of civilization ; the pioneer exchanges the vices of civil
ization for the virtues of barbarism. Depravity shows
itself upon the frontier as well as in the interior ; but in
the former situation, circumstances generally put the in
habitants beyond the ordinary temptations to dishonesty,
sensuality, and excess.
I use the term honest in its extensive sense, as descrip
tive alike of principles, conduct, and temper of mind.
The great temptation to dishonesty is necessity; but in
the wilderness the wants of man are diminished, and the
means of acquisition increased, while the general objects
of acquisition are not portable. Hence borderers scarce
ever lock their doors, or bolt their windows. In many
cases their day-books are planks, and their raeans of
writing chalk — their settlements are few — their words are
bonds. Occasionally a rascal gets among them, but he is
soon routed. They are not honest merely in the negative
sense — they consider each other's welfare. View them in
all situations in which the rights and interests of others
are concerned, and you will find them possessed of a
character which, in this fallen world, is remarkable for
integrity. Are they competitors, they are fair ; are they
judges, they are equitable; are they umpires, they are
reasonable. Their sufferings teach them how to sympathize with
each other ; their mutual dependence how to assist each
other. The afflicted must perish if the healthy did not
volunteer assistance ; a man must bury his own dead if
his neighbors did not come to his relief. In many in
stances the passing traveler must lose his all in the road
if the settler did not have mercy. There are frequent
occasions of taking a neighbor's sheep from the pit, or
his child from peril ; of giving water to the thirsty, and
binding up the bleeding wound. A. more refined state

238 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
of society may have its charities in the shape of poor
rates, asylums, and eleemosynary societies, which do not
improve the heart of either giver or receiver. Of all the
sufferers that pine in the city, the busy citizen may be
as ignorant as if he lived in China; while every calamity
that occurs in a border township, moves every heart
within its limits. It is easy to perceive that the latter
situation is the more favorable to moral discipline. It
schools the affections to kindness and gentleness, the
will to a favorable disposition toward all men, and the
hand to a facility in doing good. Men unused to the
west may ascribe to it a want of kindness. It has no
mawkish sensibility, no sickening sentimentality, no
ostentatious sympathy; its goodness does not issue in
useless tears, nor empty condolence, nor vicious sanc
tions, but in good counsel and substantial relief. Benefits
and services you need hardly look for in the west. They
belong to a state of society where there is a great dis
tinction between the rich and poor, and breed haughti
ness in the one and servility in the other; but good
offices, and kindnesses, and the sweet charities of life
may be found all along the frontier.
This state of things has passed away with us. We are
advancing to a state of refined civilization. With prog
ress in science and art there is progress in luxury, effem
inacy, intemperance, selfishness, and sensuality — just
what might be expected. Nations culminate and de
cline — they look backward to their first age as their
golden one. Never was there a higher degree of civil
ization at Eome, or Greece, or Egypt, than when her
manners were most corrupt. Must it be so with us ?
There are but two modes of preventing it : artificial
restraints and moral culture. The former have been
tried both in Church and state. We have an example in
the laws of Lycurgus. To prerent political degeneracy

WESTERN CHARACTER. 239
he ordained a senate between the kings and the people.
To prevent physical degeneracy he ordained that all
sickly or decrepit children should be slain ; that all
youth should be taken from their parents at the age of
seven years, and trained by the public masters to dex
terity, courage, agility, and magnanimity; and that all
persons should eat at public tables. To prevent moral
degeneracy he decreed that the lands should be divided
anew, so that the rich might be reduced to the neces.sity
of labor, and the poor raised to a condition of comfort;
that foreign commerce, and all unprofitable and superflu
ous arts, should be prohibited ; that internal commerce
should be discouraged by substituting iron money for
gold and silver. Thus he diminished the motives to
bribery, theft, robbery, and fraud — for who would seek
unjust gains when he could neither conceal them nor
carry them off? It would take a team of oxen to remove
a hundred dollars of Lycurgus's money. The laws of
Lycurgus arrested vice in some raeasure, and trained up
a nation of matchless warriors; but his institutions were
gradually laid aside, and Sparta fell with her sister
states. Such a plan of keeping society pure, if it could
succeed, would be like cutting off the feet to get rid of
the gout. The communism of Europe is an attempt to
cure the evils of civilization by artificial means They
can never be even tried on a large scale in a republic.
Monastic institutions have been tried with less success
than political ones. Men may shut themselves out from
the temptations of the world, without shutting them
selves out of corruption. Experiment has demonstrated
that humanity may grow worse and worse under the press
ure of seclusion, and fasting, and penance, and vows.
The only hope is the Christian's. The Gospel addresses
itself to the heart, and, making the fountain pure, it
makes the streams pure. It is often asked whether

240 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
the United States are destined, after culminating, to
set as the great nations of the past The answer depends
on how far they receive the Bible.

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 241

lyrETHODISM originated in the midst of profound
-^¦^ thought. This will appear from its author, its birth
place, and its age.
John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist Church,
was born at Epworth, a village in England, June 14,
1703. His father, the Eev. Samuel Wesley, was a cler
gyman of the Established Church, and rector of the par
ish in which he dwelt. His mother was an amiable,
pious, and gifted lady, in all respects worthy both of her
husband and her sons. It has often been remarked that
illustrious men have been presented to the world by
gifted mothers. The present instance is an exemplifica^
tion of the remark. We shall not attempt a eulogy of
Mr. Wesley; we have neither the talent nor the time to
do justice to the theme; nor do we deem it necessary, for
his acts are his best eulogy, and they are incorporated
with the history of the Church and the world, during the
eventful period in which he lived, and have become fa
miliar, as well to the scholar and the Christian, as to the
mere Methodist. It will be sufficient to remark that he
was a great mind. He was one of those orbs which shine
by original light; he was forraed rather to radiate than
to reflect He was beneficent as well as brilliant ; unlike
the comet, which wanders in an eccentric orbit, now
plunging into unfathomable depths of space, beyond the
limits of our system, and now returning to blaze around
the sun, attracting the wonder of the philosopher, and
21

242 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
exciting the gaze and terror of the multitude, he shone
with a mild and steady radiance. He was a sun to his
own system, a fixed star to others.
Methodism has been persecuted as the offspring of im
becility; but its persecutors knew neither its author nor
itself; they condemned the phantom of their own imag
ination, and evinced their ignorance as well as their de
pravity. From its author, we pass to its birthplace. It arose
not in the regions of darkness; it emerged from that
brilliant center whence radiate some of the raost power
fully-illuminating rays that, for ages past, have visited the
continents and islands of our benighted world — the fa
vored isle, within whose coral coasts thought, fancy, en
ergy, discovery, have found in modern ages the theater
of unembarrassed workings.
It has been said of Christianity that it did not appear
when the human mind was dormant. The same may be
affirmed of that forra of it called Methodism. If the for
mer was born in the golden age of Eoman literature, the
latter arose in the golden age of English. The dawn of
the eighteenth century found England in the zenith of
her glory. Her powers appeared to have attained matu
rity, and to have been employed in the noblest objects
within the sphere of human achievement. She swept
from her harp the sweetest notes that ever entranced her
valleys; she gazed upon her earth and her heavens with
the most philosophic eye that ever observed them. Co
pernicus had discovered the true system of the universe;
Kepler had measured the orbits of the planets, and as
certained the velocities of their motions and the times of
their revolutions; Galileo had improved the telescope,
and revealed to the eye of man the wonders of hidden
worlds; Bacon, the second Plato, but greater than the
first, had broken the clouds which ,so long obscured the

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 243
lights of science; and Newton, rising on the wings of his
ascended Master, had swept the compass of the universe,
and discovered the principles by which all worlds were
bound together in order and harmony. The department
of intellectual and raoral science — before almost un
known — was opened by the immortal Locke. Political
science was familiar to the common mind. Eeligious lib
erty was enjoyed, and the principles of the Eeformation
were widely diffused. Nor was ancient literature forgot
ten; classic fountains burst from British hills, and rolled
their transparent waters through England's philosophic
groves. This was the age of the British classics. Addi
son, Swift, Steele, furnished patterns of elegance, purity,
and beauty — the best models of every grace. At this pe
riod, in the midst of its greatest advantages, Methodism
arose. She has been accused of ignorance; she has been
charged with opposition to learning; she is said to dread
the light; but what is the fact? Her founder was emi
nent in science. At eleven he was sent to the Charter-
House school in London, where he showed precocity of
intellect and extraordinary capacity for knowledge. At
seventeen he was elected to Christ Church, Oxford. At
twenty-one he attracted attention, by peculiar discern
ment, liberal sentiment, extensive knowledge, and polite
accomplishments. At twenty-three he was moderator of
the classes, and Greek lecturer in Lincoln College. After
having taken the degree of Master of Arts, he spent
many years in extending his knowledge, for he regarded
collegiate attainments as the mere vestibule of education.
He devoted great attention to archaeology, oriental litera
ture, composition, oratory, the natural and exact sciences,
medicine, and modern languages. When a student he
could do what many a professor in these days can not —
converse in Latin, and write Greek with ease and accu
racy. As was John, so also was his brother Charles, and

244 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
SO were their companions who formed the first Methodist
class, of which we have the following account: "In No
vember, 1729, four young gentlemen of Oxford, Mr. John
Wesley, fellow of Lincoln College, Mr. Charles Wesley,
student of Christ Church, Mr. Morgan, commoner of
Christ Church, and Mr. Kirkman, of Merton College, be
gan to spend some evenings in a week together in read
ing chiefly the Greek Testaraent The next year two or
three of Mr. John Wesley's pupils desired the liberty
of meeting with thera, and afterward one of Mr. Charles
Wesley's pupils." Subsequently others were added,
among whom were Mr. Hervey and Mr. Whitefield.
Thus, we see that the first Blethodist class-room was a
college study, the first class a club of students, the first
leader a college lecturer, the first exercise the reading of
a Greek Testament.
It may be inquired, did not Mr. Wesley imbibe his re
ligious notions from ignorant and enthusiastic Moravi
ans? We answer, he did learn the lessons of salvation,
by faith and joy in the Holy Ghost, from that pious peo
ple; but whether he sat at the feet of ignorance to learn
them may be known from the fact, that he corresponded
with Peter Bohler, his spiritual god-father, in the Latin
language. We do not presume that the sublime doc
trines of salvation by faith in the Lord Jesus, and the
inward witness of adoption, were any the raore delightful
to the mourner's heart for being conveyed through this
medium. We merely state the fact to correct the error.
Say not that ignorance is congenial to Methodism ; she
was born in college; she breathed her first, her deepest,
her holiest inspirations in the atmosphere of science.
Methodism sprung up in an age of spiritual declen
sion. The doctrines of the Eeformation, although ac
knowledged, appeared not to be proclaimed; the precep
tive portion of revelation seemed to be as much neglected

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 245
as its doctrinal; the clergy appeared to be secular
ized, and the laity faithless. Instead of the evangelical
teachings of the apostles of the Eeformation, the pulpit
presented the reveries of Whiston, or the metaphysics of
Hoadly, or the morality of Seneca; iniquity abounded,
the love of many waxed cold, the good raan wept over
Zion's desolation. Politics absorbed the attention of the
multitude, philosophy of the learned, and pleasure of the
clergy. Sueh being the case in the Church, what was it
beyond its pale ? The Sabbath was desecrated, and exper-
iraental religion was ridiculed. The powers of wicked
ness were giant, and neither the prayers of the Church,
the influence of magistracy, nor the arm of law were ade
quate to arrest their march. Infidelity was boldly avowed,
alike by the learned and the ignorant. Hobbs, Collins,
Tindal, Morgan, and others, openly assailed the Gospel,
and multitudes regarded the question of its divinity as
settled in the negative. This may be accounted for in
part by that freedom of inquiry which the Eeformation
introduced, and in part by the attempt of the Church
to adapt the Gospel to the principles of modern philoso
phy, thus rendering it a Christless, comfortless nullity.
The great reason was, perhaps, the decline of vital godli
ness, beginning with the priests, and extending to the peo
ple. The watchmen ceased to watch their own hearts,
their graces gradually declined, they at length descended
to be raere raoralists. Speculation took the place of doc
trine, and a cold morality was substituted for experi
mental piety.
And now Methodism arose. Let us inquire what wa.'!.
its character? It was spiritual, zealous, self-denying. It
would be both interesting and relevant to trace the work
ings of Mr. Wesley's mind; to mark his conscientious
ness; his anxiety for the truth; his effort to obtain sal
vation by works; his conviction that all was not right;

246 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
his longing after that faith which casts out fear, works
by love, and purifies the heart, and that joy which is un
speakable and full of glory. It would be pleasing to no
tice that change which took place in the brothers when
they embraced Christ as their wisdom, righteousness,
sanctification, and redemption ; but we must pass to re
mark that Wesley preached the faith which he received,
and that around him souls were oppressed with sorrow for
sin, cried out in agony, who shall deliver me? laid hold
of the cross, looked up to the throne, felt the application
of grace to their hearts, enjoyed the inward witness of
adoption, and tasted the powers of the world to come.
In his societies he declared the progress of grace in his
own soul, and, like the royal Psalmist, cried, "Come, taste
and see that the Lord is good." Weighed down under a
sense of the value of souls, and burning with love to
his fellow-man, he proceeded from the churches to the
highways and fields, and proclaimed to crowds of dying,
miserable mortals, the glad tidings of salvation. Strange
was the sound, and joyful as strange; thousands heard
entranced. Believing the report, they laid hold on
Christ. Bristol, Bath, and Kingswood poured their neg
lected thousands at his feet; the scenes of Pentecost
were revived on earth; and multitudes who were crowd
ing the way to destruction, rushed into the paths of life.
It seemed as though the harps of heaven had dropped
down to earth, and earth, in her turn, had made a Sab
bath day's journey toward heaven.
From those places he proceeded to Blackheath, Moor-
fields, Kensington Common, and New Castle-upon-Tyne,
where thousands of anxious listeners crowded around
him, and hung with delight and interest upon his lips.
But his efforts were not confined to England; he pro
ceeded to Ireland and Wales. His brother Charles soon
came to his help; he went to the fields with hesitancy,

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 247
proclaiming his Master's word with trembling; but God's
grace visiting him while he fed the hungry raultitude, he
took courage and soon walked shoulder to shoulder with
his brother and Mr. Whitefield. This raethod of preach
ing, although adopted from necessity, the Churches hav
ing closed their doors upon these preachers on account
of their strange doctrines, nevertheless had great advant
ages; it excited attention, brought the unlooked-for
lost within hearing, and dispensed the word of life with
almost matchless expedition.
The extraordinary success which followed the powerful
preaching of these modern apostles, rendered it neces
sary to form the awakened and converted into classes for
mutual edification and instruction, so that the piety and
experience of each might be the property of all. These
societies were at first independent of each other, but for
want of a common bond they were soon dissolved. To
ward the latter part of the year 1739, the united societies
were established; and this maybe regarded as the period
from which the Methodist Church dates her existence.
Let us never be unmindful of our origin. Had it not
been for this expedient, the labors of Wesley, like those
of Whitefield, might now have scarce been known. It
was in these societies that the unwatchful were warned,
the erring reproved, the ignorant instructed, the vicious
reclaimed, the mourner comforted, the fainting encour
aged, and all blessed and built up in the most holy faith;
while affection cemented each to the other, and revived
those scenes of primitive Christianity which made the
enemies of Jesus say, " See how these Christians love !"
It was not unreasonable that the friends of the con
verts should inquire as to the new doctrine which they
professed, nor was it wonderful that some of the converts
should voluntarily go forth and tell their neighbors what
God had done for their souls. It was to be expected.

248 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
also, that in doing so they would attract attention and
encounter cavils, in meeting which they would have to
quote, explain, and enforce the divine word. Thus, un
consciously, they became preachers in deed and in truth.
They gave full proof of their ministry, not by writ
ten documents, but by living testimonies — souls being
pricked to the heart, and led to cry, " Lord, what wilt
thou have me to do?" Thus did Mr. Wesley supply the
societies which he formed in his progress with the word
of life ; or, rather, thus did Providence form, at the
same time, both a Church and a ministry.
Zeal is a characteristic of the Methodist Church. This
is a very desirable element of Christian character. We
would not encourage rashness — we would not discard
expediency — but far be from us that torpor which afflicts
so many — that deadness which makes a Christian silent
from day to day, when neighbors and friends are walking
upon the borders of the grave, the judgment, and eternal
ruin. Such was not the character of the prophets, the
apostles, the patriarchs, or the martyrs. Such was not
the character of Jesus. Enough has been said to con
vince you that Methodism is not without zeal. She cries
aloud and spares not ; she lifts up her voice like a
trumpet; she shows the people their transgressions, the
house of Israel her sins. The grace of God has con
strained her; it is as a fire within her bones; she feels
"Woe is me ifl preach not the Gospel;" she has cried out,
"0, that my head were waters, that mine eyes were a
fountain of tears !"
From Europe the work extended to the new world,
where the revivals commenced among the Congregation
alists in the northern states, the Friends in the middle,
and the Episcopalians in the southern had all declined,
and where reformation was needed as much as it was in
Europe, Here Emhury blew his trumpet in New York,

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 249
Webb in Albany, Pillsraore in Philadelphia, till Asbury
made all the valleys from the ocean to the gulf vocal
with the sound of free salvation, and laid broad the
foundations of our Zion.
Methodism is characterized by self denial. We doubt
whether any people since the days of the Hugenots
ever gave more evidence that they walked by faith and
not by sight, than the followers of Wesley. They toiled
night and day, summer and winter, with body and spirit.
Writing, thinking, praying, preaching, they went frora
country to country, from city to city, proclaiming Jesus
and the resurrection, like the apocalyptic angel that was
seen flying through the earth with the everlasting Gos
pel. They deemed no ocean too dangerous to be navi
gated, no island too distant to be visited, no continent
too vast to be explored in searching for the lost sheep of
the house of Israel. Did Napoleon meditate the subju
gation of the world to his own scepter ? Wesley endeav
ored to take possession of all the kingdoms and powers
of earth in the name of Zion's King.
Did they seek emolument ? Alas ! they deemed them
selves fortunate if they obtained a subsistence. Their
clothing and their Bible constituted their chief posses
sions. Each described his own situation as he sang that
beautiful hymn commencing,
" No foot of land do I possess,
No cottage in this wUderness."
The green earth was their carpet ; the clouds of heaven
their curtains ; the hill-top often served them at once
for a pulpit and a pillow; the dews moistened their morn
ing and evening sacrifices ; and the rude storm at times
received upon its bosom the impress of their fervor.
Many might have said, "The foxes have holes, and the
birds of the air have nests, hut the Son of man hath not
where to lay his head.''

250 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Did they seek honor? They found persecution, scorn,
and disgrace. Behold John and Charles Wesley, driven
from the Churches without any judicial sentence, any
ecclesiastical censure, any accusation, except that of
preaching salvation by faith; exposed to the mob, though
clothed with the robe of the sanctuary; insulted, reviled,
abused ; scorned by the priest and denied protection by
the magistrate. If such was the treatment shown to
them, what might be expected by their less respected
and less gifted brethren ? Much, but not so much perse
cution as they realized.
Persecution and reproach did not assail the ministers
only, but their people. Domestics, servants, and opera
tives in mining and manufacturing districts, were often
gathered as the fruits of their labors. These converts
often exciting the anger of their employers, were dis
missed from service, and, in some instances, not be
ing able to obtain other employment, actually died of want.
We pass to speak of its triumphs. The efforts of
Mr, Wesley and his assistants were crowned with unpar
alleled success. In a few years the work spread through
out England, Ireland, and Wales. It illuminated mines,
coal-pits, and prisons ; it shed rays over the palace and
the cottage ; it accompanied the army to the continent,
and poured its light upon the forests of our own country.
Prior to Mr. Wesley's death he saw a separate connection
and ministry established, under his superintendence, in
all parts of the United Kingdom, in the West India
Islands, Nova Scotia, the United States, and New Found-
land. The work received no check from his decease.
Xerxes, when he surveyed his army from the shores of
the Hellespont, was rendered gloomy amid his glory,
from the reflection that not one of all the multitude he
beheld would be found in existence one hundred years
from that period. Sic transit gloria mundi. Mr. Wes-

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 251
ley, had he possessed prophetic vision, would have had
different feelings when he marshaled his first little band
against the world, and then beheld the glorious results
of a century and a half of warfare. He and his genera
tion have been gathered to their fathers, but God has
preserved his name and his spirit, and the war which he
commenced has been carried on with unabated vigor.
Never has death mowed down the ranks as fast as the Lord
of hosts has filled them up. There are now about three
hundred Wesleyan chapels in England, besides other
places for preaching and prayer; one thousand and fifty-
six ministers; two hundred and fifty thousand, eight hun
dred members; and four thousand local preachers. In
Ireland there are one hundred and sixty preachers;
twenty-five thousand private members. In Canada there
are about thirty-six thousand members, with an ade
quate supply of preachers. The Wesleyan missionaries
are about five hundred and thirty-eight; and their chap
els in the mission field three thousand, one hundred and
seventy-seven, besides about ten thousand catechists,
interpreters, local preachers, schoolmasters, and assist
ants, who are zealously and successfully employed- in the
missionary field. In the Methodist Episcopal Church
there are about five thousand, four hundred and eight
ministers; six thousand, six hundred and ten local preach
ers; and seven hundred and ninety-nine thousand, four
hundred and thirty-one members, notwithstanding the
division. To take a review of the power of the Church,
we raust number her books and periodicals, and her relig-
ous and benevolent institutions. In order to ascertain
the amount of good which she has effected, we must read
the history of the Christian Church — the history of the
world — for the last hundred and thirty years; for Meth
odism has established itself in every continent and almost
every island of the sea. It has proclaimed the Gospel in a

252 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
vast number of the tongues of earth ; it has taken posses
sions of many of its tribes and kingdoms ; it has operated
a salutary influence upon all the ecclesiastical institutions
with which it has corae in contact ; it has even affected
political institutions in both hemispheres. The tolera
tion of the British Government toward Dissenters, and
the preservation of the Established Church, are mainly
attributable to her conservative influence. The mild
ness exhibited in the execution of law; the emancipation
of the press; the spread of civilization; the triumphs of
temperance; the diffusion of education ; the advancement
of science; the suppression of the slave-trade; the ex
tension of missionary effort, and the abolition of West
India slavery, and every other improvement in the intel
lectual, physical, and moral condition of our race, is vastly
indebted to the influence, directed or collateral, of the
Methodist Episcopal Church.
In making this brief review of the triumphs of Wes
leyan Methodism, we desire not to glory save in the cross
of our Lord Jesus Christ. Thine, 0 Savior, is the power,
and the wisdom, and the glory ; thine be all the praise !
We disclaim any intention to disparage sister denom
inations, or place the English Church in an unwarrant
ably-odious attitude for the purpose of self-exaltation.
Nor would we willingly exaggerate the salutary influence
of our own connection upon the moral condition of the
world. We are not aware that we have wandered beyond
strict truth. We would not, however, be unmindful that
we are but a small eleraent of the great mass ; and that
we have received as well as given impressions. We can
not conclude without denying that we have no intention
to excite denominational partiality by presenting connec-
tional institutions or doctrines in contrast with those of
other Churches for whom we wish to cherish the kindest
feeling. While we present a claim upon their sympathy.

WESLEY AND METHODISM. 253
and respect, and gratitude, we own that they have a
claim upon ours.
Let us humble ourselves before God. Who are we,
that God hath wrought so mightily for us? Dare we
boast that we are better than others ? Alas ! should
God inspect, would he approve ? How little wisdom
from above; how little growing in grace; how little
groaning for redemption ; how much of covetousness,
of bigotry, of pride, has crept in among us ! Have we
not degenerated in zeal, in spirituality, in devotion,
since the days of our fathers ? Had our exertions been
commensurate with our abilities, we should be tenfold
greater than we are. If we now should put forth as
much effort in proportion to our power as the primitive
Methodists did, we should be, perhaps, the means in
God's hand, of converting the world within the next
century. Notwithstanding our sins and our lukewarm
ness, our worldliness, our relaxation of discipline, God
has still been merciful to us ; and while humbled for our
degeneracy, we rejoice in his mercy ; and, though pen
itent, we will abundantly utter the memory of his good
ness. We will " Crowd his gates with joyful praise
High as the heavens our voices raise."

254 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

OK, A VISIT- TO MOUNT VERNON.
READEE, did you ever sail the Potomac in the
spring? Is it not beautiful? On a lovely morning
in April I started with my friend P. from my lodgings
in Washington to visit the tomb of the father of his
country. We were soon seated on the deck of a com
fortable steamer. The orb of day looked down from
a cloudless sky, the fragrant breezes gently fanned, the
birds sung their morning song, and the green banks
seemed to look up and smile at the sun as he poured
his warm beams into their beautiful bosoms. Eeader, I
am no poet; but I really think that I felt that morning a
little poetic inspiration. How lovely is this world ! How
worthy to be the abode of a noble and holy being ! How
good is the Almighty! Whose heart does not inquire
within him, what shall I render to the Lord for all his
benefits to me ? If this sinful earth be thus charming,
what must heaven be ?
Before the vessel left port three respectable-looking
gentlemen stepped on board, and soon joined us on the
upper deck. By instinct, accident, the play of moral
affinities, the operation of magnetic influence, or some
other cause, we all became acquainted in about ten
minutes. The strangers, like ourselves, were from the
Buckeye state ; two members of the house of represent
atives of the United States, and the third late a member
of the state senate. Mr. X., having been many years a
member, and being acquainted with the locality, served

THE BLIND CHRISTIAN. 255
US as guide, pointing out the navy-yard, and other
objects of interest, as we descended the stream. Arriv
ing at Alexandria, we found carriages ready to receive
us, and were soon on our way. As we rode through the
city we could not but observe that though it had some
good buildings, and appeared to be well sustained by
its flour trade, it was, nevertheless, rather shabby in
appearance. After a pleasant ride of five or six miles over a rough
road, we arrived at the Washington estate, which, I be
lieve, contains about three thousand acres of land, and
is in possession of a distant relative of General Wash
ington. In all my excursions through this region I was
surprised at the condition of the farms. Much of the
land appears worn out and abandoned, and that which is
cultivated seems poorly attended to. If it were in the
hands of Pennsylvania and Ohio farmers, would it not
soon be reclaimed? Its vicinity to the great cities ought
to prevent its abandonment, unless it be much poorer
than I suppose. At the outer inclosure an old negro
woman stood to turn the gate on its hinges for the sake
of our metallic tribute of thanks. On leaving the car
riage, our first object was to see the tomb. Looking
through the railing of an open vault, we saw the sepul
cher which contains the remains of George and Martha
Washington. Adjoining was a closed vault, which, we
were informed, contained the remains of about fifty of
the distant connections of the great and good man. We
found masons engaged in adding another slab to the
number already there, in commemoration of a grand-
niece of the illustrious soldier who died in the prime
of life, and shortly after her marriage to a gentleman
of New Orleans. I never was so forcibly reminded of
the transitory glory of this world as when standing on
this hallowed spot.

256 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
It was well for Washington that he had no descend
ants. Had he left children inheriting his superior
powers, they would have constituted a kind of aristoc
racy; had he left a family of a different description,
they would have diminished the veneration which the
nation spontaneously accords to his narae. There seems
to have been a happy providence also in the period of
Washington's death. Did he not close his eyes at the
time best for his own fame?
Leaving the vault, we strolled about the woods and
fields, and at length came round to the house. This is
by no means an elegant structure, but it is spacious and
well arranged. In the hall hangs the key of the Bastile
of Paris — a prison-house of centuries — which was de
molished during the French Eevolution in 1789. This
relic was presented to Washington by his friend La
fayette. In the dining-room is a beautiful marble man
tle, on which is represented, in mezzo-relievo, a charm
ing rural scene. I felt a kind of superstitious reverence
as I dropped down into the old arm-chair. But I
must not attempt to describe what doubtless has been
painted a thousand times by much more happy pens than
mine. From the house we passed to the garden. This is
inclosed by a brick wall, built under the direction of
Washington hiraself, and is tastefully laid out in various
geometrical figures, all bordered with box-wood. Within
these beds are flowers of almost every description, many
of which are in bloom in the month of April. The
gardener, a good-natured, modest, but talkative old man,
took great pains, and pleasure too, in showing every
interesting object, and letting us into the domestic
history of the General. "Do you see that wall? well,
the General built that. Do you see these beds ? well,
the old General wrote to the king of Germany for a

THE BLIND CHRISTIAN. 257
gardener." . . . But why should I narrate the conversa
tion of the old man, since a hearsay of a hearsay has no
authority in law, and you may consult the witness for
yourself. The gardener appeared to be as much interested in us
as we in him. When he led us to the green-house, and
showed us the orange, lemon, and other trees loaded
with fruit, besides various rare shrubs, among them an
aloe fifty years old, he very gently intimated to us that
gentlemen and ladies could be accommodated with or
anges or lemons at a shilling apiece, and that they could
be taken — if green — to our wives and daughters, and,
morever, that they would perfume our trunks on our
journey and our bureaus after we returned home. The
old orator ! he knew just where to strike the wanderer's
heart. Having provided ourselves with green limes,
oranges, and lemons for our wives and daughters, as me
mentoes of the father of his country, and having sealed
up the fountain which the ingenious gardener had dared
to unseal, we passed out.
As we left the garden, we passed a hut. Whitewashed
and apparently clean and comfortable, on the door- way
of which squatted "one of God's images cut in ebony."
Time had wrinkled her cheeks, and frosted her temples,
and chilled her blood, and palsied her limbs, and put
out her eyes. She was one of the raost wretched-looking
objects I ever beheld. Her arms were like drum-sticks,
her whole frame like a skeleton covered with skin, and
her face destitute of expression^a mere blank; or, as
Mrs. Eoyal said of Dr. C.'s, "like the but-end of a log
of wood." By an invisible attraction, and without any
consultation, we were drawn in a semicircle around the
old woman, when the following colloquy occurred :
Mr. X. "Old woman, did you know General Wash
ington ?" 22

258 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Negro. " Yes, sir, I knew him well."
Mr. X. " How old are you ?' .
Negro. "I don't know my age ; but I was a smart girl
at the time of Braddook's defeat."
Mr. X. "Have you any children ?"
Negro. " Yes ; but they are all down the river."
The old woman now turned querist, and raising her
drooping head, she said, with a firm voice and a deep
solemnity and interCiSt, "Are any of you soldiers of
Christ?" There was silence. One looked at another for
an answer. At length Mr. Y. replied, with evident and
perplexing embarrassment, "We don't know." As he
stammered out his reply I thought of King Agrippa
before Paul. Mr. Y. is an intelligent, amiable, honor
able man; but he stands confused before old Quashee.
"0, yes," rejoined the old woman, with a voice of com
manding tones and flute-like melody, "0, yes, if you are
soldiers of Christ you know it. The Lord does not do
his work so poorly that his creatures don't know when
it is done !" Another dead pause, and more embarrass
ment, increased by mutual sympathy. The old woman,
as she waited for an answer, seemed to assume a new
appearance. Her ebony countenance beamed with pene
trating intelligence and Christian sympathy. I under
stood Solomon's declaration, "A man's wisdom maketh
his face to shine." My heart, as I gazed upon her,
whispered, " Glory to God !" and I verily believed, had
my companions been "cedars of Lebanon," I should have
tried a shout. Brother P. was the first to break the
silence by saying to me, " Brother T., that is good doc
trine." Mr. X. " Old woman, are you blind ?"
Now, he need not have asked this question. She had
no eyes. Turning her sightless eyeballs toward heaven,
she exclaimed, with emphasis, "No, blessed be God!

THE BLIND CHRISTIAN. 259
though I am blind to the things of this world, I am not
blind to the things of the Spirit."
Methought the old woman's soul sustained the same
relation to the world that her body did to her cottage.
She was sitting at its door-way, her spirit's feet already
resting upon the green of heaven, and her soul's eyes
opening on its rainbow hues.
Mr. X. " Old woman, you are very old, and must soon
die." Negro. "Yes, blessed be God I"
Mr. X. "Well, you are old, and sickly, and feeble, and
blind, and your children are gone, and you are a slave,
I should think that, with your hopes of heaven, death
would be desirable. Are you not anxious to die ?"
Negro. "0, no, I wait God's time; I learn to suffer
as well as do his will. I shall gladly go when he calls
for me."
Mr. X. "What Church do you belong to?"
Negro. "In the language of this world, I belong to
the Baptist Church ; but when we get to heaven, I sup
pose my answer will be, I am a member of the Church
of Christ"
Now, when you talk of moral sublimity, don't point to
Alexander conquering the world, to Hannibal surmount
ing the Alps, to Caesar crossing the Eubicon, to Wolfe
dying in the arms of victory, to Lawrence wrapping
hiraself in the American flag, and crying, "Don't give
up the ship !" Here is a specimen of moral sublimity
far superior to all that was ever exhibited upon earth's
battle-fields — a poor, old, hlind, diseased slave, sitting
upon the rock of truth, while the waves of affliction
dash in mountains at her feet; yet, looking up into
heaven, and clinging to some beautiful promise, she gives
glory to God, and smiles upon the world.
We departed silently from the old saint. I said within

260 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
myself, as I took my place in the carriage, "This, blessed
Christianity, is thy triumph. Philosophy may teach man
to endure excruciating torment without a murmur; it
belongs to the Gospel alone to teach him to rejoice in
affliction."

SUPPORTING THE CONSTITUTION. 261

rpHE day after Governor Boutwell had vetoed the Mas-
-'- sachusetts Liquor law, as I was crossing in the ferry
boat from East Boston to the city, I noticed an old ine
briate in fierce discussion with a gentleman at my side.
His face was bloated and pock-marked, his hands were
tremulous, and his knees unsteady;, his eye, his atti
tudes, and his tones were all indicative of intense anger.
He was not intoxicated, for it was but nine o'clock. His
coat was thin and tattered ; his vest much the worse of
the wear. Frora one pocket of it protruded a dirty, well-
worn spectacle-case, and from the other a large piece of
cavendish tobacco. His pantaloons, well drawn up and
well saved, had a patch on the left knee, and needed a
patch on the right. He had an old cloth shoe on one
foot and a leather one on the other. He was brandish
ing, in his right hand, a black, crooked walking-stick,
and, as I soon found, was applauding the veto. He could
not sit for excitement, but walked the cabin, every now
and then putting the stick rather near his antagonist. I
caught a few sentences, from which I learned that he was
a defender of the Constitution. "Yes, sir," said he,
"Governor Boutwell has done a glorious deed. General
Jackson raade a veto and immortalized his name, and the
senate of the United States sustained him. Governor
Boutwell takes his stand by the hero of New Orleans, the
immortal vetoer, and the senate of Massachusetts sustains
him by a vote of 21 to 19. Yes, sir, he has saved his

262 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
country; he is a second Washington, and posterity will
encircle his memory." " Well," said the respondent,
"I think the law would have done good — whisky does
a great deal of harm." " ' No sin, no sin ;' it is one of
the best things on earth in its place. Don't physicians
use it ? Don't   use it ? I've seen the time
when preachers and deacons used it, and they preached
and prayed better than they do now, and were better
neighbors. They used to have it in stores and harvest-
fields. Why, a farmer could not raise a barn nor cut an
acre of grain without it, and a doctor cotdd not prescribe
without it; and then, sir, there were not many drunk
ards; there was not one drunkard then where there are
ten now. No, sir, it ain't the whisky, that is good
enough. Why, I've tried it; I know it is good for chil
dren, and it's good for old people; it's good in the cold,
and good in the heat; it is good outside, and it is good
inside. I've tried it. When I am aguish I've put it in
my hat, and put it in my shoes. Don't these fine ladies
wash their faces in it, heh? Why, sir, you haven't been
through what I've been, or else you would have found it
board, and lodging, and washing." The gentleman archly
remarked that he had known many to get a night's lodg
ing by it, but as to the board and washing he was not so
sure. Then alluding to the evils of intemperance, he
roused up the old man again. "Well, sir, it is these
youngsters; they don't know how to manage, that buy
their liquor by the drink. That is not the way. I never
could drink a sixpence worth at a time without drinking
too much; but I buy it by the pint and take what is good
for me, like a reasonable creature. No, no, the liquor
don't do harm after all; it is just this Church and state.
When they joined to break down our liberties the mis
chief began. This is the way all these drunkards are
made; men just drink hard to show them that they don't

SUPPORTING THE CONSTITUTION. 263
give up the Constitution, and that is the great question.
It an't the liquor, sir, that we care about, it is the Con
stitution. There is my whisky, now, sir, take it if you
dare. It is founded on the bill of rights — the constitu
tion of eternal rights. What does it say? — 'life, liberty,
and the pursuit of property.' Sir, I won't let you touch
it, but would fight to the last Look there that side, you
see Bunker Hill, don't you? That is a great preacher;
it has preached liberty for generations more than all the
preachers. Look that side, you see Dorchester hights,
where Washington stood. Now, sir, do you understand
that ? If that law had passed, you would have seen the
blood flow faster than it ever did in the days of the Eev
olution. Yes, sir, and the Governor would have called
the Legislature together to repeal the law quicker than
the Yankees put the tea overboard. Sir, we in old Mas
sachusetts, sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish,
will support the Constitution." Well, the Governor has
signed substantially the same bill; so the old liquor hero
¦will have a chance to fight for the Constitution. He may
lose some liquor in the battle, but he does not appear to
have much blood to spare.
But ladies have zeal for the Constitution as well as gen
tlemen ; indeed, it seeras to be the passion of the Araer-
ican people. While sitting in a barber-shop, at Cincin
nati, sorae time since, under the razor, a well-dressed,
portly negro woman opened the door. Her skin was of jet
black, and shining; her ears were adorned with long ear
rings of gold; her step and manner indicated great self-
confidence; indeed, her air and deportment were imperi
ous, and but for her earrings and bonnet, I might have
taken her for an Ethiopian eunuch of the Sublime Porte.
"Can you tell, boy," said she, with great abruptness
and loudness, "whether there are any houses to rent in
this neighborhood ?"

264 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
The barber replied very dryly, " There are some rooms
in this house to be rented."
"Boy," she cried, "do you take me for a country dar
kle ? Do you think I live in a room ? No, sir, I asked
not for rooms, but houses."
The barber becoming agitated, but still keeping razor
in hand and pretending to continue his operation, re
marked, "You had better ask how to get out of the city
than how to get a house in it."
The woman, drawing nearer, and looking vengeance,
cried, "Boy, what do you mean by insulting a woman of
ray quality?"
"Ah," said the barber, trembling like an aspen, "I
know you very well."
The woman, stamping with her feet, shouted out, "Sir,
I know what you mean. But when we live at Eome we
must do as Eome does. The whites have been very kind
to me; they have given me my freedom, and I am re
solved that I will always be bold and courageous in pro
mulgating the Constitution and the laws."
Now, the poor barber was a small and sickly raan, and
the woman could have thrown him from the shop as a boy
could toss his top. I began to tremble for him. He very
wisely raade no reply to this eloquent declaration of inde
pendence, and the woman, after giving a few admonitions
to the youth, took her departure. After she left, I in
quired of the barber why he should treat so impolitely a
woman of so decent an appearance.
"Ah," said he, "if you knew her as well as I do you
would not ask. She is," he continued, "a free colored
woman, who was owned by a southern planter, of whom
she was a favorite mistress. When her master died
he liberated her, and made provision for her support.
Among other property he gave her a colored girl. Hav
ing moved to this city, the woman took her slave to

SUPPORTING THE CONSTITUTION. 265
Kentucky and hired her out, and going over weekly to re
ceive her wages, she took a cowhide with her, and, no mat
ter what the girl's conduct had been, she took her aside
and gave her a severe beating. When she was asked why
she did so, she replied that she was determined to sup
port the Constitution. The people at length informed
her that if she repeated the operation they would support
the Constitution on her back. Finding that she could
not whip her slave, she took her down the river and
sold her."
I have often thought of the zeal of this patriotic wo
man. How often do our demagogues manifest a similar
zeal ! They pity the poor people. They would gladly re
lieve and bless them, but, ah, the Constitution ! And as
they raise the cowhide over the bleeding backs of their
constituents, and follow stroke "with stroke, if you admon
ish them to pause, they cry, "Constitution, Constitu
tion I" 23

266 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

|i ^kitt\ 0f ai\n ias».
" Quod -risum movet
Et quod prudeiiti vitam cmmlio monet.^'
A FTEE a fatiguing day's journey, we found night ap-
-^¦*- proaching, as we reached the summit of the mount
ain. We were traveling in a comfortable covered car
riage, drawn by a span of spirited horses, and driven by
an interesting young gentleman recently from England,
who had proffered to drive our carriage, as he was, like
us, desirous of seeking his fortune in the west. Scarce
three months had elapsed since our arrival in America;
and now we were on Laurel Eidge. The wild scenery
around us, the approach of night, the song of the mount
ain bird, the rustling of the forest leaves, and a thou
sand strange noises, real and imaginary, that came up
from the deep valleys, and down from the overhanging
wood, made us nestle closely to the knees of mother.
Ever and anon we turn an angle, and the feet of the
horses strike the verge. There was then no turnpike
across the Alleghanies. It was a period when western
merchants transported their goods, and western bride
grooms their brides, on pack-saddles — about the time
that the Ohio legislator took to the seat of government a
winter supply of goose-grease for his boots, and Governor
W. was hauling a load of apples from his farm to pay for
his board during the session. As a stone, struck from
the crumbling cliff by the revolution of the wheel, went
crashing down the mountain, now striking the rocks, and

A SKETCH OP OTHER DAYS. 267
now cutting its way through the branches of the trees,
till the sound, growing fainter and fainter, at length died
upon the ear, the skillful driver cried out, "I can drive
no further. Shall we not stop and wait in the carriage
till morning?" "No," cried a voice from within, firmly,
"we shall be in danger from wild beasts. Drive carefully
till you come to a house."
"0, papa, I shall die! it is so dark," cried one little
urchin. "Never mind, daughter, you have been in dark
ness before." "But the Doctor says he can't drive; and
suppose we should tumble over that deep precipice — should
we not all be dashed to pieces?" "Dear child, don't be
alarmed, we are in the hands of God. His providence
has thus far preserved us on the ocean, and on the land;
let us trust it now." One little boy crept up to his
mother, and placing his head in her lap, grasped hold of
both her knees. "Mamma," said he, "you won't let me
be killed, will you?" "Don't be alarmed; you are a good
boy; you pray to God, and love him, I hope; and if so,
he will take care of you." About eight o'clock we
reached a house, the owner of which kept a tavern; and
it was well that he did, for he kept nothing else. It was
a two-story log building. In spots it was chunked, and
was well daubed every-where except between the logs.
Studding had been set around the front room, which con
tained the bar. In this was a rude counter, from beneath
which protruded a barrel of whisky, and upon which
was a bottle of the " good cretur," with a few tin cups.
On the outside of the counter were some domestic bench
es, made of slabs, and mounted on hickory legs. This
bar deserves commendation; instead of containing the
"seven last plagues," it had but one. The floor was
pretty well strewed with the shells of various nuts trod
den into a black loam, and cemented with solutions of to
bacco; so that it would have afforded an interesting field

268 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
for the examination of the geologist. It was a new spe
cies of alluvion.
The back room was kitchen, parlor, bedroom, etc. It
was difficult to tell where the hearth commenced or where
it terminated; but there were some huge logs burning on
it, on the protruding ends of which it was perfectly safe
to sit. The landlady was of a strange appearance. I in
stinctively shuddered as I beheld her. She reminded me
of the Gipsies, from whom I was in the habit of running
in my native land. The Doctor — our driver — soon canle
in with a smiling countenance, saying that his horses
were well taken care of — "plenty of hay, oats, straw, and
good stabling; this is a great comfort to me." The land
lady inquired if we wanted supper; and being answered
in the affirmative, she set about the work. As she had
but one cooking utensil, a large skillet, she first made
some rye coffee, and poured it into a vessel. Having
provided the fluids, she proceeded to cook the substances
in the same skillet. My raother, in medias res, ap
proached her, and said, "Madam, if you will be kind
enough to let me have some bread and butter for my chil
dren, I will put them to bed. We have had a fatiguing
day's journey, and they care more about rest than food."
The old woman was preparing to mutter some objections,
when my mother, supposing that her reluctance arose
from a fear lest the plan proposed might diminish her re
ward, remarked distinctly and emphatically, that she did
not wish, by asking for a hasty repast, to reduce the bill.
"0," said she, "wait: I'll get you a fust-rate supper. I
ha'n't got no bread. Dad ha'n't tuck any wheat to mill
for six months; and I ha'n't churned this week; but I'll
make you a fust-rate supper." The skillet being emptied
of its coffee, received a large bit of pork. This being
cooked, the landlady proceeded to bake some buckwheat
cakes; and to keep them warm, as she piled them on her

A SKETCH OE OTHER DAYS. 269
plate, she covered them with a fragment of blanket.
Now, of buckwheat cakes we had never before heard.
And 0, what cakes ! In regard to dimensions we have
no complaint to make; but, as to color, they were — with
out the least exaggeration — as black as soot.
We gathered around the table, and joined papa in a
devout acknowledgment of the Divine care and goodness,
and an invocation of his blessing. Taking our seats in a
good frame, the thoughtful among us were reminded of a
certain passage of Scripture, Matt, xv, 11. Perceiving
that we did not appear to partake abundantly, the land
lady said, "Eat away, honeys; dad an't very perlite;
every body helps himself here." " We are not hungry,
madam," was the reply; "do not be troubled, madam;
our fatigue, perhaps, has destroyed our appetite."
Landlady. "May be you'd like to have a little whisky
to bring you to an appetite."
"No, no, madam, we shall do very well."
Eising from the table, mamraa advanced to the hostess
with a request for a candle, that she might put her chil
dren to rest. "We ha'n't no candles, marm. Is it a
light you want ? I can fix that in a minute." So say
ing she took the padlock from the door and filled it with
grease from her skillet. "How is the wick to be made ?"
"Hold this, honey." Now, supposing her ladyship's
dress to be a map — the upper part would be north, and
the lower part south. So, taking the south end of her
dress, which had suffered similar invasions before, she
tore off a long strip of calico, and twisting it up, she in
serted it in the padlock for a wick. "Now you have a
light." When we had climbed to the upper floor, we
found ourselves in a barn-like apartment, where the mus-
ketoes, the martins, the butterflies, the bees, etc., had
free ingress and egress, regress and progress. Indeed,
the winds of heaven might pass through the chamber

270 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
without bruising their "wings." In the roof there were
openings through which you might see the "bands of
Orion," or admire "Arcturus with his sons," or enjoy
the "sweet influences of the Pleiades," or "lift up thy
voice to the clouds." This apartment, however, was
chunked at the corners, where stood bedsteads made of
unbarked timber bound together with bands of twigs.
Children. "Now, mother, how can we endure this?
We shall catch our death o' cold in this dreadful place."
Mother. "Don't be disturbed; I'll make you comforta
ble." A trunk, containing some articles of clothing, and
luckily one or two quilts, being brought from the car
riage, all hands were employed with hammer and nails.
Presently we had partitions, curtains, etc., "opus fervet,"
till we almost fancied ourselves at home.
Mother. "Children, now prayers."
The smaller ones kneeled around the mother's knees,
and closing their eyes, and raising their little hands,
joined with brother J. in an artless, sweet prayer, asking
blessing on father, mother, sister, brother, the sailor, the
traveler, but above all the innkeeper and his wife; and
now rising and standing in a semicircle, E. repeated the
hymn commencing —
" Earth has engrossed my love too long,
'Tis time I lift my eyes
Upward, dear Father, to thy throne,
And to my native skies."
This ended, four merry little fellows hopped into bed.
Miss J. "0, mamma, how miserable I am ! I wish we
had never left England. With New York and Philadel
phia we were agreeably disappointed; but here in the
west I apprehend we shall realize more than we dreaded."
Mother — with Christian dignity. — "Dear J., how un
grateful to God you are ! That fretfulness is very sinful.

A SKETCH OE OTHER DAYS. 271
The soul is an empire of itself, and depends little on ex
ternal circumstances for its joy. The 'conscience void of
offense' finds happiness in the wilderness as well as in the
city. EecoUect the sweet lines of your favorite poet —
' Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes ;
Rivers unknown to song : where Hrst the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles, 'tis nought to me,
Since God is ever present, ever felt.
In the void waste as in the city full ;
And where he vital breathes there must be joy.'
Moreover, you must not form a judgment of the west
from this family. In Portsmouth you might find dark
ness and misery as deep and deplorable as this. You
know but little of the world."
Miss J. "I do not wish to know much, if this is a fair
speciraen. I wish I was back in Queen-street."
"0, J., suppress that thought You reproach your
father. You ought to know that your papa's object in re
moving was to benefit his family. Our fortunes, though
impaired, would have been adequate to the wants of your
papa and I. It was to provide comfortably for you, and
place you all in situations in which you might struggle
with success for respectability, if not distinction, that we
left our native land. You should bear in mind that the
purpose of living is to do good. It is precisely in such
scenes as this that we can best accomplish the great pur
pose of life. You have often, in your religious moments,
desired to be a missionary ; but now you have come into
a semi-barbarous family, you sicken and pine for home.
Providence may have sent us hither for good; and if we
find the country to which we go populated with such fam
ilies, let us take it for granted that Providence designs
us for the highest human employment — that of missiona-

272 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Miss J. "But, mamma, what could you do with such a
stultified, ignorant, dirty, old creature?"
Mother. "J., J., be careful. Call nothing 'common
or unclean.' He who calls his brother a fool is in danger
of hell fire; not because of any intrinsic demerit in the
act, but because such a view of human nature is calcu
lated to lead away from the Creator. If God bears with
the sinner, so should we. But what is meant by the dec
laration, 'The publicans and harlots go into the kingdom
of heaven before you?' A more favorable field for the
seed of the Gospel I have rarely seen. To these people
Christianity will be new, and its hallowed influences
fresh." Miss J. "But, mother, you don't intend to stay and
preach to them."
Mother. "I can leave the woman a Bible and a bless-
ing." A little head peeped out of the blankets, and cried,
"Mamma, I think she needs a broom worse than a
Bible." Mother. "My dear boy, if she had a Bible she would
not want a broom."
"Why, mother, they don't sweep with Bibles. Bibles
don't make brooms."
Mother. "You're wrong, my son. In one sense Bibles
do make brooms. We may sweep away sin and misery
with Bibles. The Bible enjoins industry, sobriety, clean
liness, on the authority of God, and under the penalty of
his eternal displeasure; and I have never yet seen a Bi
ble where there was no broom. The true remedy for all
the ills of life is the Gospel of God's dear Son. But
here comes papa. I know he will indorse all I have
said." Papa. "Yes, that I will, my dear. 0 what a sloven!
You must exhort her a little; but don't offend her; she

A SKETCH OP OTHER DAYS. 273
appears to be a good-natured creature. Well, we ought
to be very grateful that we have life, and health, and
shelter. The little Doctor has concluded to sleep iu the
carriage. I wish him a good night's rest. He is very
fearful, and has drawn the carriage up very close to the
house." A voice from the bed: "An't these bad people? won't
they kill us?"
"Dear son, you must not judge by appearances. Did
you never hear me tell the fable of the mouse who went
abroad to see the world, and ran away from an owl be
cause it looked ugly, but ran up to a cat because she
looked pretty? There ia more danger sometimes from
those who smile and dress well, than from those who live
in cabins and eat coarse fare."
" At length we close our eyes of sorrow.
With pleasing visions of to-morrow."
We all slept soundly; but were awakened now and then
by a voice from the carriage, crying out, "Landlord, I
say, landlord, is that a bear?"
The morning came very soon. At daybreak we were
up. After canceling the bill — by no means small — and
purchasing some apples and chestnuts, we were on our
way rejoicing, the little ones singing —
" Early to bed, and early to rise.
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise."
The older ones, looking down into the well-like valley,
and admiring the rich foliage, and the fresh breezes, and
the notes of the birds singing their morning songs, ex
claim, "What lovely scenery! Magnificent, romantic
America !"
A voice from the driver's seat sang —
" Ye cliffs in hoary grandeur pUed,
High o'er the glimmering dale ;

274 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
"Ye woods, along whose winding wild
Murmurs the solemn gale —
o o o e
Deep in your most sequester'd bower
Let me at last recline,
"Where solitude, mild, modest power,
Leans on her ivied shrine."
And a voice from within answers —
" Ah, why did fate his steps decoy,
In stormy paths to roam.
Remote from all congenial joy ?
0, take the wanderer home !"
When rosy-fingered Aurora had unbarred the gates of
the east, and poured the dew upon the fiowers, we were
cheerily driving into a beautiful village.
The language of the interlocutors may not be accu
rately given; but the scenes are correctly though imper
fectly delineated.
The writer, in penning the above, has been forcibly re
minded of the following lines :
" Ye days that balmy influence shed,
"When sweet childhood, ever sprightly,
In paths of pleasure sported lightly,
"Whither, ah ! whither are ye fled ?"

MILLEBIBM. 275

PUIuism.
THE history of Millerism is instructive. We enter into
no argument concerning it — we triumph not over its
advocates or disciples. In general, they were doubtless
pious and sincere — many were intelligent and highly
estimable. We do not blame them. Many causes con
spired to their deception. Mr. Miller, though illiterate,
is certainly a man of some thought and research, and
his book is interesting and ingenious. He derived
authority from several illustrious names. The doctrine
of the premillenial advent is advocated by some very
learned and pious divines. The period fixed on by Mr.
Miller for Christ's second coming, was hinted at, not
obscurely, by some distinguished commentators; and the
data from which the Millerites reasoned were furnished
by others. The delusion, perhaps, was not met in a
proper manner. The ministry neglected it — the laity
assailed it with ridicule and scorn. Had the pastor
of each Church stood up and thrown light around him
when the darkness was coming, and had the judicious
laymen of every Church reasoned kindly with their err
ing brethren, Millerism would not have produced much
agitation. Let us not look upon Millerites as heretics. Heresy
implies error relative to fundamental truth. Yea, more,
hatred to the truth. Millerism, though not heresy, has
produced disastrous results. It has injured Zion. Many
of the leaders infused — we hope unwittingly — an unchar-

276 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
itable and denunciatory spirit into their disciples, and in
sisted on a separation from their brethren, who did not
agree with them in relation to the period of Christ's
coming. Schism is no small matter. He who for an
opinion on a point not fundamental to Christian doctrine,
or subversive of Christian character, rends the already
torn and bleeding Church of Christ, will have a fearful
account to meet at the bar of God.
It has strengthened infidelity. Our heart has bled as
we have witnessed the contempt and scorn of the ungodly
toward religious but mistaken men, and we have wept as
we have contemplated the hardening of infidel heart, and
the blinding of ungodly mind, and the searing of already
blunted conscience, under the consequences of the new
theory concerning the end of the world, when the secrets
of all hearts shall be laid open.
It has strengthened the Papacy. A large portion of
intelligent men are looking with favor toward Mother
Church. The errors and fanaticism resulting from pri
vate judgment in raatters of religion, are, in our day,
so nuraerous and flagrant, and are productive of such
agitation and uncharitableness, and conflicts of passion
and of interest, that many are seriously debating the
question whether it is not better to surrender the Bible,
and the conscience, and the intellect, to the keeping of
his Holiness, than to endure the evils of religious lib
erty. We are not of that number. We know that in
the Mother Church error and delusion in the worst forms
are to be found ; and that even in relation to the end of
the world, there have been, under the management of
the Pope, mistakes as flagrant, and far more mischiev
ous than Millerism. Still, if Eomanism in the United
States were to import and consecrate her "relics" with
more caution, and conceal her design with more cun
ning, we should not be surprised to find her augmenting

MILLERISM, 277
her numbers by proselytism as well as by emigration
and natural increase.
The effect of Millerism upon its disciples will, we fear,
be woeful. Many, we apprehend, will become deists if not
atheists. Those who may adhere to the Bible will prob
ably cling to many mistakes which Millerism has brought
with it; for error is rarely single. We might point out
many false views which Millerism has fostered, if not
originated. There are some of so serious a character that
we can not pass them by.
Millerites with whom we are acquainted, think they were
supernaturally instructed to believe their views in regard
to the second advent, and the period of its occurrence.
It is strange and unfortunate that every religious delu
sion pretends to inspiration. When a man sets up
such a pretense, there are no resources in logic to meet
his case.
Now, although we believe in intercourse between man
and God, we look for no additional revelation. God's
communion with man is to strengthen and comfort the
soul in the Christian conflict. How are we to know
whether a certain impression be from our own spirit, or
from another created spirit, or from God ? By these
tests : Is it conformable to revelation ? Does it render
us more holy and useful? — increasing our love, joy,
peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meek
ness, temperance, industry, frugality, etc.
Let our Millerite friends be careful of the spirit
which they have indulged toward the Church and the
world. The ancient Jews believed that when Christ
came they would be gathered around a temporal prince,
who should lead them forth to subjugate all nations, and
make them the temporal lords of the earth. In such a
spirit they could not receive the "Lamb of God."
Have not our erring brethren — for brethren, and breth

278 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
ren beloved, we still regard them — been indulging a
similar delusion and a kindred spirit? Have they not
been looking for a temporal monarch, who should gather
them into a palace, arm them with " two-edged swords,"
lead them forth, not for the subjugation, but the de
struction of all who differ with them, crown them with
temporal dignity, and allow them to luxuriate in worldly
prosperity? Is this the patient and humble spirit in
which we should wait for the coming of Christ and the
better inheritance ?
We fear, too, that Millerism in a great measure loses
sight of the cross, and aims to accomplish the great pur
poses of the Gospel by proclaiming the judgment. Now,
although it may be necessary, in rousing attention, to
proclaim the law, and to persuade by "the terrors of
the Lord," yet it is the "goodness of God" which "lead
eth" men to repentance — it is by the mercies of God
that we are to beseech men to present their bodies a
living sacrifice — it is by that cross which is "a stumbling
block to the Jew," and " foolishness " to the Greek —
which the apostle regarded as of so much consequence
that he would know nothing else — that the guilty race is
to be reconciled to God.
Is not Millerism too presumptuous? The Bible has
many pages which to us are sealed. Although the
history, doctrines, and precepts of holy Scripture are
written so plainly that if they were pealed in thunder
they could not be better known — so clearly and fully
that all that is fundamental is obvious, even to the way
faring man — yet may there not be in some portions of
that word which is "settled in heaven," that truth
which "reacheth into the clouds," hights and depths
we wot not of? Men of profound learning, unwearied
research, mighty intellect, and deep piety, have been at
a loss to understand many parts of the apocalyptic and

MILLERISM. 279
prophetical books. Commentators of distinguished abil
ities have given contradictory interpretations; and many
hypotheses, defended with energy, learning, and zeal,
have long since been exploded by the progress of events.
Fulfilled prophecy is easily understood — unfulfilled proph
ecy was probably not designed to be perfectly understood
till its fulfillment. Does it not accompliish its purpose
if it creates a general expectation of the coming event ?
Would it not, in some measure, defeat its object, if all
its lines could be distinctly traced beforehand, and its
progress tracked as well over the pages of the future as
over those of the past ? Ages at a distance from the
fulfillment might be unconcerned — those near might
make artificial attempts at fulfillment May we not con
sider prophecy as a casket of jewels, which time alone
can unlock ? Yet many talk of the darkest portion of
Scripture as flippantly as a child does of its primer.
They plunge into depths where the tallest minds have
drowned, and where an angel would swamp — yet they
vainly dream that their feet are upon a rock. They
talk about " images," and " horns," till they at least sat
isfy their hearers that "little horns" can speak great,
swelling words.
For our own part, we have always begged to be ex
cused from such deep waters, on the principle that,
though " Larger boats may venture more.
Little boats should keep near shore.''
To US the fact that Christ will come, is in the sunshine;
but the period and manner of his coming are in " clouds
of heaven." If I can be assured that I do his will, and
am preparing for a mansion in his Father's house, I shall
be satisfied.
What can become of the Millerites ? Let them return
to the bosom of the Churches from which they have

280 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
strayed. Let the Churches welcome them back. Let
us bear with their wandering, considering ourselves lest
we also be tempted. Let us not advert to their errors
or disappointment; if they force the subject upon our
attention, let us argue with them moderately and calmly.
There is such a thing as arguing too strongly, and mak
ing even error appear too monstrous and absurd. A man
will con,sent to capitulate on honorable terms, although
he would resist unto death if he knew that surrender
would be disgrace.

PHRENOLOGY 281

||nn0l0gB.
PHEENOLOGY deserves at least a cursory attention.
It has excited rauch interest in Europe and Amer
ica. It numbers among its teachers many distinguished
philosophers, and has attracted to its halls thousands of
disciples. It is a frequent topic of discourse in every
circle ; it has enlarged our vocabulary, and has con
tributed many valuable discoveries to anatomy, physi
ology, and metaphysics. However, therefore, we may
regard the science, whether as true or false, harmless or
dangerous, it behooves us to bestow upon it some atten
tion. Moreover, if it be well founded we shall be re
warded for cultivating it; and if not we shall confer a
favor upon society by exposing its fallacies.
The treatment with which phrenology met, at its first
announcement, both in this country and Europe, was
unjust, and disgraceful to the age. It was held up to
scorn and derision, and was characterized by every epithet
of reproach which the vocabulary of contempt and wit
could furnish. Even its amiable advocates were subjects
of ridicule and persecution. Far be it from me thus to
treat any system or its teachers. One might suppose
that the world had learned a lesson frora the opposition
to Columbus and to Copernicus, the persecutions of
Galileo, and the martyrdom of Servetus.
Ignorance and intelligence combine to oppose innova
tion both in science and rehgion; but surely this is not
accordant either with prudence or the spirit of Chris-
24

282 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
tianity. If an innovation be pernicious, or an alleged
discovery be unfounded, the better way is, to examine it
calmly and carefully, and expose its danger or fallacy in
the spirit of kindness. By opposition we give it undue
importance, and multiply, instead of diminish, the num
ber of its disciples.
I do not pretend to offer any thing new on this subject.
My design is, briefly and candidly, to trace the outlines
of the science, and to offer such inferential suggestions
as may occur to my mind.
Phrenology is a modern science. Its founder. Dr.
Gall, was born in the year of our Lord 1757; and his
excellent disciple and coadjutor. Dr. Spurzheim, in the
following year. Dr. Gall commenced that train of ob
servation and reflection which led to the formation of
his favorite hypothesis in early life. He is said to have
observed that a fellow-student, who was remarkable for
the memory of language, had prominent eyes; upon
observing others noted for the same faculty, he discov
ered in them a similar configuration. From these facts
he derived his first ideas in relation to his system.
Having matured it, he commenced a course of lectures
in Vienna, in 1796. At this period he prosecuted his
observations and studies with an assiduity and perse
verance worthy of the richest fruits. While he amused
the living, however, he alarmed the dying; death, always
terrific, appeared more horrible to the expiring inhab
itant of luxurious Vienna, because his fancy painted Dr.
Gall in its gloomy chambers decapitating its unresisting
victims. Phrenology spread with considerable rapidity through
that city and various other parts of the empire. At
length, in 1802, the Austrian Government issued an order
prohibiting its further promulgation, upon the ground
that it was dangerous to religion. This arrangement

PHRENOLOGY. 283
may seem strange to us — but so it was. In 1805 Gall
and Spurzheim set out together, from Vienna, to travel
and lecture. The new science was at first well received
in Prance, particularly among the elite of its versatile,
volatile raetropolis ; but it soon excited the jealousy of
the Government It attracted the notice of the Insti
tute, was examined by a coramission appointed for that
purpose, and received a considerable check from its
masterly report The influence of this report may be
conceived, when it is stated that Cuvier stood at the
head of the commission by which it was drafted. Gall,
however, not discouraged, settled in Paris, and prose
cuted his studies with ardor; but Spurzheim departed
to spread the principles of the science abroad. He went
from Paris to London, where, being favorably received,
he lectured with considerable success. The distin
guished anatomist and surgeon, Abernethy, then in the
zenith of his glory, although he did not adopt the
science, yet entertained an opinion favorable to the
labors of Spurzheim. From London, Dr. Spurzheim
went to Edinburgh, where he met with opposition from
Dr. Gordon. This circumstance, however, redounded to
his credit; for Dr. Gordon assailed him on a point where
he was not vulnerable. It was in relation to the struc
ture of the brain, and Dr. Spurzheim demonstrated the
correctness of his statements in Dr. Gordon's dissecting-
room, to the satisfaction of his own pupils. Dr. Spurz
heim paid a second visit to Edinburgh, which, also, was
rendered unpleasant by an altercation with Sir William
Hamilton. He visited the United States in August,
1823, and died at Boston, November 16th, of the same
year. Whatever we may think of the system, it is
impossible to withhold our admiration of the man. He
was the author of many valuable works, the chief of
which are his Physical Education, Phrenology, and Phys-

284 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
iognomy on Phrenological Principles. He was temperate
in his habits, and had a perfect command of his appe
tites and passions. It is said that he fi-equently retired
hungry from a festival, because he could find no dish
sufficiently simple. His intellect was of the highest
order, and his heart was cast in the finest mold. He
married an amiable widow lady of Paris ; in the selec
tion of whom, as his companion, he is said to have been
influenced by the fact, that her life had been made up
of a series of misfortunes. He considered that severe
dispensations of Providence were necessary to develop
the best feelings of the heart. He had enlarged con
ceptions of the divine Being, and had learned to regard
all the events of the universe as promotive of general
good. He did not, however, exclude the idea of human
accountability, but believed that every event was the
result of a wise law working out the designs of infinite
wisdom and benevolence. Hence the prayer upon his
heart and tongue was, "Father, thy will, not mine, be
done.'' Such is a brief history of the founders of phrenology.
I proceed to notice the science.
The name is derived from two Greek words — ^pijv, the
mind, and %o-yo{, a discourse — and imports the science of
mind. A better term, and one which has been proposed
by phrenologists as a substitute, is craniology; for it
certainly concerns itself primarily with the cranium.
Formerly philosophers examined the manifestations of
the mind, and in doing this each made his own con
sciousness the standard. Phrenology proposes to exhibit
the mental powers, and to name, and bound, and de
scribe their organs, and the laws which regulate them.
It affirms that the brain is the instrument of mind —
that it is not a single organ, but a congeries of organs —
that in proportion to the size of the brain — ceeteris pari-

PHRENOLOGY. 285
bus — is the power of the mind; and in proportion to
the relative size of the organ is its power — that these
organs are double — that each hemisphere of the brain —
for it is divided longitudinally by a membrane — has or
gans corresponding to the other. (So that it is possible,
I suppose, for a man to be asleep on one side, and awake
on the other ; or for one side of a man's head to be
sane, while the other is non compos.^ These different
organs are supposed to act as other physical organs; so
that they may be regarded as glands like the liver or the
pancreas ; and the desires and thoughts as the secretions
of the gland, to be classed with the bile or the saliva.
Physiologists have divided the secretions into three
classes; namely, excrementitious, recrementitious, and
excremento-recrementitious. Should phrenology be es
tablished, there need be no alteration of this classification
to accommodate the new intruders araong the products of
secretion — for surely sorae thoughts are worthy to be
retained ; some are of the mixed class, and others — not
a few — are worthy to be thrown to Cloacina.
I have already remarked, that phrenology has intro
duced a number of new words. To this, however, there
can be no objection; for if a man discover new ideas
he is entitled to give them names. Dr. Spurzheim's
arrangement is comprised in order, genera, and species,
as follows :
Special faculties of the mind. Order I. Feelings, or
affective faculties. Genus I. Propensities and desire
to live, alimentiveness. 1. Destructiveness. 2. Am-
ativeness. 3. Philoprogenitiveness. 4. Adhesiveness.
5. Inhabitiveness. 6. Combativeness. 7. Secretiveness.
8. Acquisitiveness. 9. Constructiveness.
Genus II. Sentiments. 1. Cautiousness. 2. Appro-
bativeness. 3. Self-esteem. 4. Benevolence. 5. Eev-
erenoe. 6. Firmness. 7. Conscientiousness. 8. Hope.

286 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
9. Marvelousness. 10. Ideahty. 11. Mirthfulness. 12.
Imitation. Order II. Intellectual faculties. Genus I. 1. Exter
nal senses — feeling, taste, hearing, smell, sight 2. Vol
untary motion.
Genus II. Perceptive faculties — individuality, configu
ration, size, weight, resistance, color, locality, order, cal
culation, eventuality, time, tune, artificial language.
Genus III. Eeflective faculties — comparison, causality.
This is not precisely the classification of Dr. Gall. He,
for instance, gave to the organ of acquisitiveness, the
name of theft; to that of veneration, the name of relig
ion ; to that of destructiveness, the name of murder.
Dr. S. maintained that the first did not uniformly give a
propensity to steal — that its direction depends on the
other faculties, and leads some to acquire knowledge;
others, fame; others, wealth. He taught that the organ
of religion did not lead us to worship God, but to venera
tion in general. It was found that Voltaire, and other
infidels, had this organ in no small dimensions. So the
organ of murder, according to his views, gives a tendency
to destroy, and its object will be determined by the size
and influence of other organs. Dr. Fisk had this organ
large, and yet could not kill a worm without suffering
pain. A phrenologist told him his destructiveness was
all directed against Calvinism. This presents the sci
ence in a less objectionable phase. Dr. Combe, the au
thor from whom the public generally derive their ideas
of this science, has raade sorae trifling alterations on
Spurzheira's classification. For instance, he has substi
tuted the name of wonder for that of marvelousness;
veneration, for reverence ; and wit, for mirthfulness ; and
has divided the sentiments into two species ; namely,
sentiments common to man and the lower animals, and
sentiments proper to man.

PHRENOLOGY, 287
To the believer in phrenology this arrangement of the
faculties presents a melancholy fact, indicative at once of
our earthly tendency and heavenly origin, and in harmony
with our systems of theology. It is this : that three-
fourths of the faculties have relation to the present life,
while the residue, only, are made with reference to that
which is to come. The moralist who wishes to satisfy
himself of man's natural tendency to good, and his suffi
ciency to accomplish the end of his creation, devoid of su
pernatural aid, will find no proof of his theory in the sci
ence of phrenology — if this science be true, the doctrine
of human depravity is inscribed, by the finger of God, in
solid capitals, upon every human head. The infidel may,
upon superficial examination, think that phrenology is at
variance with religion ; but he is in error. Why is there
an organ of hope, if there be no future good on which —
overleaping the grave — this organ raay fix? or an organ
of veneration, if there be no object of worship? or of
marvelousness, if there be no invisible realities which de
mand our faith?
It is not my design to exhibit in detail the evidences
which are adduced in support of this system. I will
merely glance at the ground on which it is predicated.
It is affirmed that as we ascend the scale of animated na
ture, we perceive a gradual enlargement of the ence
phalic mass, and find that each new organ that presents
itself brings with it a specific faculty — that the raind may
be diseased in one sentiment or faculty, constituting
monomania, and that dissections in the hospitals in this
country and Europe, show that in such cases there is
lesion of the organ alleged to be appropriated to the
perverted faculty.
It must be admitted that the phrenological analysis of
mind commends itself by its simplicity, thus: 1. Sensa
tions. These are internal and external, and are produced

288 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
by irritations of the physical organs, transmitted to the
brain. 2. Perceptions. These are repetitions of the sen
sations in the central organ. 3. Sentiments, passions, or
moral faculties. Some of them are necessary to man as a
social and religious being, while others the brutes possess
in common with ourselves. Lastly. Intellectual faculties.
These elevate man above the animal, enable him to ac
quire and transmit knowledge, and will, if properly culti
vated, prepare him for that ulterior state of existence to
which he was destined. This chain is intimately con
nected. Without sensations we could have no percep
tions; without perceptions we could have no ideas; with
out ideas we could exert neither judgment, memory, nor
imagination. We may remark, in passing, that it is a law
of the animal economy, that the more an organ is exer
cised, the more it is liable to disease. Hence, we find
the most common form of mental alienation, is hallucina
tion, or delirium — in which the sensations are disordered,
or rather, in which the perceptions obliterate the sensa
tions. The sentiments are next in order liable to de
rangement, in its various forms. Lastly, the intellectual
powers are rarely deranged, scarce ever destroyed. I
have seen but one case of fatuity, and but one of idiot-
ism. The former differs from the latter in some particu
lars. But to return from this digression :
It may be inquired, what benefits are to result from
phrenology, if it be true? To this it is replied, no truth
can be unimportant It has been proposed to employ it
in directing the education of the young; in determining
the choice of pursuits; in civil and crirainal legislation;
in the science of politics; and in the higher departraent
of raorals and religion. The principal use, however, to
whieh it has been applied, is the ascertainment of our
own character, and that of our neighbors.
Physiognomy was one of the earliest of the sciences,

PHRENOLOGY. 289
and received attention from the most illustrious sages of
antiquity. It signifies, in its ordinary acceptation, the
study of the external signs of mental and moral quali
ties. It embraces two classes of indications; namely,
those dependent on configuration and organization, and
those resulting from gestures and motions. The former
proclaim capacities of action, the latter indicate powers
in action. The first belongs to the province of physiog
nomy, strictly speaking; the latter constitute pathognomy
or natural language.
Aristotle, the father of physiognomy, maintained that
signs of moral and intellectual qualities might be discov
ered in the whole body. In the study of physiognomy
he surveyed the whole creation, and expected to find
harmony between physical and affective characteristics
throughout The man possessed of slender frame, small
muscular system, fine hair, delicate skin, light blue eye,
feeble voice, he would pronounce to possess the timidity
and vivacity of the hare; while he who had large frame,
correspondent muscles, coarse skin, strong voice, and
stately walk, he would set down as characterized by the
courage and generosity of the lion. This system was
long received without dispute among the learned. It was
revived by Lavater in France during the last century, and
was found capable of fascinating courts and common
alty both in England and on the continent of Europe, for
many years, but its many inaccuracies gradually weakened
its influence upon the public mind. Shortly after it
ceased to excite attention, the system of Gall came be
fore the world. Ancient philosophy had always supposed
that the soul was not equally diffused throughout the
body, but was concentrated upon one, or a few organs.
The moral sentiments were generally distributed among
the viscera of the abdomen. The sentient soul was
located in the brain by Pythagoras, who was followed in
25

390 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
this by Plato, Galen, and Haller. Aristotle placed the
soul in the heart. Van Helmont, differing from all pre
vious inquirers, located it in the stomach. Drelincourt
fixed it in the cerebellum, the posterior part of the brain;
while Des Cartes seated it in the pineal gland. He
probably was led to this conjecture in consequence of the
location of this honored little structure. It is about the
size of a small pea, seated in the brain, in a little bony
depression which has been compared to a Turkish saddle.
Moreover, two tender membranous threads extend from it
toward the interior of the brain, which a warm fancy
might easily convert into the reins with which it might
be supposed that this little driver could direct the chariot
of the mind. Physiologists had generally agreed, before
phrenology was proposed, that the brain — embracing the
contents of the cranium — was the organ most intimately
concerned in the function of intellection. Sir Charles
Bell had announced his wonderful discoveries in relation
to the nervous system, by which it was demonstrated that
the spinal marrow contained three columns of medullary
matter on each side, and that each column was the seat
of a peculiar power. The nerves given off by the ante
rior part, conferring sensation; those sent from the pos
terior part, voluntary motion; while a third class, given
off by the middle column, combined to form, with others
sent down from the brain, the great sympathetic nerve
which presides over the functions of nutrition, dio-es-
tion, respiration, and circulation. These discoveries af
ford a very strong analogical proof of the truth of phre
nology. This science teaches that the external head affords an
accurate indication of the development of the cerebral
organs — that the intellectual faculties are located in the
anterior and lower part of the brain; the moral senti
ments on the upper anterior portion ; the faculties which

PHRENOLOGY. 291
"we possess in common with brutes in the posterior, lower,
and lateral portions; and that certain faculties which tend
to strengthen all the others, are seated around the crown.
In examining the head, the phrenologist endeavors first
to ascertain its size ; he next proceeds to determine
the relative size of the various regions of the head; and
lastly, the developments of the different parts of each
region, and the proportionate size of the organs to each
other. In accomplishing this object, it is customary,
after ascertaining the general size of the head, to divide
it into two regions by a line drawn from the orifice of the
ear upward to the vertex. The part anterior to this line
is denominated the coronal, and that posterior to it the
occipital region; if the former predominate over the lat
ter, we are furnished with one ground for a favorable
opinion. Before passing from the profile view, the phre
nologist notices the vertical and the antero-posterior
diameters. A line is then drawn from the middle of the
forehead to the hinder part of the occiput, which divides
the head into an upper and a lower apartment, if you
will so term them, which have been denominated, re
spectively, the coronal and basilar regions; if the former
predominate, he has another favorable indication. An
other line is drawn from the angle of the eye vertically,
and parallel with the first one described, with a view to
ascertain the development of the intellectual organs, and
to compare the perceptive with the reflective faculties.
Finally, the phrenologist attends to the lateral diameter
of the head, in order that, by a comparison of its hight
and breadth, he may know the proportion which the
upward parts bear to the latter. The predominance of
the former over the latter affords another reason for pro
nouncing the subject's head good.
' If, now, the student supposes that he is supplied with
an accurate measure of intellectual power, and an infal-

292 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
lible guide of innate propensity, he is very much mis
taken. 1. Allowing all that phrenology claims, a variety of
properties must be taken into view, besides the size and
configuration of the cranium. Temperament, for exam
ple. This refers to the mixture of the primary elements
of the physical constitution. While phrenology denies
that mental or moral characteristics are predicable of par
ticular temperaments, it nevertheless regards the latter
as indicating different degrees of activity in the bodily
organs. As this subject is often alluded to, it may not
be amiss to show in what manner the temperaments may
be distinguished. The sanguine is indicated by chest
nut hair, blue eyes, plumpness, full and frequent pulse,
an animated expression, great susceptibility to external
impressions, a restless disposition to exertion, combined
with perpetual energy. The subject is the man for
action. Black hair, black eyes, brown skin, rigid mus
cles, prominent features, proclaim the bilious tempera-
ament, which is associated with considerable functional
energy and general activity. The external signs of the
lymphatic temperament are pale, flabby skin, fair hair,
light blue eyes, soft muscles, feeble pulse. These are
indications of weakness of body and mind. The nervous,
or melancholic temperament, is proclaimed by fine, thin
hair, delicate health, general emaciation, smaUness of the
muscles, celerity of movement in body and mind, exqui
site sensibility, vivid thought.
The simple temperaments are rarely met with ; two or
more are generally conjoined. The temperaments de
scribed are those of which physicians usually speak ;
and, although the division originated in manifest and
exploded error, yet, whatever may be the occult causes
of physical differences, they do exist, and we believe they
are connected with the characteristics we have described.

PHRENOLOGY. 293
Now, although a man might have a head as fine as
that of Luther or Shakspeare, if he had the lymphatic
temperament, we should not expect him, under any cir
cumstances, to defy the Pope, or produce the plays of
the father of English poetry; nor should we expect one
of the nervous temperaraent, whatever the size of his
cranium, to cross the Alps, and undertake the subjuga
tion of the world. On the other hand, a man of ordinary
brain, with good temperament, may surmount obstacles,
and achieve wonders. Another circumstance to be taken
into account in estimating the power of the mind, is the
influence of other organs besides the brain. The size
of the heart, for example, is no inconsiderable circum
stance. Courage is, in a great degree, dependent upon a
consciousness of strength; the consciousness of strength
arises frora that glow of pleasant feeling which a health
ful and vigorous action diffuses over the systera — and
this depends greatly upon the state of the circulation.
The eagle has a larger heart in proportion to his body
than any other animal. Bonaparte and Csesar were below
the middle stature. The difference in the size of men is
not in the internal organs chiefly, but in the extremities.
Now, as hearts are generally of the same size, and as the
heart of a small man has less territory to supply than
that of a large one, we may expect in the former more
rapidity of the circulation, and, consequently, more activ
ity of all the organs.
There is a small gland in the neck, which is sometimes
enlarged, constituting the "full neck," that deforms so
many ladies in the western counties of Pennsylvania.
Although in our country this enlargement does not in
jure the mind, yet, in the Alps, where it prevails to a
great extent, it usually produces, without impairing the
function of any other organ, a state of imbecility, often
terminating in complete idiocy. Let the phrenologist

294 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
examine the head of one of these Cretans of good devel
opments, would he not be misled?
2. The state of health materially influences the condi
tion of the mind. Disease of the liver has a tendency
to produce somber contemplations and gloomy forebod
ings. Let its subject be examined by phrenology, and
if he have large organs of wit and hope, she will pronounce
him mirthful and happy. But will her oracle be re
ceived ?
Suppose, on the other hand, one who is defective in
those organs which are said to diffuse joy over the spirit,
and who has unfortunately fallen into the hands of con
sumption, to subject herself to the examination of the
phrenologist who confines himself exclusively to the cer
ebral developments. Can his decision be relied on ? No.
The victim of consumption, whatever the developments
of her cranium, goes to the chambers of death like the
ancient sacrifices that were led to the altar crowned with
garlands — joyous and hopeful.
3. Phrenology appears to be inconsistent with anat
omy. There are no divisions of the brain corresponding
to the organs on phrenological charts. True, the brain
has its divisions — its canals, and depressions, and eleva
tions, and foldings; but they have no correspondence to
phrenological organs ; indeed, the convolutions seem to
be at direct variance with it
4. It is inconsistent with analogy. This would lead
us to suppose that the different organs are separate and
various, in shape, color, and structure. The gland which
secretes the bile is different from that which secretes
the saliva. The instrument of sight is unlike that of
sound. Might we not suppose that organs varying as
greatly as those of benevolence and destructiveness would
be somewhat different in appearance, and in structural
arrangement? Not more different is the om-an which

PHRENOLOGY. 295
propels the blood from that which paints the image of
a distant object on its inner surface, than is the propen
sity which leads us to destroy from that which induces us
to pity and relieve.
6. The highest authority is against phrenology. It
must be admitted that many anatomists and physiologists
have given their influence in favor of this science ; but
both in this country and in Europe, the most authorita
tive names are against it. Sir Charles Bell and Sir
Astley Cooper, the highest authorities of the age, are
both arrayed against it.
6. Granting the propositions of phrenology, there
exists an insuperable obstacle to their application. We
may be deceived in examining the external head in rela
tion to the developments of the brain. In some cases
the skull is thicker than in others. The cellular sub
stance between the two tables varies in thickness. The
soft parts over the skull, particularly the temporal mus
cles, differ very much in size in different individuals. In
the forehead, directly over many of the organs of percep
tion and reflection, are two small canals in the bone. In
some cases these frontal sinuses are so small that you can
not pass the finest cambric needle through them; and in
others you may insert a goose-quill without rauch diffi
culty. We might enumerate other sources of fallacy.
I can not forbear to allude to the fact, that the base of
the brain can not be examined. To this it may be
replied, that the non-exploration of one portion of the
brain can not render valueless the information derived
from an examination of another portion. If the brain
were like a district of country — ^if one part exerted no
direct influence upon the other — then, after having ex
plored one half, we might proceed to make a map of it,
without having penetrated into the residue. But the
organs of the mind — granting a multiplicity — lexert a

296 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
constant, powerful, mutual influence upon each other;
so that it is impossible to obtain a knowledge of the
capacities or tendencies of auy one, without examining
the influence which its associate organs raay exert upon
it, whether through syrapathy, or dependence, or corre
spondence of function.
7. We have indubitable evidence that some faculties
may exist without the organs which phrenology assigns
to them. Many such facts as the following might be
cited :
Doctor Harrison has reported the case of a man who
received a blow upon the head, in consequence of which
an abscess occurred, involving the whole of the organ of
firmness. The subject — always noted for decision of
character— experienced no diminution of this element of
character from the disease and loss of the organ, which,
according to phrenology, was the physical instrument in
dispensable to its manifestation.
8. It has long been charged that phrenology is defect
ive in many respects. To this I have seen no satis
factory reply. If nature assigns to a lady who has an
attachment to her children an organ of philoprogeni
tiveness, why not give a sirailar organ to her husband,
if he happen to have an extraordinary delight in horses ?
or to her son, if he possess a preternatural fondness for
dogs ?
9. There are many facts which appear to be inexplica
ble upon the principles of phrenology. Take, for exam
ple, " conversion." A man undergoes a complete moral
change, without experiencing any alteration in his bodily
organs ; but is conscious of an entire revolution in his
motives, views, purposes, capacities, and propensions ;
he ascends from skepticism to faith, from despair to
hope, from selfishness to benevolence. Every action,
look, expression, evinces that he is a new raan. It is not

PHRENOLOGY. 297
an evanescent excitement, but a perraanent influence
which operates upon hira. Let this, then, be viewed as
a philosophical fact — how can it be viewed on phrenolog
ical principles ?
10. It appears to me that phrenology is guilty of hasty
generalization. Without pretending to condemn it, the
inquirer raay surely withhold his assent, on the ground
that a sufficient number of facts have not yet been ac
cumulated to warrant its deductions. Considering it
merely as a hypothesis, I have no objection to it. I see
no impropriety in making it a directory to future observa
tions, to be adopted or abandoned according as they shall
annul or confirm its postulates. But certainly it is not
yet established.
The raind is as ethereal as the atmosphere : it comes,
we know not whence, and goes, we know not whither;
no eye so keen, no intellect so profound, as to command
a view of the ten thousand occult influences which oper
ate upon it to work out any given issue. Facts must be
accumulated for ages before we can safely induce general
principles in a science like this. Phrenology is liable to
other fallacies besides premature generalization. When
we make observations for the purpose of establishing a
particular hypothesis, we are liable to overlook import
ant facts which have an opposite tendency; or, if forced
to survey them, to underrate their value. In medicine,
in politics, in philosophy, the most absurd and extrav
agant theories have been suggested in almost every age ;
yet each has had its able, learned, and zealous advocates ;
each, too, has appealed to facts in its support. Aristotle,
Brown, Lavater, Des Cartes, Symmes, etc., attracted gen
eral attention ; called forth advocates, and rallied disci
ples by thousands around their standards.
Whatever opinion we may form of phrenology or phys
iognomy, we should not be deterred from relying on

298 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
our own sound common sense, rather than lips, noses, or
bumps, in forming a judgment of ourselves or our fellow
men; nor should we be prevented from a diligent effort,
in humble reliance on divine grace, to cultivate our
minds and purify our hearts. Do you wish to study your
own soul ? Examine your own life by the aid of mem
ory — explore your own heart by means of conscience.
Do you desire to' ascertain your fortune? Go not to
chiromancy, but resolve on industry, perseverance, and
morality, and read certain respectability, if not distinc
tion, as that which awaits you. What though phrenology
be true, and your good organs be well developed — if you
be idle and immoral, you will never attain to usefulness
or eminence; while, if your greatest developments be
evil, you may repress them, and, at the same time, bring
out and enlarge those organs which will be productive
of good. We know that all men are not alike; yet there
is hardly any obstacle which may not be overcome by vig
orous resolution and unremitted diligence. How Demos
thenes succeeded, need not be explained. Socrates ap
peared to be formed by nature for a morose, vicious,
vile wretch. He resolved he would not be such. He
brought his passions into subjugation, and made himself
the very reverse.

ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 299

ANIMAL magnetism originated with Mesmer, a regu
larly-graduated Doctor of Medicine of the Univers
ity of Vienna, who seems to have been prone, in early
life, to investigate the occult and the mysterious; for his
inaugural thesis was, "On the influence of the planets
on the human body." About the time that Mesmer took
his degree, father Hehl, a Jesuit, and teacher of astron
omy, who did not exclusively confine his mind to heav
enly contemplations, was employing steel plates, impreg
nated with magnetic virtues, in the cure of disease.
Mesmer borrowed the Jesuit's plates, and operated on a
new plan, and with more astonishing results. But the
old Jesuit was not to be choused out of his mystical dis
coveries; he claimed all the honor for himself; and after
a desperate but bloodless battle, drove Mesmer from the
field, who, however, being young, acted on the principle,
" He that fights and runs away.
May live to fight another day."
He went on curing, and what he lost in credit he made
up in noise. But father Hehl followed so close upon his
heels, that he was obliged to run away from Vienna.
It was well that this necessity was laid upon him; for
thereby he was induced to go to Paris, the garden of
humbugs. No sooner had he announced his arrival there,
which happened in 1778, than all Paris was in motion.
Saint and sinner, peer and peasant, beau and belle, crowded
around the magnetizer, and attested the power of his

300 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
enchantment. Mesmer thought it important to make a
convert from the medical ranks, and was not long in find
ing the desired instrument in M. D'Eslon; but this
D'Eslon, like the fox in the fable, who, while he set the
bird to singing, stole the cheese that dropped from her
mouth, picked up about $400,000 from the magnetizees,
to the no small discomfort of the magnetizer. Poor
Mesmer now appealed to government for sympathy and
redress, and was not long in moving the tender mercies
of the Queen, who, in consideration of his services to
humanity, offered him a life rent of twenty thousand
francs, and a further sum of ten thousand francs, to ena
ble him to provide accommodations for his patients. But
this Queen was somewhat wary; and with a caution
which redounded "to the riches of her liberality," she
stipulated for a committee to be appointed by the govern
ment, to report upon the proceedings. Now, this miser
able committee changed the spirit of Mesmer's dream ;
and when the Queen was looking from the window of her
palace to see him come forward for V argent, behold it was
found that money had becorae sour grapes to his palate,
and that, with wonderful expedition, he had quitted
France to drink the waters of Spa. Here he remained,
obstinately refusing to pour any further light upon the
opening intelligence of the world, till some of his faith
ful followers presented him about sixty thousand dollars,
to induce him to bestow upon thera his wonderful secrets.
This melted his hard heart, and induced him to return to
Paris, where the contributors of the aforesaid sum formed
a society for the gratuitous propagation of the sublime
doctrine which Mesmer had promised to plant in the
depths of their souls. Hereupon arose a dispute, Mes
mer contending that the society had no right to make
his mind as free as the sun, that pours his rays alike
upon the evil and the good. As the magnetizer found

ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 301
the Societes de I'Harmonie — for so the institution was
called — rather refractory, having safely deposited the
sixty thousand dollars in his pocket, he was seized with a
feeling of retirement, and left France that he might "go
to his own place," saying, as he departed, "Farewell,
Animal Magnetism !" No doubt sunny France became
darkened as this great light descended from her vine-clad
hills. There is a tradition that, as he passed along the
road, the cattle lowed, and seemed to say, " Farewell,
Mesmer!" and the sheep in the pasture came toward the
roadside, and bleated, as if to say, "Farewell, Mesraer!"
and the waters, as they raoved onward their streams of
pearly tears, murmured, as though saying, "Farewell,
Mesmer!" Even the wheels of the carriage caught the
general sympathy, and at every revolution seemed to say,
"Farewell, Mesmer!"
Animal Magnetism is probably one of those few sci
ences which was commenced and perfected by the same
raind. Mesmer, like Aristotle, was a master, and his dis
ciples, we think, have made no improvements upon his
doctrine or his practice. We even fear that their rude
hands have injured the science. They have certainly
simplified the apparatus, and in this respect diminished
its charm. Mesmer did not operate in the vulgar method
of passes and re-passes, but with complicated and scien
tific machinery. Look into this room; in the center is
an oaken wash-tub a foot and a half high, filled with iron
filings, pounded glass, and bottles of magnetized water,
arranged " secundem artem." This tub is covered with a
piece of timber, frora which protrudes, through perfora
tions, long, bent, polished, movable rods of iron. This
is the baquet, or magnetic tub. Around this you see the
patients arranged in successive rows, each one handling a
rod connected with the tub. One holds his rod to his
sore eye, another to his bruised nose, another to his

302 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
hard heart, another to his wooden leg, or according to
the part to be healed. But, hold ! they all seem to be
united. 0, yes, they are all bound together with a cord
passed round their bodies, so that the magnetic stream
may pass from one to the other. And now, behold ! they
become very solemn, and all, old men and children, young
men and maidens, put their thumbs together. This es
tablishes a double coramunication. Look at that beauti
ful young lady singing and playing so prettily on the
piano-forte, in the corner of the room. She plays on a
magnetized instrument, and with magnetized fingers; and
every wave of sound sends its healthful influences into
the patients. But who is that man that is loose, with an
iron rod twelve inches long, walking round the circle,
and holding his rod sometimes before the faces, and
sometimes over the heads of his patients, and sometimes
laying his hand on their breasts? That is Mesmer.
Mark how various the effects ! This one feels pain, and
another ease; this one takes a chill, and another a heat;
this one coughs, and another sneezes. Now, this is sci
entific. No wonder Paris moved ! 'Twas enough to work
amazement, " Or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds, or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind, that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshy nook ;
And of those demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground.
Whose power bath a true consent
With planet or with element."
"But," observes an inquiring reader, "you will admit
that there are some mysterious facts connected with
Mesmerism." Certainly. To facts well authenticated I
humbly bow, even though I may be unable to explain or
comprehend them. But when alleged facts are at war

ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 303
with established facts in philosophy, and common sense
views of nature, we should require indubitable testimony
before we admit them. There are some things in animal
magnetism I do not doubt; such, for instance, as that a
cataleptic condition may be induced in some persons by
the magnetizer. "How do you account for the reported
cases ?"
1. By animal sympathy. It has long been said that
the wild beast may be subdued by steadily looking him in
the eye, and that refractory horses have been tamed by
experienced masters in the same manner. The late Dr.
Eush, and many other physicians distinguished for their
management of the insane, were accustomed to calm the
raving maniac by fixing a steady gaze upon his fiery eye
ball. 2. By imagination. This is a wonderful faculty, and
its power in the treatment of disease has never been fully
understood. We give a few instances. When the news
of the discovery of nitrous oxyd gas, and of its wonder
ful effects, first reached Philadelphia, the Professor of
Chemistry in the University of Pennsylvania manufac
tured some of it, and gave an invitation to the literati
and physicians of the city to witness its powers. A sly
student entered into the laboratory the night before the
exhibition, and emptying the chemist's receivers of the
strange gas, filled them with atmospheric air. This in
nocent mixture was duly transferred to the gas-bladders,
and then to the lungs of the daring men who stepped
forward to breathe it ; when, lo ! it produced all the won
derful effects which had been described in the English
papers as resulting from the inhalation of the nitrous
oxyd gas. One becarae amorous, another clamorous, a
third outrageous, and all sufficiently ridiculous.
The Government of France once appointed a commit
tee, consisting of Baily, Lavosier, and Franklin, three of

304 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
the greatest philosophers of the age, to examine the
claims of Mesmerism. The following is an extract from
their report :
"That it [animal magnetism] is wholly inappreciable
by any of the senses, or by any mechanical or chemical
process; that they tried it upon themselves, and upon
many others, without being able to perceive anything;
that, on blindfolding those who seemed to be most suscep
tible to its influence, all its ordinary effects were pro
duced when nothing was done to them, but when they
imagined they were magnetized ; while none of its effects
were produced when they were really magnetized, but
imagined nothing was done; that, in like manner, when
brought under a magnetized tree, nothing happened, if
the subjects of the experiment thought they were at a
distance from the tree, while they were immediately
thrown into convulsions, if they believed they were near
the tree, although really at a distance from it; that, con
sequently, the effects actually produced were produced
purely by the imagination; that these effects, though
some cures might be wrought, were not without danger,
since the convulsions were often violent and exceedingly
apt to spread, especially among men feeble in body and
weak in mind, and almost universally among women."
An effort was made, some years since, to introduce an
imal magnetism into England. Mr. Perkins invented
what he denominated metallic tractors, an instrument for
condensing and applying animal magnetism ; and having
obtained a patent, and received certificates, as he stated,
frora many of the first literary characters in Europe
and Araerica, he trumpeted abroad their fame. But Dr.
Falconer, an eminent physician of Bath, brought Mr.
Perkins's speculation to a speedy termination. Having
made tractors of wood so nearly resembling the metallic
ones that it was impossible to distinguish between them

ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 305
by vision, he made experiments upon a large scale on the
patients in the hospital, and produced the sarae effects
with the fictitious as with the genuine ones, thus proving
the power of the imagination.
8. Embellishment. They who are fond of the marvel
ous, when they are provided with the body of a wonder,
are strongly tempted to add wings to it, that it may waft
itself abroad, and they generally find the credulity of
their friends capable of appreciating their labors.
4. Knavery. He has studied the character and history
of the world to little purpose, who does not know that
man, though "made upright, has sought out many inven
tions." If there is any thing in animal magnetism raore than
can be accounted for by these means, I have yet to be in
formed of it. But the inquiry arises, are not many
deservedly-distinguished physicians believers in animal
magnetism? Yes, and we strongly Suspect that with
such we should agree : 1. As to the facts. They would
not be likely to receive facts but upon authentic testi
mony. 2. In disapproving the magnetizer who perambu
lates the country to profit by the credulity of the multi
tude. We might, however, dissent frora their deductions.
No fault more coramon than hasty generalization.
I am not unreasonably opposed to animal magnetism.
It has its uses. It enables the magnetizer to provide
for his family, congregates the people, and melts down
their spiritual essences into a homogeneous mass, creates
strong pulsations in many a sluggish heart, and sends new
thoughts scampering round many an empty cranium.
Still, as it is best to use humbugs as not abusing them,
I would humbly suggest that our credulity should be
bounded by the following lines :
1. No one can bo a magnetizer without being plus.
2. No one can be a magnetizee without being minus.
26

306 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
3. No magnetizer can operate successfully through Mt.
Vesuvius or the Atlantic Ocean.
4. No magnetizer can enjoy free trade with the unseen
worlds. We remarked that Mesmer's disciples have made no
improvement; but it is proper to qualify the observation,
for, in some respects, they are in advance of their mas
ter. We understand they have a method of infiuencing
their subjects, so as to, without
" Hornpipes, jigs. Strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels."
A very edifying exhibition of this kind is said to have
occurred not long since.
We are also informed that a magnetic performer has in
process of construction a magnetic organ, composed of
human souls, with the will of a magnetizer for the bel
lows. Eeader, go to hear :
" And 0, sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musseus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string —
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek!"

MISS MARTINEAU AND MESMERISM. 307

FEOM our youth we have been taught to bow humbly
before established facts, and restrain our ignorance,
and prejudice, and fancy from erecting barriers to our
faith; but when alleged facts are strange, we should
receive them with caution. If presented to our senses,
we should examine them carefully' — if reported to our
faith, we should scrutinize the testimony : in both cases
bearing in mind that nature's laws are uniform ; that
their obvious results have been matters of observation
ever since Adam was created ; and that it is easy for
depraved beings to falsify and deceive.
We should generalize cautiously. In natural philos
ophy, a single experiment is often an adequate induction,
because we can see all the circumstances which affect
the result; but in meteorology, physiology, and mental
philosophy, where a thousand causes may operate with
out our knowledge, we must accumulate facts, and mul
tiply and vary experiments, before we deduce a general
principle. It is well to bear in mind that fashion exerts her
tyranny not only in dress, but in religion and philos
ophy. From the days of Lord Bacon, philosophy stead
ily advanced toward materialism, till the time of Kant.
Then commenced a reaction, which, having advanced
to transcendentalism in Germany, has recently made
itself felt in England and Araerica. Now we are mov
ing rapidly toward spiritualism : the infidels, who, a

308 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
few months ago, resolved mind into blood and brains, are
now prating about the "Psyche," and the " Nous," and
the "tertium quid," without so much as glancing at
matter. We reject nothing simply because it is new — we adhere
to nothing simply because it is old ; but upon the bor
ders of the "new dispensation" we pause to make our
observations, ready to hear, willing to communicate, and
waiting to hail with joy all real intellectual progress.
In a becoming spirit, as we trust, we sit down to an
analysis of the interesting pamphlet before us. The
fair authoress writes to prove, from her own experi
ence, the truth and remedial value of Mesmerism. It
is evident to the reader that she is a lady of taste and
fancy. She is also possessed of learning, and apparently
interested in the extension of knowledge. Nor is she
wanting in candor; for she says that she was "a believer
upon testimony, before she witnessed any Mesmeric
facts." She states that she was afflicted with a chronic
disease, but suppresses the name of her malady. This is
unfortunate. There are certain diseases readily cured
by the imagination, as the doctor said when he sent cob
webs to his aguish patient. She admits that she sup
posed all along that Mesmerism would give her partial
relief — indeed, she seems to have looked to it from the
first as the j)js alter, though as forbidden fruit, which she
must, like mother Eve, watch her opportunity to pluck.
Let this be borne in mind ; for he who looks for a ghost
must be dull indeed if he do not find one, as a result of
his looking.
In regard to the cure, as well as the disease, we are
somewhat in the dark; but the reader is prepared for
future developments : " My Mesmerist and I are not so
precipitate as to conclude my disease yet extirpated,"
etc.

MISS MARTINEAU AND MESMERISM. 309
Miss Martineau starts with a
PALSE PRKSUMPTION.
She maintains that the strangeness of facts is a pro-
sumption in their favor. There raust, then, be a strong
presumption in favor of the systems of Jemima Wilkin
son, Joanna Southcott, Doctor Sangrado, and Joe Smith.
She says : " On the first trial I did not fall asleep ; but 1
did feel something very strange." At this time Mr.
Hall, a strange Mesmerizer, was operating by "passes
over the head, made from behind — passes from the fore
head to the back of the head, and a little way down the
spine." Amid such passes, no wonder she felt something
strange. The following sentence affords a clew to the
EXPLANATION OF THE CUKE.
Speaking of her strange visions, she informs us that
they occurred " between the expiration of one opiate and
the taking of another." Here is the thread of the
labyrinth. Miss Martineau was an opium eater. After
resorting to Mesmerism, she gradually laid aside her
opiates, in proportion as her faith increased ; and at
length, having abandoned them altogether, was re
stored — as many a Washingtonian — to health. "The
appearance has rather given way to drowsiness since I
left off the opiates." No marvel.
Miss Martineau is guilty of much
SOPHISTET.
She falls into the fallacy of non causa pro causa. She
was Mesmerized, and she recovered. This is all she
knows ; but she is not content with stating these two
facts. She assumes that the one is the cause of the
other She mistakes the jjos< hoc for the pnpfer Aocj as

310 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
did the Florentine, who, having taken pills, found his
lost horse, and supposed that the raedicine was " good to
find horses." The skillful sophist always avoids a direct
assertion of what he intends unduly to assume. "I ara
careful," says Miss Martineau, " to avoid theorizing on a
subject," etc., and then adds, "but it can hardly be
called theorizing to say that the principle of life is forti
fied by the Mesmeric influence," etc. "I am no orator,
as Brutus is," says Anthony, in the midst of the highest
oratory. Mark the following: "The nuraerous cases recorded
of cure of rheumatism, dropsy, cancers, and the whole
class of tumors — cases as distinct and almost as numer
ous as those of paralysis, epilepsy, and other diseases of
the brain and nerves — must make any inquirer cautious
of limiting his anticipations and experiments by any the
ory of exclusive action on the nervous system." This
may do for some ; but we would much prefer that it
should be proved instead of assumed.
Miss Martineau uses adroitly the fallacy of argumentum
ad verecundiam, which consists in an appeal to the au
thority of great names. She quotes La Place and Cuvier;
but their testimony amounts to little. The former said,
"Applying to Mesmerism his own principles and form
ulas respecting human evidence, he could not with
hold his assent to what was so strongly supported." If
we knew in what degree of comprehension the term
"Mesmerism'' was used by La Place in this passage, we
should know what his testimony is worth. The opin
ion of Cuvier — if we translate him correctly — is, in sub
stance, that certain results leave but little doubt that the
proximity of two animal bodies, in certain positions, and
with certain movements, have a real effect, independent
of all mutual participation of the imagination. Thus far
the illustrious predecessor leads : thus far the humble

MISS MARTINEAU AND MESMERISM, oil
editor follows. Not a word in either authority about
cures, visions, or clairvoyance. But suppose that both
these distinguished Frenchmen, at a time when all Paris
was in motion about Mesmerism, had given their assent
to it, in all its length and breadth, could they thus have
established its pretensions? Judicial astrology, even in
the dawn of the seventeenth century, could boast such
advocates as Cardano and Kepler. Lord Bacon, the
greatest of modern philosophers, believed in charms and
amulets. If the question were to be determined by the
weight of authority, it would be easily disposed of In
a recent nuraber of the Medico Chirurgical Eeview, M.
Brachet — than whom a higher authority on subjects con
nected with innervation can not be cited — speaking of
hypochondriacism as the only disease to which Mesmer
ism is applicable, says, "In our opinion, animal magnet
ism, even when divested of all the apparatus of charla
tanry, is, on the whole, more likely to do harm than good
in the disease under consideration. If such be our opin
ion of raagnetism, we need scarcely say that we equally
discredit all the recorded wonders of soranambulism, the
exhibitions of which are now almost entirely limited to
rogues, whose only object is to attract the public notice,
and rob their silly dupes."
Miss Martineau embraces the whole magnetisme animal,
not excepting CIAIETOTANCE.
Of this she gives a case. One of her domestics, a
maid of nineteen, who had been frequently Mesmerized,
had a cousin at sea. A report arrives that the vessel he
sails is lost. Contradictory accounts of particulars reach
the village. The sailor's mother, who lives adjacent to
Miss Martineau, goes to Shields to learn the truth ; and,
on her return, calls upon Miss Martineau to relate the

312 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
news; but, when she enters, the maid is enjoying a se
ance; and while the old lady narrates the facts below
stairs, the young one narrates them above. The latter
avows that she did not obtain them from any body. She
had, however, been out on an errand, and the news had
reached town. Which is the more probable, that the
maid saw, sitting at New Castle, what occurred long be
fore, between Gottenburg and Elsinore, or that she told a
falsehood ? We are not perplexed with the horns of this
dilemma. Indeed, this maid is no negative quantity, and
was, perhaps, often plus, while her Mesmerist was minus.
" When asked, repeatedly, whether she could read with
her eyes shut, see things behind her, etc., she always re
plied that she does not like that sort of thing, and will
not do it — she likes 'higher things.'" That's a lady.
But suppose she told the truth : had this girl, in a nat
ural sleep, dreamed the facts, as they occurred, should
we have drawn the conclusion that in this condition the
soul is clairvoyant, or supposed that her dream was an
ordinary one, suggested by the strong anxiety of the sub
ject for her cousin, in connection with the reports of the
shipwreck, and which, by a natural coincidence, had its
fulfillment ? Consider such a case alone, and it is won
derful; but view it in connection with the thousand fail
ures,, and it ceases to astonish. That there are failures.
Miss Martineau is witness. Speaking of this maid, she
says, "We have tried her clairvoyance by agreement with
friends at a distance, strangers to her, and have failed,
as we deserved." The maid's clairvoyance did not oper
ate on strangers. Now read : " One evening she burst
into a long story of a woman who lived in Tynemouth two
hundred years ago, who made cataplasms for the feet of
a lame monk ;" but, asleep as she was, (?) she caught
herself, and added, " that she once read this in a book,
and just thought of it." Pretty clairvoyance ! We could

MISS MARTINEAU AND MESMERISM. 313
equal this ourselves. The girl, perhaps, has no difficulty
in regard to strangers when there is no agreement in the
way. Many, in clairvoyance, appear most happy when
among strangers and at great distances. The "learned
blacksmith" is said to be making discoveries in the
moon, having sent a boy, in a state of clairvoyance, into
one of the school-houses of that satellite, and obtained
the characters in which the "man in the moon" writes
his letters. Similar discoveries are in progress here.
Brother S. was puzzled the other day with a long man
uscript left with him to be printed. In what language
was it written ? Some said German ; and up it went to
the office of the Apologist; but down it came, repudiated
with indignation. Many of us could testify that it was
neither Greek, nor Latin, nor French; and our learned
friend. Doctor E., could swear that itwas neither Hebrew
nor Syric. Finally, it was shifted into the packing-room,
and there pronounced to be Welsh, there being no
Welshman in the Concern to contradict it. When the
owner called for his book, brother S. returned the man
uscript, and with much sang froid, said, "We don't
print Welsh." "Welsh !" cried the astonished stranger,
"it is not Welsh. I have been in a clairvoyant state for
three weeks past, and this, [pointing to the manuscript,]
is the result."
Miss Martineau discloses sorae of the
TENDENCIES OE MESMERISM.
No wonder that infidel philosophy is pleased with it.
Compelled to believe in a spiritual world, infidelity would
shame us out of all concern for it. Miss Martineau is
apprised of the tendency. The following is one of her
precious "whens:" "What becomes of really divine
inspiration, when the commonest people find they can
elicit marvels of prevision and insight?" To this
27

314 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
"when" we add a few " ifs." What respect can we have
for the soul, if it can be " thrown as a toy into the hands
of children, and other ignorant persons, and of the base ?"
what regard for religion, if conversion and regeneration
can be produced with the thumb and fingers ? what con
cern for the eternal world, if an infidel, by a pass of his
hand, can send the spirit rushing through its portals,
and bring it back at will? What aspirations for a glori
fied state, if, as Miss Martineau supposes, "the highest
faculties are seen in their utmost perfection during the
magnetic sleep?" By the light of this new science the
Bible is "reading made easy." But avaunt, nonsense
and blasphemy. If Mesmerism, however, should deprive
us of confidence in the Bible, it would substitute for it a
faith of more ample dimensions, which could pause with
veneration before judicial astrology, magic, necromancy,
witchcraft, the legends of saints, and the temptations of
holy anchorets, and even evoke from the tomb the ghosts
which Knowledge, the great exorcist, supposed she had
long since sent to their everlasting rest. We do not, as
does his Holiness, blame Satan with Mesmerism ; but we
are sorry when deacons and elders bless God while the
operator runs his fingers over the cranium of some hys
teric maiden, rousing, one moment, veneration, and the
next amativeness.
But Miss Martineau shall serve us before we leave her.
As high priestess of the temple she speaks as follows :
"I believe there is no doubt that the greatest of all in
juries done to Mesmerism is by its itinerant advocates.
This appears to be admitted by every body but the itin
erants themselves; and none lament the practice so much
as the higher order of Mesmerists. ... If they have
not the means of advocating Mesmerism without taking
money for it, they had better earn their bread in another
way. and be satisfied with giving their testimony nnd

MISS MARTINEAU AND MESMERISM. 815
their powers — so far as their knowledge- goes — gratui
tously at horae." Farewell, Miss Martineau.
Before we close, we raust say that we have many sciei-i-
tijic friends who are philosophical and sober inquirers
into Mesmerism. We hold ourselves in readiness to hear
their facts, examine their arguments, and receive with
gratitude whatever they may present which is calculated
to increase the knowledge or the happiness of mankind;
but there is a class of men for whora we have neither time
nor ink to spare.

316 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

Mitt^ttnft, tit,
A BELIEF in the interposition of supernatural crea
tures in the management of human affairs, seems to
have prevailed in all ages. Astrology was one of the
earliest forms of superstition. This art, now generally
neglected, has left its traces in some of the metals and
their preparations — in the character — originally the sym
bol of Jupiter — with which the physician commences
his recipe — in the practices of catharticizing and bleed
ing at particular seasons — the annual opening, on the
sixth of August, of the pit, whence is obtained the
Lemnian earth — terra sigilata — etc.
Divination was practiced, primarily, in particular
places; subsequently, independent of any locality. First
came the fidvimc, who, on great emergencies, revealed
the future ; then the bacides, and the sibyllae, pretending
to derive their knowledge from sacred books; then the
most grand of all impositions, the oracles, followed by
the soothsayers, or petty diviners, and foi-tune-tellers;
next augury and the interpretation of signs by experience
or routine. Nor was the interpretation of drearas omit
ted. Traces of divination are found at this day among
the followers of Jemima Wilkinson, the Gipsies, the
thousands who give attention to the death-watch, or the
movements of birds, or lucky and unlucky days, or
dreams, or the sortes sanctorum — in imitation of the
sortes Homericae of the Greeks, and the sortes Vigilance
of the Bomnns — a mode of judging of the future by

WITCHCRAFT, ETC. 317
opening the Scriptures at random, and forming an opin
ion from the passage on which the eye happens to fall.
Many have been plunged into despair, or elated through
false hopes by this means.
Enchantment is the employment of words, gesticula
tions, or characters, to produce extraordinary phenomena.
This form of superstition was held by many ancient
nations. Originating, probably, in the east, where the
magi were objects of veneration, it traveled to the west,
notwithstanding the prohibitions of Eoman emperors.
By this art the Egyptian magi sought to diminish the
influence of Moses. The splendid discoveries of Eoger
Bacon, who, in natural science, was far in advance of his
age, were, by many of his cotemporaries, ascribed to it.
We have sometimes met vrith men who pretended to
cure diseases, stop blood issuing from wounded arteries,
etc., by the enchantment of words. We have also
found — a greater wonder — intelligent persons who cred
ited their pretensions. Amulets and talismans are not
unfrequently met with now, even in Christian countries,
especially in Ireland, where many a mother ties a " gos
pel" around her child's neck to avert the dreaded
influence of the fairy. The coral which the infant
presses to his gums and the beads which the lady sus
pends from her neck are relics of a practice introduced
by soothsayers.
Sorcery originally meant divination by lot ; but in the
middle ages it was employed to designate the magi, or
the eastern and more respectable wizards.
Necromancy signifles prophesying by means of the
dead. We have an instance in the history of Saul — the
raising of Samuel by the witch of Endor. This art was
practiced in Greece and many other ancient states, par
ticularly Thessaly, where it was attended with unusual
horrors. Under the Christian dispensation a milder

318 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
form of necromancy has prevailed; namely, that of per
forming rites to call forth the voices of the dead from
their graves. Traces of this superstition are found at
the present day, even in refined society, in the tendency
so prevalent to consider the last words of the dying
prophetic. Exorcism is the art of casting out evil spirits by ad
juration. It has been practiced in all ages among pagan
nations. It existed even among the ancient Jews to a
considerable extent. In the third century it was prac
ticed by the Christian Church at the baptism of heretics
and heathens, under an impression that they were pos
sessed ; and, upon the adoption of St. Augustine's views
of original sin, it became a uniform accompaniment of
baptism. Traces of it exist at the present day in the
Lutheran Church, while in the Catholic it is found as a
preliminary to baptism, and a means of allaying storms,
relieving the possessed, and killing vermin.
A witch is one who performs miraculous feats by the
aid of evil spirits. Witchcraft is of modern origin,
though the term occurs in the Scriptures. Many com
mentators, however, contend that the Hebrew word
charasp signifies poisoner, and they appeal, in support of
this translation, to the Septuagint, which renders it by
fapiJ.axo;, the Greek word for poisoner. The word used
in Galatians v, 20, is fap/xaxila, from a word signifying
drug or poison, and, we think, means those spells and
enchantments which were used araong the ancients to
cure or to produce disease, to excite love, or hatred, etc.
Early in the Chistian Church the opinion prevailed that
the gods of the heathen were evil spirits, who had blind
folded the nations and led them astray to destroy them.
Hence, true prophecy was accorded to ancient oracles, but
traced through them to Satanic agency. It is easy to per
ceive in this opinion a foundation for the modern popular

WITCHCRAFT, ETC. 319
notion of witchcraft. The foundation being laid, it re
ceived perpetual accretions frora the introduction of
exorcism at the baptismal font, the worship of saints and
relics, and the numberless errors of the ages of increas
ing darkness which succeeded the first few centuries of
the Christian era. The study of the cla,ssics was calcu
lated to strengthen the popular superstition, for their
brightest pages glitter with demons; and Plato dis
tinctly asserts, that " God has no immediate intercourse
with men, but all the interviews and conversations be
tween the gods and mortals, are carried on by means of
the demons, both in waking and sleeping." No wonder
that ignorant monks in their lonely retreats, with their
imaginations stimulated by physical phenomena, which,
in their profound ignorance of natural science, they
knew not how to explain, should fancy they saw the
devil or his imps, and even attempt to describe his Sa
tanic majesty's horns, tail, and cloven foot. Although
in the fourth century the Council of Ancyra, by de
nouncing as heretical the belief in magical transforma
tions, and sorae of the fathers, by discrediting the
stories of witches riding through the air, attempted to
arrest the progress of witchcraft, yet the superstition
continued to increase till, in the twelfth century, it was
raatter of religious faith, and of ecclesiastical and civil
legislation. The crusades, which threw a flash of light over
Europe, gave to this superstition but a teraporary check;
while the Eeformation, so fruitful in blessed results,
served rather to strengthen than weaken the popular
notion of witchcraft. The most dreadful persecutions,
on this account, followed the track of Calvinian ortho
doxy. Luther thought he routed the devil himself by
throwing an inkstand in his face, and it is affirmed that,
at a later day, even our own Wesley, whom we so much

320 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
admire and love, said, "To give up witchcraft is to give
up the Bible."
Such men as Hale, the brightest ornaments of the
English bench, patiently witnessed the processes by
which witches purged themselves; calmly listened to the
evidences of their guilt; and formally condemned them
to death at the stake. In passing, we can not refrain
from alluding to a good story of Sir Matthew: "He was
presiding on the trial of a witch. She had cured many
diseases by a certain charm, and the evidence of guilt
seemed conclusive. But when the judge himself looked
on this charm, behold ! it was a scrap of paper inscribed
with a Latin sentence, which, in default of money,
he, himself, while on the circuit, had given, many years
before, in a merry mood, to mine host by way of reckon
ing." When the natural sciences began to be culti
vated the belief in witchcraft gradually withered, though
it is not yet extirpated entirely. We believe there have
been three trials for witchcraft, before the civil magis
tracy, within the limits of this state. One, if we have
not been misinformed, occurred in Seneca county, and
was occasioned by the combustion of a wagon, in which
a man was carrying quicklime. A shower came up
while he was on the way, a part of which, falling in
love with the lime and agreeing to enter into the solid
state in union with it, evolved sufficient caloric to do the
mischief, which was ascribed to the witch. We have
heard of sheep and oxen being burned, in our own day
and country, in order to drive off witches who were sup
posed to have occasioned pestilence among flocks and
herds. Who has not heard of the interference of
witches in domestic affairs. A lady in manufacturing
soap, after much pains sometimes finds the grease upon
the top of the kettle and the alkali at the bottom.
Now, instead of putting in some lime to deprive the

WITCHCRAFT, ETC. 321
alkali of its carbonic acid, considering her kettle be
witched, she heats her poker, and plunges it in again and
again, and next day inquires for some old lady in the
neighborhood who had been badly burned. In some
parts of our state you may find horseshoes over raany a
door. We have often met with sensible men who fully
believed in witchcraft, and whom we could much more
easily supply with asafoetida than convince of their
superstition. We are reminded by a discourse, by the
late Dr. Wilson, that witchcraft is, sometimes, more
than a vulgar delusion, and we must treat the sub
ject seriously. We confess we were not a little sur
prised at the Doctor's sermon. This gentleman, in our es
timation, was one of the ablest divines in America. De
servedly was he honored for his age, his piety, his talents,
his learning, and his long and valuable services. This
discourse is founded on Galatians v, 20 — a passage which,
in our humble opinion, has no reference to what men
now generally understand to be witchcraft. The Doctor
says, " A witch is a person who practices some kinds of
curious arts in order to gain profit or applause, or to
confirm men in erroneous opinions." If so, there are,
undoubtedly, many witches in Cincinnati especially on
Main and Fifth streets. But the Doctor certainly does
not mean to class araong witches men who merely prac
tice curious arts for profit or applause; for he specifies
divination, enchantment, necromancy, sorcery, exorcism,
and soothsaying as the modes by which witchcraft is
practiced. The Doctor's first argument is founded upon the dec
larations of the Jewish civil law against witchcraft.
His second argument is based on the words in Samuel :
"For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft." A third is
the reason assigned by the prophet Nahum for the de
struction of Babylon; namely, she was "the mistress of

322 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
witchcrafts." "A fourth on the promise of the prophet
Micah, 'And it shall come to pass in that day, saith the
Lord, that I will cut off witchcraft out of thine hand,
and thou shalt have no more soothsayers,' " and his last
upon his text
Having advanced his proofs, the Doctor gives exam
ples; namely, Joseph's divining cup, the enchantments
of the Egyptian magicians who withstood Moses, the
raising of the witch of Endor, Simon the sorcerer, the
damsel of Philippi, the seven sons of Sceva of Ephesus,
and some modern instances noticed in the sequel.
The author next explains how this sin originates. His
theory is, that God sends witchcraft upon men as a
punishment for rejecting the truth: thus an evil spirit
was sent to Saul when the Spirit of God forsook hira.
He then proceeds to give some modern examples of
witchcraft. He names the Papacy, a certain European
prince, the Shakers, the Mormons, the followers of Mes
mer, and Swedenborgianism. The discourse is closed by
an exhibition of the Gospel as the only remedy for
witchcraft. Although the author's definition does not embrace the
distinctive feature of modern witchcraft — demoniacal
agency — yet his whole discourse implies it. The various
species enumerated are supernatural arts; and the in
stances adduced, both ancient and modern — according
to his interpretation and opinion — imply infernal aid.
Speaking of the case of Saul, he says, "The woman, by
Iier art, brought up Samuel, who conversed with Saul."
Of modern instances the Doctor speaks as follows :
"You may talk about ignorance, credulity, shrewd guess
ing, imagination, sympathy, collusion, and sleight of
hand; but none of these, nay, all of them put together,
can account for the well-attested miracles of the Papists
and the Shakers, the phenomena of Mesmerism, and

WITCHCRAFT, ETC. 323
the spiritual cognitions of Emanuel Swedenborg. They
must have been produced either by the power of God
or by the power of the devil; for they are evidently
above the power of man. You can not deny the phe
nomena. To what power, 0 Christian, will you ascribe
them ? With the Scriptures before you, how can you be
at a loss ? These are the spirits of devils working mira
cles, showing great signs and wonders."
Never having given rauch attention to witchcraft, we
must speak doubtingly. In regard to ancient witchcraft,
was it not an offshot of idolatry — the rendering to the
creature or the phantom that fear and trust due only to
God? Is it not more reasonable to suppose that the
divine Being would punish this crime by delivering the
transgressors to their own delusions, than by giving
them, or evil spirits, power to disturb the laws of this
beautiful universe ? Is there any case recorded in the
Bible which can not be explained without supposing real
miracle by diabolical agency? In the case of Samuel,
there was a real miracle ; but did not God, not the
witch, call Samuel from his rest? The witch was aston
ished and alarmed by the phenomenon. Suppose that
diabolical agency, in producing natural results, was per
mitted in ancient times, have we reason to believe that
it exists now? We know an opinion has prevailed
among those who believe that devils had great power
upon the earth in ancient times, that at the advent of
Christ that power was restrained. But let us look to the
Doctor's modern instances.
Now, we marvel that, at the very period when the
phlegmatic German' mind is roused against an attempt to
revive the impositions connected with the pilgrimage to
the Holy Coat of Treves, and while thousands are rush-
in"- at the risk of reputation, fortune, livelihood, and
perhaps life to the new Catholic German Church, a

324 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Protestant clergyman should assert that the Holy Coat
really does perform miracles. Prove this, and Eonge can
be silenced — prove this, and the mother Church will be
satisfied — she will not be troubled with the charge of
witchcraft. The prince to whom the Doctor refers, was, doubtless,
Alexander Leopold Hohenlohe. We are curious to know
to which of his cases Dr. Wilson would refer as miracu
lous. Was it the case of Princess Matilda? If so, we
should insist upon the claims of Heine, her machinist.
The Doctor will not surely take us into the Bamburg and
Wurtzburg hospitals, which keep such a fearful account
of the Prince's failures, and of the interference of the po
lice in relation to his experiments. Nor will he excite
our credence by a history of the Prince of Hildburghau-
sen's eyes. True, there were wonderful cures performed
by Hohenlohe ; but it might be well to compare his suc
cessful with his unsuccessful cases, and to inquire into
the influence of the imagination in the cure of disease.
If any decline such investigations, let them take the
opinion of Pope Pius VII, who certainly had more doubts
on the subject of the Prince's miracles than Dr. Wilson.
The Doctor gives his opinion that Swedenborg was a
bad man, but that he had intercourse with the spiritual
world. The disciples of Swedenborg will, we apprehend,
be, of all others, the least disquieted by this opinion :
what more can they ask than the concession it contains ?
Now, we can only say that our opinion is directly the re
verse of the Doctor's.
In the wonders of Shakerism and Mormonism, we see
nothing but the workings of cunning and impudence
upon ignorance, stupidity, and superstition; and we re
gret that so high an authority as Dr. Wilson should ad
mit that they were miraculous.
Mesmerism ingrafts itself upon somnambulism, and

WITCHCRAFT, ETC, 325
needs but little acuteness, and jugglery, to accompUsh
its feats before a credulous multitude.
But we must dismiss the pamphlet, by saying, that we
hope nothing we have written will be deemed disrespect
ful to Dr. Wilson.
The work of Mr. Dendy, the title of which is, "Phi
losophy of Mystery," is a very interesting book; its style
is easy, its language chaste, and its discussions are both
amusing and philosophical. Its object is, to explain,
by well-known physical and physiological laws, the vari
ous stories of specters, scenes in magic mirrors, second
sight, prophetic dreams, somniloquence, somnarabulism,
etc. We commend it to the attention of the supersti
tious, especially to such as consult fortune-tellers, or
allow themselves to be disquieted by natural phenomena;
to those, also, who fear to pass a graveyard in the night,
or go into the cellar without a candle or a whistle; or
who narrate to their children foolish tales of fairies, and
attempt to govern them by threatening to send evil spir
its after them.
We were once troubled with vain, superstitious fears,
but we have scattered them, partly by looking into the
natural sciences, but chiefly by gazing upon God's word.
In these magnificent and harmonious revelations, we have
learned that there is an eternal Being, infinite in power
and wisdom, who has created the universe, and who pre
serves, governs, and blesses it; that his tender mercies
are over all his works ; and that he is every-where pres
ent, exerting his fatherly care and goodness upon the
meanest of his creatures, and swaying a scepter, holy,
just, and good, over those beings he has made in his
own image. To fear him is the beginning of wisdom ; to
fear any thing else, real or fanciful, in heaven or earth,
or under the earth, is the basis of all vice and folly. It
is delightful to reflect that the universal Father himself

326 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
communes with his rational creatures. This was a doc
trine heathenism could never reach, but which the Bible
has brought to light with life and iraraortality. Eeader,
feel after God, if haplyyou raay find him, for he is not far
from any of us. It is the perversion of these grand and
celestial doctrines by wicked men, who wished not to
retain God in their knowledge, that has caused all the
idolatry and superstitious fears and fancies of men. May
God turn a pure philosophy and a pure language upon our
hearts !

REVENGE. 327

VOMAN is designed to be the companion and help
mate of man. In a few respects she is his inferior —
in raany his equal — in some his superior. Designed for
relations and duties somewhat different from those of
man, it was to be expected that peculiarities would be im
pressed upon her form, her intellect, and her heart, by
the hand of nature. Descriptive and picturesque anat
omy have pointed out the distinctions between the sexes
in form and feature ; but mental philosophy has failed to
eS:pose, with equal nicety, the differences between their
mental and moral constitutions. I do not pretend to en
ter upon this wide and inviting field, but merely to direct
attention to one little spot within its limits. It is sup
posed that resentment is more easily excited and more
lasting in woman than in man — that the feraale is prone
to take offense — indisposed to forgive. "Woman is re
vengeful," is a sentence I have often heard from the pul
pit, the highway, the fireside, and the bar. If this alle
gation be true, it is not difficult to account for it. Van
ity is the stronger in the softer sex. Secluded from the
world, denied the pursuit of fortune or of fame, woman's
chief happiness is to be derived from the approbation of
her friends. Moreover, when offended, being the weaker
vessel, she has not the opportunity of retaliation. Man,
when injured, rushes into battle, and spends his passion
with his blows. Woman can not do thus. How natural,
then, for her to "let concealment, like a worm in the

328 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES,
bud, feed on her damask cheek !" How natural for her
to suffer rather than to make others suffer !
Mythology attributes the destruction of Troy to the re
venge of Juno, excited by Paris awarding the prize of
beauty to her rival, Venus. The Eoman poet ascribes all
the calamities of the Trojans, flying their country under
JEne&s, to the lasting resentment of the wife of Jupiter.
The same master-hand paints Dido, with her dying
breath, imprecating curses upon her lover, and by her
prayers doing her utmost to hand down her revenge to
future ages. He represents her as bearing her resent
ment to the shades, and scorning to notice the soothing
words of the sympathizing -ffineas when he meets her in
realms below. Was it Herod or Herodias that thirsted
for the blood of John the Baptist ? There is surely no
impropriety in putting the lovely and the beautiful upon
their guard against this feeling. Bear with me, fair one,
while I assign a few reasons why it should not be in
dulged. 1. Eevenge is barbarous. This passion is found most
vigorous in the rudest condition of mankind. It is the
son of the forest, whose wigwam is mid the den of wild
beasts, who cries out, as he plunges his hatchet in the
brains of his victim, "Eevenge is sweet." It is in the
highest walks of civilized society that man bends over his
prostrate enemy with bowels of compassion, and as he
binds up his bleeding wounds, exclaims, "Forgiveness, 0
how sweet !" The Muses, whom the ancients regarded as
the civilizers of mankind, namely, Eloquence, Poetry,
Music, etc., have a refining, humanizing, softening influ
ence. The Muses of Christian civilization, namely. Love,
Joy, Peace, Long-Suffering, Gentleness, Goodness, F'aith,
Meekness, Temperance, can not breathe in an atmosphere
of resentment. Just in proportion as you ascend the
scale of civilization do you flnd revenge subsiding. Just

REVENGE. 829
in proportion as resentment is indulged, do men plunge
themselves down toward the rudest barbarity. The Afri
can who, when insulted, meekly pardoned, saying, "I
write insults on the sand — favors on the marble," was far
more civilized, in the true sense of the word, than his
proud insulters.
2. Eevenge is beneath a good heathen. It is related
in classic story, that two brethren quarreled, and were
reconciled. Afterward one, boasting, said, "Eemember
that I began the disagreement." The other said, " Ee
member that I began the reconciliation." Which, think
ye, did the heathen suppose to be the better man?
"May I perish,'' said one, "if I be not avenged of you!"
" May I perish," said the other, " if I do not compel you
to love me !" Heathen history has transmitted the story
for the everlasting admiration of the latter. This was a
maxim among the ancient Greeks : "To revenge is bar
barous — to forgive divine." It is related of Lycurgus
that Alcander, having put out one of the eyes of that
great man in a seditious tumult, was delivered to him to
be punished according to the dictate of his own feel
ings. The magnanimous legislator, notwithstanding his
avocations and designs had given to his disposition much
of severity, received the youth with kindness, treated
him with tenderness, forgave his offense, and, having re
formed hira by wise counsel and humane example, brought
him into the theater, saying, "As you well remeraber, I
received this man from you an abuser and violent — I re
turn him humane and well-disposed." The heathen mul
titude were lost in admiration.
3. It mars beauty. The step loses its elasticity, the
spirits their vivacity, the heart its buoyant bound, the
cheek its crimson, and the whole countenance that inde
finable, attractive expression which speaks a soul at ease.
I have seen the lovely lass, whose lips seemed formed
28

330 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
only for accents of peace, whose eyes seemed to be the
windows of love and joy, and whose whole form one
might imagine a fit tenement for Gabriel, should he be
come incarnate, suddenly transformed into a creature
more unlovely than the swine, under the influence of
such a passion.
4. It destroys happiness. There is nothing which can
do this more effectually or speedily. Burns describes
the "tooth-ache" as the "hell of all diseases." This
surely — revenge — is the pit of all tormenting passions.
Under its influence reflection is suspended, pleasing emo
tions paralyzed, the senses benumbed, the heavens cur
tained, the earth shaded, every avenue to enjoyment
closed, and reason often dethroned. If I wished to de
scribe the bitterest cup in the well of bottomless perdi
tion, I would write "revenge." Were I to represent
the hottest flame in the furnace of Satan's soul, my
brush should paint — revenge. Did I seek completely to
" devilize " and damn a soul on earth, I would ask no
other element than this. What is hell but the opposite
of heaven ? What is Satan but the opposite of God ?
What the torment of the lost but the opposite of the
raptures of the blest ? What is the element of heaven ? —
of God ? — of heavenly rapture ? Love.
5. It is inconsistent with Christianity. If you are a
professor of the religion of Jesus Christ, you must be
governed by the Gospel. Eemember that precept which
has been called the golden rule : "Do unto others as you
would they should do unto you." If you offend an
other, do you wish that you should never be forgiven ?
Do you value the means of grace ? Do you love the
place where God's saints assemble — the abode where
God's honor dwelleth ? Does not your soul at times cry
out, "How lovely are thy tents, O Jacob!" "How ami
able are thy tabernacles, 0 Lord of hosts!" "My soul

REVENGE. 331
longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of ray God !"
Has not your heart often said, "Sweet is the day of
sacred rest !" and while holding coraraunion with the
Most High, and laying your sorrows at Immanuel' s feet,
how often have you exclaimed, "In such a frame as this,
my willing soul would stay !" Then do not forget that
the privileges of the sanctuary are not allowed to the
heart that entertains revenge or hatred. "If thou bring
thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy
brother hath aught against thee, leave there thy gift be
fore the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy
brother, and then come and offer thy gift." You have
no right to mingle in the songs of Zion, to participate in
her devotions, or listen to her consolations — you have no
business at the mercy seat, no interest in the bleeding
victim, no access at the throne, even of grace, till recon
ciled — you have no right so much as to offer a broken
heart to your God. Back from the altar — back, back
from the sanctuary — back, back, back from the presence
of a pardoning God. Go find and forgive thy brother,
then corae and offer thy gift. Would you cease to pray?
M'^ould you pray for eternal damnation ? But one of
these things you must do if you are revengeful. If any
would pray he must pray after the model of our .Lord's
prayer. One of its petitions is, " Forgive my trespasses
as I forgive those that trespass against me ;" but you do
not forgive; therefore, your prayer is that you may never
be forgiven. What a fearful attitude for a man to as
sume — pray that eternal woe may be his portion ! Sup
pose you should cease to pray, would the case be differ
ent? Jesus has said, "But if ye forgive not men their
trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your tres
passes." This principle of the Divine government is
forcibly illustrated in the parable recorded in Matthew
xxviii.

332 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Have you ever felt the weight of your sins ? You
have sinned against an infinite God, violated an infinite
law. Your transgressions will influence the universe,
perhaps forever. You have incurred an infinite punish
ment, and while under condemnation you have been par
doned. Can you ever think of entertaining revenge for
a trifling offense committed by a fellow-mortal ? Look at
the example of God. It is the highest privilege and
noblest perfection of a mortal to imitate the Almighty,
Though he is holy and just, and hath a right to inflict
summary punishment upon the wicked, yet he bears long
with them, sending his rain and sunshine upon the just
and upon the unjust. Look at the example of Jesus.
When reviled, he reviled not again. Though God incar
nate, he suffered himself to be hunted as a partridge
upon the mountains. When requested by his disciples
to bring fire out of heaven to consume his enemies, how
beautiful and instructive his reproof! "Ye know not
what manner of spirit ye are of." When he might have
summoned legions of angels to guard him, "he is led as
a lamb to the slaughter ; and as a sheep before her
shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth. In the
very agonies of a cruel death, aggravated by the re
proaches of those for whom he died, he spends his last
breath in prayer for his murderers, " Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do." If ye have
not the spirit of Christ, ye are none of his. 0, be ye
followers of him, as dear children; "be ye kind, tender
hearted, forbearing, and forgiving one another, as God
for Christ's sake Hath forgiven you."
Eecollect that you must die. Perhaps the destroyer
may come suddenly, and afford you no opportunity to
seek the friends with whora you are at variance, to effect
a reconciliation. How would you like to die with resent
ment in your heart? Could you rejoice in passing over

REVENGE. 383
Jordan^would you be prepared to sing with the blest, or
swell the carols of angels ?
Eemember that your friends raust die. How would
you feel at the funeral of a dear friend, from whom, in
sorae unlucky hour, you had become alienated, should
he die prior to a reconciliation? A and B were dear
friends. They disagreed, and for months were at vari
ance; at length they were reconciled, and loved each
other, more fervently. B suddenly expired, and A acci
dentally visited the family of B on the day of his inter
ment. As he stood by the coffin of the deceased, sur
rounded by the widow and children, 0 how he sighed
and wept ! But his tears were tears of joy. " 0 how
glad am I," said he, "that we were reconciled!" Wo
man, have you a dear friend whom you have not for
given ? Hasten to a reconciliation, lest she die suddenly,
and you weep tears of unavailing sorrow at her grave.
Allow me, before I close this paper, to give some gen
eral directions for avoiding offense.
1. Do not make a friend an offender for a word. How
often do we speak inadvertently ! It can not be expected
that every one should, at all times, exercise the cau
tion and prudence of a philosopher. Should we do so,
how much would the pleasure of social intercourse be
abridged !
2. Make allowances for peculiarities, for education,
and for surrounding circumstances. Amid the cares,
and duties, and anxieties of busy life, how many causes
of irritation hourly arise ! How often, when the wife
is indulging in resentment for an unkind expression
which her husband made in a raoment of anxiety, would
she weep with pity, could she read the cares which op
press his heart, as he labors with intense anxiety to pro
vide for those he loves !
3. Consider how many benefits you have received from

334 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
those whom you regard with animosity. Perhaps she
who has offended you has watched your pillow in the
hour of sickness, night after night, listening to your
whispers, administering to your necessities, bearing with
your peevishness, and praying for your recovery. Per
haps the very book you hold in your hand is a token of
her friendship — the very dress you wear the gift of her
affection. And are favors to be forgotten, while offenses
are treasured up ? Is gratitude to be excluded that re
venge may become a guest ? For years, it may be, you
have lived on terms of intimacy, cultivating friendship
with mutual offices of good will ; and shall one offense be
tho grave of all your attachment ? Are you related by
ties of blood, and do you yet despise each other ? Let
not this day's sun go down upon your wrath. It was an
admirable practice of the ancient Jew never to lie down
upon his pillow without forgiving all his foes.
4. Consider well your own faults and infirmities. It
was a quaint but admirable conceit of an ancient genius,
that every man carries a wallet upon his shoulders, and
that into the pocket before him he puts the faults of
his neighbor — into that behind he puts his own; so that
the former are objects of contemplation always — the
latter never. It generally happens that they who are
most prone to take offense, and least disposed to forgive
it, are not very mindful of the feelings of others.
Should the measure which they mete be measured to
them again, they would have but few friends.
" 0, wad some power the giftie gie us.
To see oursels as others see us,"
we should find, perhaps, as rauch occasion to ask forgive
ness as to forgive.
5. Never take an offense unless you are certain it is in
tended. We should put the most favorable construction

REVENGE. 335
upon every action and expression, viewing all things
in the light of that charity " which vaunteth not itself —
is not puffed up," etc. If we do this, we shall find but
few offenses. We frequently convert innocent, well-
meant remarks into offenses, by the manner in which we
notice them. Apollodorus, about to retire from the
court of Augustus, said, " Eemember, Cassar, that when
you are angry, you do not speak, nor do any thing, till
you have distinctly repeated to yourself the letters of the
alphabet." This is an admirable direction. I have
heard of a Turkish prince, who, when tempted to be
angry, repeated, deliberately, the Lord's Prayer. Much
may be done to regulate the temper by repeated and per
severing efforts at self-control. I know it is difficult to
overcome the proud heart, and Solomon says that he who
achieves this work is greater than the conqueror of a
city. Yet we should not be discouraged from the at
tempt by its difficulty. A physiognomist once pro
nounced Socrates the "most brutal, drunken, and licen
tious old man he had ever seen." The pupils of the
philosopher, knowing him to be the reverse of all this,
insulted the physiognomist; but Socrates, interposing,
said, " The man's principles may be correct, for such
were my propensities; but I have overcome them by ray
philosophy." St. Paul, in his convicted state, cried, " For the good
that I would I do not, but the evil that I would not that
I do." "I find, then, a law, that when I would do good
evil is present with rae." "But I see another law in
ray members, warring against the law in my mind, and
bringing me into captivity to the law of sin, which is in
my members." What the apostle could not do, we may
despair of accomplishing. Let us go, then, to the cross
of Christ, and crying out in the bitterness of our souls,
"0, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from

336 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
the body of this death ?" we shall have reason, with rap
ture, to exclaim, " We thank God, through Jesus Christ,
our Lord."

A mother's love. 337

'rpiS a name that charms the savage ear — that softens
-L the warrior's heart — it is the sweetest name on
earth, save "Jesus." How strong a mother's love! How
her eye watches at the cradle of her fading babe ; and
when it dies, how does her heart plunge ! Let an angel
tell. I have seen her at the coffin, taking her last fare
well — lingering, and kissing the cold clay, and kissing
it again, and placing her cheek to its marble brow, and
breathing between its livid lips, and refusing to give it
up till torn away by friendly hands ; and I have almost
prayed that she, too, might die, and follow the bright
and beauteous little spirit to heaven.
How enduring a mother's love ! When all other earthly
affections are forfeited and withdrawn, a mother's love
still burns. When man has hardened his heart, and
crimsoned his hands; and when every eye turns from
him, and every heart sickens at him, and every man is
impatient to have him removed from the earth, of which
he has rendered himself unworthy, a mother's footsteps
are heard at the door of the dungeon, and a mother's lips
bear the burning message to the wretched culprit, that
there is yet one heart that can feel for him, and one
tongue that can pray for him. I have often thought it
was well that Sarah's faith was not tested as Abraham's,
I fear that her heart would have burst when Isaac,
ascending the mountain, said, "Here is the wood, and
there is the knife, but where is the Iamb ?" There is,
29

338 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
perhaps, no passage in the Bible that affords more conso
lation to the penitent than that in which God's love is
represented by a mother's.
Mother ! How many delightful associations cluster
around that word ! — the innocent smiles of infancy, the
gambols of boyhood, and the happiest hours of riper
years! When my heart aches at the world's wickedness,
and my limbs are weary, and my feet bloody, traveling
the thorny path of life, I am accustomed to sit down on
some mossy stone, and, closing my eyes on real scenes, to
send my spirit back to the days of early life. I sing my
lullaby, or watch my goldfinch, or catch my rabbits, or
walk the streets of my native city, or look over the green ;
I hear the shrill bugle, and view the prancing cavalry,
or go down to the dock-yard, or walk along the sea-shore,
or prattle with my brother, and kiss my sweet sister — I
feel afresh my infant joys and sorrows, till my spirit
recovers its tone, and is willing to pursue its journey.
But in all these reminiscences my raother rises. If I
seat myself upon my cushion, it is at her side — if I sing,
it is to her ear — if I walk the walls or the meadows, my
little hand is in my mother's, and my little feet keep
company with hers — if I stand and listen to the piano,
it is because my mother's fingers touch the keys — if I
survey the wonders of creation, it is my mother who
points out the objects of my admiring attention — if a
hundred cannon pronounce a national salute, I find my
self clinging to her knees. When my heart bounds with
its best joy, it is because, at the performance of some
task, or the recitation of some verses, I receive a present
from her hand. There is no velvet so soft as a mother's
lap, no rose so lovely as her smile, no path so flowery as
that imprinted with her footsteps.
Mother is a name connected with my useful knowledge.
When I follow a refreshing channel of truth to its source,

A mother's love. 339
I find her, like Moses in Horeb, smiting the rock from
which the fountain flows. I trace my earliest religious
impressions to my mother's lap. I well recollect the tear
ful, prayerful anxiety with which she taught me of
Jesus, and salvation, and heaven. Cherished recollec
tions enshrine our Lord's prayer in my mind, so that
infidelity never had power to invade its sanctity. The
hymns my raother used to sing corae over me like sounds
from the upper world, drawing tears unbidden down my
eheek. When God laid his afflicting hand upon me,
who, then, was first at my pillow in the morning, and last
at ray couch by night ? If I heard one at the hour of
raidnight carefully open the door, and steal softly over
the carpet to my bedside, and draw aside the curtains
gently, as though an angel touched them, I knew who it
was; and as she put her head down to my pillow, and
whispered, with subdued emotion, "What can I do for
you, my dear boy ?" my struggling brain radiated a more
genial influence over my body, and every little nerve
seemed to recover a temporary health; and when my eye
was becoming glassy, and my muscles were moving with
out the will, and my limbs were growing cold, and the
silver cord was loosening, and the golden bowl breaking,
there was one who could not leave my chamber — whose
sunken, sleepless eye watched over me; and when, at
last, physicians had exhausted their resources, and had
given me up, there was one who forsook not my pillow;
and, as she whispered in my dull ear, " Edward, I have
not given thee up — I have yet a remedy, and a blessing
from God for thee," the fainting heart beat up new cour
age, and all the little pulses awoke, and the chilled limbs
grew warm — and I yet live, a monument of a mother's
love. I have sometimes thought that, should I ever be
come a lunatic, I should be an idolater, and, drawing my
mother's image, I should kneel down before it. "Lay

340 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
rae down," said the poet, " when I die, upon the grass,
and let me see the sun." Eather, would I say, lay me
down to die where I can see my mother. Let the last
sensation which I feel in the body, be the impression of
her lips upon ray cheek; and let the last sound my de
parting spirit hears, be the voice of my mother, whisper
ing "Jesus" in my cold ear. Mother, shouldst thou pass
to thy rest before me, I'll kneel on thy grassy couch, and
sing that sweet hymn I first learned from thy lips :
" There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign."

A sister's love. 341

% Voter's f0iJt.
^EATED, last Sabbath, in the altar of a crowded
^ Church, and sympathizing with a large assembly
which was rather impatiently waiting for the arrival of
a distinguished preacher, my attention was suddenly
attracted by a gentleman who advanced slowly up the
aisle. Time had whitened his temples, care had plowed
his cheek, and affliction had evidently opened the fount
ain of his tears, and spread over his countenance that
softened expression on which the eye of the musing soul
loves to rest He bore in his arms an infant, wrapped
with unusual care. Throwing one covering after another
over his arm, he at length disclosed the treasure so care
fully concealed. It was a babe of extraordinary beauty.
Its brow was of marble whiteness, its cheek of rosy hue,
and its sparkling eye of almost unearthly luster. How
beautiful, thought I, is the huraan forra ! This is an
abode worthy a new-raade angel — this is a temple fitted
for the indwelling of the Holy Ghost. How innocent the
human infant ! No unholy thought has disturbed this
intellect — no unworthy purpose has agitated this bosom —
no transgression has polluted this character; and though
" engendered of the offspring of Adam," yet, thanks be
to Jesus Christ, the "free gift" descends upon it, and,
if translated to heaven, it could share the bliss, and
swell the song of the upper sanctuary. Were the Savior
in this teraple, doubtless he would take it in his arms
and bless it, saying, "Suffer little children to corae unto

342 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of
heaven." How dignified is the human infant ! Here is but a
little particle of perishing dust, yet who can tell what
destinies it may wield ! Within its bosom there slum
ber passions whose outbursting raay convulse the na
tions. Beneath its skull there lies an intellect that may
illuminate the world, comprehend the universe, adore
its Author, inscribe its name in eternal histories, and
shine in everlasting and progressive glory among the
highest order of the heavenly hierarchy. No wonder
that it has an angel, who beholds the face of its Father
in heaven continually. And can we, on earth, behold
it with indifference? Blessed creature, thought I, I
will pray for thee, that thou mayest be guided by a
divine hand through this world of sorrow to the realms
above. How 7teZp?ess the human infant ! All other crea
tures have some ability for defense or escape, some judg
ment in relation to nourishment and danger; but man,
the lord of the lower world, comes into existence entirely
dependent upon the ministry of others.
I perceived that this child had been clad with unusual
care — its unstained garments were as snow — its head
dress evinced a taste and care quite remarkable — exhib
iting a striking contrast with the coarse and careless gar
ments of the father. Alas ! here is the father, and there
is the babe, but where is the mother? The scarf of
the old gentleman answered the question. He had re
cently come up from the chamber of death, where he had
deposited the mother of his child. As he turned his eye
to the seat where the dear departed used to listen to the
Gospel, a tear issued, unbidden, from its spring, and his
countenance seemed to say, "O, Mary, Mary, would to
God I had died for thee !" But what kind bosom received
this motherless babe, and what soft hand wipes away

A sister's love. 343
its tears ? These inquiries Were readily answered. A
blooming maiden, clad in deep mourning, followed the
old pilgrim's footsteps. She was no sooner seated than
she received the lovely infant to her arms, and bending,
as if to escape observation, pressed it to her lips; and
then her eye gazed intently upon its playful features, and
her soul grew enraptured by its smiles. Though deeply
interested with the discourse which followed, I could not
forbear, occasionally, to survey the countenances of that
lovely and interesting group. Never did mother's coun
tenance more vividly represent maternal tenderness, nor
helpless infancy more clearly portray filial dependence,
contentment, and affection. I had often seen the tri
umphs of a sister's love — ^I had often witnessed and expe
rienced a mother's unfailing, intense attachment, but
never before had I beheld the blended influences of a
sister's and a mother's love. What, thought I, will be
the affection of this pair, should Providence spare them
till the infant ripens into manhood?
The sermon being ended, the candidates for baptism
were invited to come forward. The first who stepped
within the altar was the aged patriarch, bearing his
infant boy, and followed by his lovely daughter, who,
instead of the mother, stood at the baptismal font. I
involuntarily recurred to the mountain of Moriah, and
thought of Abrahara offering up his son Isaac, and
then my imagination advanced a Httle, and painted tho
sister of Moses, watching her brother in the bulrushes;
but the real exceeded the beauty of the imaginary
picture. I had seen woman, lovely woman, at the hour of
danger, and on the day of trial — I had witnessed her
at the cradle of her first-born, in the chamber of the
sick, and by the pillow of the dying — I had attended
her as she followed the departed partner of her bosom

344 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
to "the house appointed for all the living;" yet never
did I behold her in a more interesting attitude than on
that day.

THE CHRISTIAN. 345

THEY are mistaken who imagine that the Christian
religion is unfavorable to magnanimity. The Gos
pel is a fruitful source of true greatness. Every genuine
believer is a specimen of the moral sublime. His imag
ination is kept glowing by the constant presence of an
object, in comparison with which the united glories of all
the angels in heaven would be but as the glimmering of
the glow-worm. He perceives that every word he utters,
every action he performs, bears itself onward to the last
day, and to the eternity which must follow. His plans,
his purposes, have an endless sweep. He stands in the
midst of a world of care and folly, looking steadily to the
rescue of immortal souls from sin and death, and the ac
quisition of an eternal crown.
It is not the performance of a few great actions that
confers an illustrious name. It is the governing plan of
the agent. How do we form an idea of an epic poera ?
Not by the iraagery, the episodes, the diction, but by the
plot — the connection of parts apparently disunited, into
one harmonious and beautiful whole. Here is shown the
genius of the writer ; here kindles the imagination of the
reader. Why is the cataract so full of majesty ? Because,
with all its currents and counter-currents, in the calmest
hour, it heaves its mighty sheet of water to the foaming
bed below. Why are we charmed at the history of an
illustrious warrior? It is not his forced marches, his
long campaigns, his hazardous voyages, his hair-breadth

346 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
escapes, his midnight battles, the streams of blood pressed
from human hearts by his footsteps, the thrones and
scepters crumbled by his touch, the prostrate nations
bowing at his nod; but the union of all these things to
the accomplishment of one object, the concentration of
power in the hands of the victor, that excites our admira
tion and astonishment. Why is it that in this unity of
purpose there is sublimity ? Because it is a character
istic of the Divinity; and mind was forraed to admire
God. Look into the universe : behold gravity pressing
the humblest plant to the bosom of the earth, and put
ting forth its hand to bind the universe in one. Look
into providence : all events concur to a common end.
Look at redemption : if the seer prophesy, if the altar
bleed, if the tabernacle rise, if the temple lift its spires
on high ; if Jesus come, if he burst the tomb, or heal
the sick, or cleanse the leper — whether he lives or dies,
or rises or ascends, or sends his ministers to the ends of
the earth — a common object is kept in view, the release
of earth from the dominion of hell.
Although we are predisposed to admire unity of pur
pose, we can not consistently estimate human character
without regarding the motive by which its plan is di
rected. If actions are to be estimated without reference
to motives, there is no difference between the lion wetting
his dry jaws with the blood of his victim, and Bonaparte
surmounting the Alps. But if character is to be esti
mated by the motive of the agent, then where shall we
find a character truly great, except it be that of the
Christian ? How shall we estimate a motive ? Not,
surely, without reference to man's nature and relations.
He is a moral, rational, and immortal being; a subject
of God's government. Can that plan be approved which
is founded in disregard of God's laws, which overlooks
the endless life that lies before us ? Nay. Where, then.

THE CHRISTIAN. 347
shall we find dignified character? In the miser who
spends his life iiT gathering gold which he knows not
who shall scatter, while he descends to the treasure of
eternal woe which he has heaped up for himself? in the
warrior, who writes his name upon the scroll, to be
wiped out a few days hence, while he himself descends
to shame and everlasting contempt? in the sensualist,
who buries his soul in the sepulcher of his senses, to have
a resurrection in the fiames that are never quenched?
or in him who pleases conscience, obeys God, avoids hell,
gains heaven, and plants souls as guiding stars in the
celestial firmament.
With what admiration do we contemplate Pericles in
the Peloponesian war, contrary to the wishes and judg
ment of every man, woman, and child in Athens, re
solving not to march out to meet the foe, but to fortify
the city, and wait the approach of the enemy before the
walls ! He goes not into any assembly of the people,
that he may not be forced into any measure contrary to
his own judgment ; but as the pilot of a vessel in the
ocean, buffeted by the midnight storm, having arranged
every thing carefully, and drawn tight the tackle, exer
cises his own skill, disregarding the tears and entreaties
of the terrified and seasick passengers — thus he, having
shut up the city and occupied all places, and stationed
his guards, followed his own plans, caring little for those
exclaiming against him. Although his friends kept urg
ing him by their entreaties, and his enemies assailed
him by their threats and denunciations, and many sang
scurrilous songs to bring him into disgrace, stigmatizing
him as a coward, and as betraying the public property
and honor to the enemy, yet he steadily pursued his way,
and wrought out the salvation of the city. And yet, the
humblest son of God possesses a unity, and energy, and
integrity of purpose surpassing that of Pericles. It is not

348 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
because he has no avarice that he does not rake together
the glittering dust ; it is not because he has no propen
sions that he does not plunge into sensuality; it is not
because he has no ambition that he does not pluck honor
from the cannon's mouth, or wreathe his brow with the
civic crown ; it is not because he has no pride that he
rebels not against the heavens. No; but because he, by
the grace of God, puts forth his hands and binds the
passions of his soul. It is not because he is unentreated
and unassailed that he pursues his plan. Friends per
suade, foes denounce ; one slanders, another sneers ; now
he is called cowardly, now enthusiastic, now unfeeling,
now hypocritical. Earth spreads its temptations all over
her beautiful bosom ; his own senses are avenues to
temptation — his passions are allies to his foes; devils
surround him with a determination to destroy, yet he
pursues his way. No wonder that angels are ministering
spirits, sent forth to minister to the heirs of salvation.
The faithful Christian is worthy to be a spectacle to
earth, and hell, and heaven. Methinks an angel might
delight to leave the blaze of the eternal throne, to help
him up the hights of glory.

LIFE ON THE OHIO. 349

lifj 0n i\t (B\xa.
T THOUGHT, as I took my seat in the boat, now I can
-L explore both the outer world and the inner — creation
and her Lord. Around the stern sits a group of sedate
gentry, engaged in reading. One, who has a newspaper
before him, looks like a shrewd, sagacious politician ; but
on his brow care and disappointment have left their
traces. Another — a Dutchman — is reading aloud, as
boys in sorae mismanaged Lancasterian schools do. In
front of the fire is a ruddy, jolly, keen- eyed youth, read
ing Telemaque; and here is a pale, emaciated young raan
who, seated in a retired corner, seems to have lost all
consciousness of passing events, or surrounding scenes,
in poring over a little volume, which I ascertained to he
"Cicero de Oratore." When he laid his book aside he
seemed absorbed in melancholy contemplation, as if med
itating an ode to consumption. A short time before
and after meals, he paced, alone, the guards, or the hur
ricane-deck; and though generally gloomy, sometimes his
eye kindled, and an arch smile played upon his counte
nance, which he strove, by drawing down his hat, and
bending forward his head, to conceal. His restraint at
table indicated dyspepsia, and his occasional cough was
premonitory of pulmonary disease. I thought him proud
and morose, but upon entering into communion with him
found him quite communicative. He was a martyr to
books : slowly and steadily he had traveled many paths
of learning; and though now his health required that he

350 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
should surcease, he knew not how. He readily assented
to the declarations of friends relative to his danger, and
in every paroxysm of pain, he felt that all their fears for
him were grounded ; yet when alone, in his study, thirst
ing for the refreshing streams of literature, a strange
infatuation misled his solitary reasonings relative to his
health, and he bent again over the lamp. His hands are
cold, and if he do not soon rush from his present associ
ations and pursuits into healthful employment, his heart
and head erelong will be colder than his extremities are
now. "Love is stronger than death." The student en
amored of science rushes forward, though as certain to
encounter death as the soldier marching to the cannon's
mouth. If that youth go down to a premature grave, will
he be guiltless ? Under the influence of ill-regulated
passions, he transgresses nature's laws, and cuts short
that life which God has bestowed for important purposes.
We can not decide, but leave him in the hands of the
Alraighty, who knows the influences which his own prov
idence has brought to bear upon him, and the delusions
which encompass a student's mind. He trusts, we learn,
in Christ, and, sickened with this world, pants and prays
for a purer one. Whether the love of God and of
Christ, in such measure as it should be enjoyed, would
not rouse him to a life of more activity and usefulness, is
a question we leave to him, hoping that he will not defer
its decision till it is too late.
Let us take a walk to the outer end of the cabin.
Seated around the card-table is a group, which, had I
time, I should like to paint. They are now playing "to
kill time;" but if we pass them about seven o'clock this
evening, we shall see each one with his tumbler and his
purse at his elbow. In our boats are printed regulations
one of whieh forbids the occupancy of the cabin for any

LIFE ON THE OHIO. 851
arausement after ten o'clock, P. M.; but rising on one oc
casion at two o'clock in the morning, I found the table
surrounded with gamblers, quarreling about the money,
and, as I passed out to the wash-room, I was called up to
settle the dispute. In this company there is one face
that makes me shudder. I dare not ask his name. His
features are too familiar, and yet I want to entertain a
hope that I am mistaken. As I look upon his pale, but
intelligent countenance, my mind rushes back to my
earlier and better days — to the scenes of my youthful
gambols — the school-house on the village green; the
church where we held our moot-court and rude debate;
the old haw-tree, through whose branches, on the sum
mer eve, the noisy prattle and loud laugh of joyous inno
cence rose up to heaven ; the winding banks of the Kil-
buek, on which, with our sisters, we gathered walnuts,
and crab-apples, and plums; the spring, three miles in
the woods, from which the " friend of my better days "
brought clear, cold draughts, in the depths of winter, to
cool my parched tongue, when he thought I was dying;
the sugar-camp, where we stole sweet kisses from rosy
lips, which we hope no more to see till we look for them
in the choirs of the upper sanctuary ; and the old grave
yard, without a vault or a monument, where we read, on
plain head-stones, the names of the loved ones that we
buried, and the simple " annals of the poor." I thought
of that sweet woman, the companion of my mother, the
jewel of the Church, the idol of the neighborhood — of
her death-bed — of the last embrace of her darling boy,
and the prayer of her breaking heart, when her eye had
ceased to weep. I must pass, or betray my weakness.
Is not that he ? God can hear my prayer as I walk.
Let me alone here upon the upper deck, where the fresh
breeze may fan me — but up comes a student from Han
over, introduces himself as the son of a Methodist

352 INCIDENT AL SKETCHES.
preacher, and joins me in walking. We enter into con
versation about the election, the annexation of Texas, the
ancient states, the Catholic question, and I feel re-
relieved. How beautiful is nature ! It is delightful in the even
ing and morning to survey the banks of the Ohio, as you
sail. There are many fine farms and improvements, but
sorae barren spots, also, which, to my astonishment, I
found occupied. In some instances I understood the
owners were becoming rich by the manufacture of the
"fire brick;" in others, every thing indicated indo
lence. But let us take a glance at the deck passengers. Here is
an aged Dutch woman traveling alone; but she has an arm
able to protect herself, and evinces no small disposition
to use it. And here is an elderly gentleman with Morse's
school geography in his hand, muttering the names of the
states ; and there is a poor family which appears to be
worthy of a better fate. I dare not trust my imagination
to depict their feelings. Hark ! there is a fight among
the deck passengers — let us start.
Stopping at port, we find opportunity to take a glance
at the officers and crew. The captain is a very important
character — too important to have much to say. If you
want to ascertain who he is, you must inquire him out.
The mate is the potentate below stairs, and the clerk
above. Hark! two negro boatmen are quarreling. What is
the " ultima thule" of their billingsgate ? " You lie like
a steamboat captain." I know no object on which I can
look with more pity than firemen and deck hands. Poor
fellows ! " The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air
nests, but the son of man hath not where to lay his
head." The ox, and the ass, and the land, have their
Sabbaths, but thou haist none. Every drop of that opi-

LIFE ON THE OHIO. 353
ate dealt out to thee from day to day to alleviate thy bur
den, serves only to increase thy sorrow and thy sin. All
our hands, I see, are negroes, except two — the one a
Choctaw^ the other a white boy. The former is a noble-
looking son of the forest, with piercing hazel eyes, long,
coarse, black hair, high cheek-bones, well-developed mus
cles, and erect form. I thought of the statue of the
dying gladiator as I marked, through his tattered gar
ments, his broad ribs and ample chest. I observed him,
for several hours, handling freight ; he was sly and sul
len; not a word did he exchange with any one; the
laugh, the murmur, the repartee, the reproach, made no
alteration in his countenance. He has been driven from
his hunting grounds, and the graves of his fathers, upon
the sunny hanks of the Yazoo. He has imbibed the
vices, without the virtues of civilization. No wonder if
his heart burn with indignation, save when the fire-waters
drown his sensibilities. The little boy, apparently twelve
or fourteen years old, is a fine, manly fellow, with a keen
eye, ample forehead, cheerful spirit; he is a universal
favorite among the hands ; he lifts as heavy a load as the
stoutest negro, and works as if for life. I stepped up to
him, when the following dialogue ensued: "What is
your name?" "I. S." "Where does your father live?"
"I have no father," "Where does your mother live?"
"I have no mother." " What are you doing here ?" "I
am apprenticed to the mate to learn the trade of boat
ing." A new idea, indeed., "Unfortunate," said I to
myself, "can I not do something for you? What a
school are you in ! Without father, without mother,
without Sabbath, without beginning of instruction or end
of labors ; in no company but that of the outcast Indian,
or oppressed African, listening to the dialect of profane
ness, and drinking thy daily rations, what will be thy
fate ?" 30

354 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
But let us take a glance at the ladies' cabin. Among
the many mirthful faces, is one pale and sad. She is a
widow, and a bereaved mother, traveling, with the cold
remains of all her family, from a land of strangers to
her home. A few years since she was a joyous bride,
with fair prospects for a long life of uninterrupted hap
piness. Her husband was once a merchant, and had a home — a
home where he planted the evergreen, and taught the
woodbine to climb the piazza, and the vine to creep
around the lattice of the arbor — a home where age found
its solace, and youth its amusement; where poverty re
ceived charity, and wealth bestowed respect ; where the
ties of brother, sister, parent, uncle, were rendered
stronger each successive day. The commercial revulsion,
which swept the country as the simoon does the desert,
prostrated his business, and blasted his prospects. Dis
ease invaded his breast, and rapidly undermined his
health. But the strange delusion which usually attends
consumption accompanied him — hope lingered in his
heart when despair would have been more suitable. He
thought a change of residence would conduce to his res
toration, while it would afford him more salutary and lu
crative occupation. When I first entered his new abode,
his countenance was cadaverous, and his form emaciated,
yet hope still burned within him. His wife, with a coun
tenance indicating the deepest anguish, was pressing her
dying babe to her bosom.
My next visit was to attend the only child to the house
appointed for all the living. After some persuasion, I
prevailed upon the dying man to allow me to invite a
physician to his chamber, when all the resources of the
healing art, under the administration of science, and the
suggestions of generous sympathy, were brought to his
aid, but they could do no more than soften the pangs of

LIFE ON THE OHIO. 355
dissolving nature, and strew fiowers around the pathway
to the tomb.
One evening, as I stepped into his chamber, he told
me that he was better, and desired me to accompany him
home as soon as the weather became favorable : " For,"
added he, "I want to die at home, and be buried among
my kindred." The next evening I was called to see him
expire. His last words were, " I die in peace. Bury me
in N."
My heart sickens with the ills of life — let me reflect.
Is life, as I see it, in its varied shades, a blessing or a
curse ?
1. There is more joy than sorrow, health than sick
ness, hope than despair. This is demonstrable. Misery
results from disorder. Where there is more misery than
joy, disorder prevails over order, and the tendency of
things is to destruction. But the tendency of the world
is to improvement. How many days has yonder Indian
made the woods echo with the expressions of pleasure,
and triumph, in the gigantic pastimes of his wilderness I
How oft has his spirit drank in joy at every sense on
the mountain top, or in the coppice, or gliding down the
stream in his light canoe ? Who shall tell the many joys
that have gladdened the heart of that widow in the bower
or the field, the garden or the hearth, the home of inno
cence or the hall of mirth ? Who knows what is in re
version for her? If there is an excess of happiness over
misery, is not that equal to so much unmixed happiness?
Let the former be represented by ten and the latter by
five; is not 10—5=5?
2. A thousand streams of joy may visit the heart
which the eye of an observer can not see. That poor
African is no stranger to the purest, deepest joys that
the human heart can know; the thought of the loved
ones for whom he labors, in that rude cabin on the

356 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
bank, may sweeten all his toils, and weave his dreams
with flowers.
3. Trials are useful ; they develop our powers. That
orphan, lifting the bar of iron to his bleeding arm, is
acquiring a capacity of endurance, a grappling energy, a
knowledge of human nature, a scorn for poverty, and an
undying ambition to rise above his lot, that may one day
lift a crown to his head. That deformed girl may yet have
reason to be grateful for her deformity. Byron might
never have soared into the loftiest regions of poetry, had
he not been ridiculed for the malconformation of his
foot. Lord Bacon remarks, " Whosoever hath any thing
fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath also
a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself
from scorn." Trials bring the sinner to reflection. Look
at those poor gamblers ; the prayer of the dying mother
was not vain ; reason may be roused, conscience awak
ened, the Holy Spirit sent back ; a thousand arrange
ments of divine Providence may be necessary, and in
train, to bring the prodigal home. He may pass through
deep waters, but every wave that rolls over him may be
sent in mercy. Trials are necessary to the Christian.
The world lights up its bowers, and sings its siren
song, and spreads its bed of poppies, and bids us sleep.
The rod which rouses us when to slumber would be
death, is sent in love. Hence, " Whom the Lord loveth
he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiv-
eth." Trials are necessary to the cultivation of every
Christian grace — such as mercy, charity. 0, what a
field is the world ! How rich will be its harvest ! He
who sails our rivers and lakes, will learn to sow the Gos
pel beside "all waters." Trials wean us from the world,
draw us aside to comraune with God, and direct our eyes
to heaven. Welcome, trial — thrice welcome ! " These
light afflictions, which are but for a season, work out

LIFE ON THE OHIO. 357
for US a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory,
while we look not at the things which are seen, but at
the things which are unseen."

358 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

""jl/TE. EDITOE,— I feel unhappy; and presuming that
-LVl. you can sympathize with distress, I take my pen
to communicate with you. I know that I am an intelli
gent, accountable, immortal being. I believe in God —
I believe in his word; but my faith is mingled with
doubts. This is one source of my unhappiness. I can
sometimes see a Savior, and at other tiraes I see nothing
but darkness in the direction of the cross. I am in the
condition of one of old, who cried, 'Lord, I believe:
help thou my unbelief I have hope in Christ; but
being deficient in faith, my hope is feeble and wavering.
More like a cable than an anchor, it will do in a calm,
but is of no consequence in the storm. When the Chris
tian rides in safety I am tossed by the winds on the waves
of despair. Let but misfortune or sickness overtake me,
and though I feel for my hope, I find it has fled. I love
God — I know that I ought to love him — ^I try to love;
but at times I find my love languishing, and realize that
' 'Tis worse than death my God to love.
And not my God alone.'
If I were in a state of indifference, I could have ease;
but as it is, I am restless. The world drives rae upon
religion, and, comfortless, religion drives rae back upon
the world. I have no Christian joy. I believe I am
conscientious; and, although I frequently commit of
fenses, I grieve over them. My best hours are gloomy —

SELF-EXAMINATION. 359
my consolations poor ; but my self-reproaches are re
garded as evidences of humility, and I stand higher in
the estimation of my friends than many a better
Christian. I know that, in consequence of original
peculiarities, variations in health, external circumstances,
and diversity of education. Christians, with equal de
grees of grace, may be expected to differ in character.
While some are content only when sounding abroad the
high praises of God, others say,
' In secret silence of the mind,
My heaven and then my God I find.'
But I do believe I ought to be free from condemnation,
steadfast in faith, joyful through hope, rooted in charity,
enjoying coraraunion with saints, with angels, and with
God. I trust I can say that I wish to fulfill my obliga
tions to God and man, live a useful life, die a happy
death, and enjoy eternal life in heaven. What direction
and comfort can you give me ? I am soon to die, and
what I do must be done quickly,
"Yours, etc,  ."
Our sympathies are excited. We pity any one in the
situation of our correspondent. Let her at once admit
the melancholy fact that she is a lukewarm Christian,
Let her feel that this situation is one of peril — perhaps
even raore dangerous than that of the unconverted one,
"I would that thou wert cold or hot; but because thou
art neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my
mouth," Lukewarmness, in consequence of its profes
sion, its formal services, its languishing grace, and lin
gering hope, is fortified against the appeals of the Gos
pel; while infidelity and irreligion have no shelter from
reproof, or warning, or expostulation. Hence, the Phar
isees were in a condition less hopeful than that of the

860 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
most desperate sinner : " The publicans and harlots go
into the kingdom of heaven before you." Delusion on
the subject of religion is, of all things, most woeful.
Better never dream of heaven than be at last as the
foolish virgins, or as he at the feast that had not on
the wedding garment. If we cherish a delusive hope,
we are lost. If we abandon it, we shall probably obtain
a better one. Let no one who entertains the feelings
of our correspondent despair, God is love, Jesus hath
died ; the Holy Ghost moves upon the heart that mourns
over its depravity and longs for a better state. How
encouraging is the parable of the prodigal son ! God is
our Father, He sends messenger after messenger to
invite us home. His providence concurs with his min
istry and his Spirit to urge us to his bosom. He hangs
the heavens with robes for us. He holds out a crown
of life. He follows us in all our wanderings. When he
is resisted, he yearns over us with bowels of compassion,
and cries, " Turn, sinner, turn, for why will ye die ?"
Confess, then, thy sins; embrace Jesus, by faith, as your
wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption ;
rise up and look out upon this beautiful world; consider
the goodness and mercy which have followed thee all
the days of thy life; look around for the poor, and the
fatherless, and the suffering, that you may relieve them ;
look up to heaven as thy home ; look into thy soul and
say, " Why art thou cast down, 0 ray soul ? and why art
thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God," and
soon will the grateful inquiry arise, " What shall I ren
der to the Lord for all his benefits to me ?" soon, too,
will thy soul cry out, " Draw near, all ye that fear God,
and I will tell thee what he hath done for my soul. As
far as the east is from the west, so far hath he separated
my sins from me."

TREATMENT OF YOUTH. 361

^xtmimnt ai ijxii\.
{ WEITEE proposes the formation of societies among
-'^ the young for the promotion of morality. He has,
doubtless, derived his hint from the temperance and
other societies, which, during the last twenty years,
have operated upon community with so much power. In
regard to the proposition I am very doubtful. Whether
children could be thus organized ; whether, if organized,
they would possess sufficient intelligence to understand
their rules, or sufficient virtue to enforce them ; whether
such organizations would reach the root of the evil he
seeks to remove, are questions to be settled.
We are constrained to admit the melancholy fact on
which the writer presumes; namely, that crime is in
creasing, and particularly among the young. Large cities
furnish melancholy evidence of this every month and
year. How is it to be accounted for? Is there not a
relaxation of family government and a neglect of pa
rental instruction ? I think it very clear that there is ;
not merely among the poorer classes, but among all
ranks ; not only in this country, but in Great Britain.
Till lately, in all civilized countries, the parent's will
was law; that law was generally obeyed, and if violated,
the violation drew upon the transgressor a suitable pen
alty. Men were not then wiser than Solomon, nor was
the rod an abandoned instrument There was, somehow
or other, a philosophy prevalent which led men to think
that parents were in some measure accountable both to
31

862 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
God and man for the conduct of their children, and the
fate of Eli and his family seemed to be in remembrance.
The idea of children doing what is right in their own
eyes was not at that time brought forth, and the cir
cumstance of a youth of fifteen going down the river, or
getting into a stage for old Virginia, without informing
his parents where he was going, would have created
quite a sensation. But now parental authority seems to
have been discussed among the family. Indeed, the
children of this age have virtually, if not formally, de
clared their independence, and the parents appear to
have tacitly acknowledged it Moreover, the former
seem to have organized a government strictly demo
cratic — not a federative, representative democracy, but a
real one, such as Athens had when every man went to
the hall of government with his weapon on his shoulder
to make the laws.
The writer is a republican; he loves the word, and
loves the thing; he believes that the power of the
people should move the governraent, but not the power
of the "little people." It is true, we raust have this
power more or less felt under any form of government.
It was felt at Athens. Who does not recollect the old
sorites : Themistocles governs Athens, his wife governs
him, her children govern her; therefore the children of
Themistocles govern Athens. But this mode of govern
ing was less direct and more persuasive than that which
now prevails. The boys did not show their hands so
much in it Now, in some famihes, the parents live
merely by sufferance, and their will must be sanctioned
by a majority of the family before it has any au
thority. There is, consequently, a want of school and college
discipline. We are not in favor of the old system In
all its severity. The rod, we think, should be rarelv

TREATMENT OF YOUTH, 363
used in any case; and, perhaps, it may be dispensed
with altogether in sorae cases. When children have
been well trained at home they can be easily governed at
school ; but it unfortunately happens that relaxation of
school discipline has supervened upon a restraint of pa
rental authority, so that it is no wonder that colleges
often explode, and that men who have any experience in
the government of the young dread the management of
institutions of learning. The boy frequently goes to
school when and where he pleases. He takes a fiddle,
or a whistle, or a jews-harp with him, and intends to
amuse himself as seemeth him good; and if the tutor
should make any objection to his course, he raust do it
in the way of "raoral suasion," and very sweetly, too,
or the little deraocrat will gather up his books and
withdraw his patronage, and then woe be to the raaster !
He will be denounced as dull, and unfit to govern. In
former times, if a child ran away from school, he learned
how to run back again. The writer has some of the
milk of huraan kindness, and knows that children have
minds, and are capable of reasoning, and being reasoned
with; that they have hearts, also, and are susceptible
of impressions, and that moral suasion is an excellent
means of governing in many cases ; but he does believe
that children should be m^ade to respect authority and
do their duty, when they can not be persuaded to do it.
It is cruelty to suffer them to pursue their own way.
What is to become of our country if children are not
trained to obedience ?
There is, we fear, in our tiraes, a lamentable neglect
of family instruction. How few even inquire regularly
into the progress of their children at school, or endeavor
to impress and illustrate in a familiar manner the knowl
edge which they acquire ! The neglect is still more
apparent and deplorable in regard to religious instruc-

364 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES,
tion. Under the Mosaic dispensation, as well as under
the patriarchal, the father was a quasi priest; he was
imperatively bound to attend to the religion of the fam
ily: "And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy
children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in
thy house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when
thou liest down, and when thou risest up." Hence to
the Jew it might be said, "From a child thou hast
known the holy Scriptures." Both the precepts and ex
ample of the primitive Church teach us, that she did
not absolve the parent from the obligations to instruct
his children which the previous dispensation imposed.
Our Puritanical forefathers used to instruct their " little
ones " in the doctrines and precepts of Christianity, and
familiarize their minds with all the impressive history,
and prophecy, and parable of the holy Oracles. Ming
ling instruction with the reading of the Scriptures and
the offering up of prayer at the morning and evening
sacrifices on the family altar, and devoting a portion of
the Sabbath to religious instruction, meditation, and
worship at home, they taught the young not only by
proxy, but personally. Thus were ideas of God and
heaven, and redemption and obedience, inducted into
the opening mind, with all the aid of parental authority,
and all the charras connected with the sweetest scenes
and the tenderest relations of earth.
The Sabbath school, that institution which has blessed
its thousands, may, nevertheless, have done the Church
a disservice by weakening the parent's feeling of obliga
tion to teach his own offspring. No institution can be
a substitute for parental instruction. I trust I am no
croaker. I am not inclined to search out the evils
around me merely to utter complaints and lamentations ;
but I really fear that in the particulars mentioned we
are receding from the ground we formerly occupied; and

TREATMENT OF YOUTH. 365
at the hazard of calling down prejudices upon my own
head, I respectfully invite attention to the fact.
Voluntary associations for the accomplishment of
specific, moral objects, have done much, and we have
favored them to the utmost of our little ability; but,
after all, our hope is in the Church : " Out of the heart
proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, murders, fornica
tions, etc.; and any thing which does not cleanse the
fountain must fail of purifying the streams. To God
we must look to change the heart. But we must use
means; and there are none better than those of his own
appointment, among which stands, first, " the word of his
grace," applied primarily by the hand of the parent;
and, secondly, by the "foolishness of preaching." In
regard to the children of irreligious parents, the Sab
bath school is of especial and indispensable importance.
Let all who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity,
while they neglect not family instruction, redouble their
zeal in favor of this blessed seminary of religion. It is
the great auxiliary of the Church.
Is not a reform needed in our higher institutions of
learning ? It is time that the Bible was made a prom
inent part of collegiate study. If students were taught
as much about the garden of our first parents as they
are of the gardens of Alcinous, and should devote at
least a tithe of the time now allotted to the study of the
voyages of Ulysses and -fflneas, to an examination of the
travels of Paul; if they were to linger round Jerusalem
a portion of that period which they spend in Phoenicia
and the island of Calypso ; if they would sometimes go
with our Savior to Calvary, instead of accompanying
the Argonauts so often, in their search for the golden
fl.eece; in short, if they would spend a part of their
time now devoted to fables to the study of truth, there
would be less need of inverting the course of collegiate

366 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES,
instruction, as the writer suggests; that is, of patting
ethics first, instead of last.
Do not understand that we undervalue classical stud
ies. All we ask is, that the Bible may be ranked among
them, and receive its due share of attention. This may
be the case already in some institutions, but it is not
in all.

MEDICINE AND PHYSICIANS, 367

ACEETAIN negro preacher says, "When you see Dr.
M. riding out on his white horse and Dr. F. gallop
ing after, then death come. Brethren, the raore medi
cine he take the deader he dies."
There is more truth than poetry in the statement.
Untold mischief is done daily by the practice of medi
cine. One raode of doing it consists in anticipating
disease. Many persons, for instance, give calomel and
bleed in the spring or fall to prevent the approach of
disease; and their apology is, "A stitch in time saves
nine." They forget that no stitch is wanted where
there is no rent. What better condition to resist disease
can they expect than health? Another form of quack
ery is to give medicine by guess ; and the apology is, " 0,
it is perfectly innocent; if it does no good it will do no
harm." This is a great mistake. Nothing can be called
a medicine which does not increase, or diminish, or
alter the functions. Hence, if it do not good it must do
harm ; for every change which is wrought in the system
must be frora health to disease, if it be not frora disease
to health. But suppose the nostrum be as harmless as
bread pills, if medicine is really needed it raay be
destructive by causing delay. Functional derangeraent
has a tendency to produce organic change; and when
this has occurred the patient is, to a great degree,
beyond the reach of medical art.
Another mode of empiricism is to use the same remedy

868 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
fcrr every disorder. That this is wrong must be evident
to any one who will but consider the variety of diseases,
the many types which each assumes, and the influence
which climate, constitution, habit, temperament, and tho
different states of mind produce upon the sick.
If quack inedicines could be abolished, what immense
mischief would be prevented ! They are a fraud from
beginning to end. They are not composed of what they
purport to be. They are not accompanied with certifi
cates of the failures and injuries which attend them.
They are composed of the cheapest instead of the
dearest drugs. If we had no "Domestic Medicines," we
should have fewer imaginary diseases. Let a man, whose
family is in ordinary health, commence reading a "doc
tor book," and he will be very likely to fancy that
his whole family is diseased. To awaken his fears one
symptom out of thirty is enough. If children were not
doctored out of the world, they would be as likely to
live as other young animals. Alexapharmic potions and
cordial juleps work wonders among the children — for the
doctor and the sexton.
If quacks could go to some other business, the valley
of the Mississippi would soon be filled up. But there is
no hope of getting rid of this class of gentry. Quack
ery is too easy a mode of becoming great, and wise, and
rich. If a man would be a lawyer, or a clergyman, he
must study, or his deficiencies will soon drive him from
the pulpit or the bar. If a man would be a shoemaker,
it is not merely necessary to give him a piece of leather
and a lapstone; he must serve an apprenticeship. If a
man would mend watches, he must know how they are
made and what they are made of. But to be a quack,
a few gallipots, a little ingenuity, and a great deal of
impudence is all that is necessary. You can mend a
brain or a heart without knowing where it is. We read

MEDICINE AND PHYSICIANS. 369
of a celebrated quack in London who used to cure peo
ple by putting a fish-hook down the throat and drawing
it up. He used to show his patients the blood upon the
hook, and assure them that it was drawn right from the
heart. Another said that palpitation of the heart was
owing to the twisting of a worm, and that he could
expel the "cretur" by a vermifuge; but I must quit, or
I shall tell things incredible to all but physicians.
"But frankly let me ask you," says a reader, "what
shall I do to avoid disease ?" Our advice is that of the
Venetian consul, "Keep the head cool, the feet warm,
the body open, and bid defiance to the doctors."
"What shall I do," says another, "when I feel it ap
proaching?" Avoid fatigue, extremes of temperature,
and exciting passions, and then do as Bonaparte used to,
bring the refractory stomach to terms by diminishing
its allowance. " What shall I do when disease actually
invades ?" Get advice ; but be careful to whom you ap
ply for it. Let him be sober, intelligent, honest, ex
perienced, and devoted to the profession of medicine.
I verily believe that there is much more harm than
good done by medicine. Not that I think we have no
useful physicians, but that they are unable to atone for
the mischief done by domestic, empirical, and unskillful
practitioners. If the country could be divided into two
equal halves, and all the physicians — male and female —
white and black, regular and steam, with all the medi
cine, quack or otherwise, could be removed to one half,
and all practice forbidden in the other, I have no doubt
that there would be much less sickness in that half
emancipated from the dominion of jSlsculapius, than in
the other. 0, if nature could only be let alone, what
wonders would she work! The French treat upon the
expectant plan, and the British upon the aggressive.
One hospital gives a grain when another would give an

370 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
ounce. One gives calomel when another would give rice-
water. Here a physician treats typhus with ptisans —
there one treats it with the lancet, and here another
stimulates — all equally eminent; yet all systems have
about the same proportion of deaths and recoveries.
The most wild theories have their advocates ; the most
monstrous practice its success. Homeopathy, hydro
pathy, steam, Swaim's panacea, and Harlem oil, has
each its day. What is the explanation ? Nature works
for all ; and unless very much abused, she will accom
plish wonders for each. So far as the healing art is
mechanical, it is indispensable ; nor would I insinuate
that the physician is not needed to allay fear and excite
hope — to surround the patient with all the charms of
the Medicina Mentis. Moreover, in raany cases, if wise
and skillful, he may alleviate disease and save life.

THE HORRORS, 371

AFEIEND from one of the lake counties of Ohio
writes us as follows :
"Dear Friend, — 'I wonder,' said a good lady the
other day, when speaking of you, 'if the Doctor can't
tell us what is good for the horrors !' As you never
have this troublesome complaint, you can probably give
us soraething theoretically on this subject. Will you
please so do? W. J."
The term "horrors," we suppose, our correspondent
uses in the generic sense, comprehending all grades of
mental depression, from "brown study" to tedium vitae.
If so, he pays us too high a compliment in supposing
that we are wholly exempt from the disorder. He would
not have done so, if he had seen us the other day, when
a gentleman stepped up to us and said, "Stranger, an't
you troubled with the dyspepsuary ?" We are not aware
that the disease in question is hereditary. However, the
lass of sallow complexion, spare habit, and dark eyes
should be on her guard. At the request of our friend,
we make a few observations on the causes and cure of
the affection.
Its causes.
Disease, particularly of the digestive apparatus, is a
common cause. In civilized life, owing to bad habits, few
appetites are healthful — few hearts beat, for any length of

372 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
time, the proper number of pulsations — few brains radiate
the proper nervous influence in due proportion; and such
is the intimate connection between the soul and the body,
that the one can not be disturbed without, in some de
gree, disquieting the other. A young gentleman, afflicted
with disease of the liver, started from Cincinnati to re
turn home. His first day's journey was performed under
a cloudy sky, and through a gloomy forest. When he dis
mounted at night, he wrote to his friends in this city
that he was dying; and after giving general directions as
to the disposition of his goods, he requested that they
would remove his remains to Cincinnati. The next day
was delightful. His spirits having recovered, he contin
ued his journey; and while his friends were preparing to
bury him, he was at home, complaining of being much
better. Debt is another common cause in this country, where
every body is eagerly pursuing wealth, and where the
credit system, so generally adopted, affords facilities to
enterprise and speculation. Some conscientiousness,
however, is necessary, that this cause may produce hor
rors. Prosperity. We read of one who, when his fields had
brought forth an abundant harvest, was plunged into
distress, and cried out, "What shall I do?" He knew
not where to bestow his fruits and his goods, and re
solved to put himself to additional trouble, by tearing
down old barns and putting up new ones. A Grecian
philosopher once received a present of silver from a
friend. After sitting up two nights in succession to
guard it, he returned it, saying that he must decline so
troublesome a charge. During the period of the South
Sea speculation, when fortunes were often made and lost
in a day, insanity became prevalent; but its subjects
were the successful, not the unfortunate. It is pretty

THE HORRORS. 373
certain that the speculation of our time and country has
done more harm, both in character and happiness, to
those whom it has enriched, than to those whom it has
beggared. To most men it is hard to dispose of surplus
wealth, and harder still to keep it. Every additional
dollar increases care, responsibility, and trouble. " Give
me neither poverty nor riches."
Bereavement. What an affecting picture of horrors
is the following: "And Jacob rent his clothes, and put
sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many
days. And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to
comfort him ; and he said. For 1 will go down into the
grave unto my son mourning." How completely did be
reavement overcome David ! The king, the warrior, the
chieftain seems buried in the father when he hears the
news of Absalom's death. "He went up to the chamber
of the gate and wept : and as he went, thus he said, 0
my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom, would God I
had died for thee, 0 Absalom, my son, my son !"
Disappointment. The tree that has defied the storm,
may wither under the gnawings of an unseen worm.
How raany a one droops of whom it may be said, " She
never told her love !"
The mind is apt to prey upon itself when not actually
employed. Some of the worst cases of melancholy are
found in individuals who, after a life of activity, have
retired to enjoy themselves, but have carried with them
no taste for study or the invigorating pastimes of the
forest. Itinerant preachers and lawyers on the frontier,
who ride from county to county, and judges who have
long traveled "a circuit," are very likely to be the sub
jects of this affecting state of mind, when they retire from
duty. Home for them has not sufficient excitement
Late hours and dissipation ; but this concerns not tho
ladies.

374 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Sin. We believe Mr. Wesley was right when he said
that melancholy is often nothing more than the influence
of the divine Spirit upon the soul, convincing it of sin,
of righteousness, and of judgment to come. Conscience
had much to do with the handwriting upon the wall
which shook Belshazzar, and with the ghastly face of
Symmachus, which rose from the fish upon the vision
of Theodoric, and in a few days drove him to his tomb.
The gloom which invested the solitude of Charles IX,
of France, can be explained by the Bartholomew mas
sacre, while the tears which fell from the eyes of Queen
Elizabeth in the seasons of silent retirement in which
she indulged toward the close of her brilliant career, can
be accounted for by some bloody tragedies of her reign.
But we raust refer to the means of cure.
Medicine, where it is necessary; but the cases which
require it are few.
Endeavor to make a proper estimate of all things —
of time, eternity, the soul, the body, the present world,
and that which is to come. Seneca said, "I enjoy my
friends and goods as not possessing them. I lose them
as about to receive them again." How small do the fluc
tuations of fortune appear to the dying man, or the wise
man !
Sensible, cheerful society — ^I do not mean trifling or
boisterous. Excessive mirth is usually injurious to the
hypochondriac; for it is unsuitable to her ordinary feel
ings, and even if it arouse her from her despondency for
the moment, it will be followed by deeper depression.
There is generally much conscientiousness and a strong
tendency to self-reproach in melancholy persons. It is
often necessary to yield much to them, and when it is
requisite to resist their caprices, it should be done
though with firmness, yet with great kindness and sym
pathy. Let every thing be done to excite gratitude, to

THE HORRORS. 375
awaken hope, and to arouse within the soul joyful but
serene emotions.
In most cases, little can be done without regulated diet
and exercise. If the subject be intemperate, let her be
come sober; if an epicure, she must refrain from the
pleasures of the table; if idle, she must employ herself
in useful labor or healthful amusement; if she has
trimmed the midnight lamp, and slumbered beneath the
rising morn, she must learn to sink to rest with summer
sun, and brush the dew from morning flowers. Some
times it is necessary to change the patient's occupations
and pursuits, and send her on a journey with an inter
esting object in view.
A diary should be kept by the hypochondriac, from
which she would learn how groundless are many of her
suspicions and her apprehensions of evil, and thus begin
to shake off, instead of harbor, the gloomy thoughts and
forebodings which harass her.
We must bear in mind our ill deserts, and reflect how
much less we suffer than we deserve.
If we feel our sin, we must repent and believe. Ee
ligion is the grand panacea for human ills. Greatly do
they err who would drive the gloomy mind from religious
reflections. Though false religion has often made men
maniacs, true religion has an opposite tendency. If you
wish to derange a timid, desponding, and convicted mind,
there is no surer way to do it than by alluring it to the
scenes of fashionable folly, and depriving it of religious
society and books. The only cure is to be found in tho
exhibition of the Savior's cross.
Finally, a most excellent remedy, in all cases, is to go
to the bedside of affliction, or the home of poverty and
distress, and endeavor to relieve the sufferings of others.

376 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

irttnktniuss anJi Inganitg.
TVOCTOE W., a reputable professor in the Medical
-L' College of Ohio, has written a lecture to show that
drunkenness is insanity. Were the question strictly pro
fessional, we should not dare to controvert the Doctor's
position; but as it is one which any man may investigate,
we venture our opinion. The Doctor is so sensible a
man that we hesitate to differ with him ; and yet he is so
amiable that we do not fear to give him any offense by
freely expressing our dissent when we do not agree with
him. We should be better pleased with this lecture were it
more discriminating. Drunkenness has several stages.
It is defined an immoderate indulgence in some intoxica
ting liquor. But what is an immoderate indulgence?
What group of symptoms is essential to drunkenness ?
When gentlemen "grow warm in wine," and feel an in
creased activity of the bodily and mental powers, particu
larly of the tongue and fancy, are they drunk? If so,
and the Doctor's position be correct, it may appear that
the foundation of our civil institutions, and the best
pages of our literature are to be ascribed to the insane,
and that our Government, at present, is under the man
agement of persons deranged. Do not let us be under
stood as in favor of wine-drinking, when we advert to the
lamentable fact, that, in many parts of the civilized worid
physicians practice, lawyers plead, statesmen legislate,'
and even clergymen preach under the stimulus of thj

DRUNKENNESS AND INSANITY. 377
wine-cup. There is another stage of drinking in which
the individual loses his sense of propriety, becomes gar
rulous, and discloses peculiarities and thoughts which
in his sober moments he carefully conceals. There is a
third stage, characterized by dizziness, considerable loss
of consciousness, and want of due control over the mus
cular system. A fourth and last stage is marked by
extinguishment of consciousness, and apoplectic sleep.
Why did not the Doctor precisely define what he means
by drunkenness ? Insanity, we suppose, is used by Pro
fessor Wright in the generic sense. He does not, how
ever, say whether he wishes drunkenness to be considered
a distinct species of insanity, or identified with dementia,
mania, or some other acknowledged form.
Till we have defined the terras of a proposition, it is
impossible to deterraine whether they agree.
If the term insanity be understood in its etymological
import, that is, unsoundness or unhealthiness of mind,
and if drunkenness be confined to those stages of inebriety
in which the mind is considerably disordered, " drunken
ness is insanity." But the term insanity is a technical
word, and is doubtless so used by the Professor, who, if
we understand him, thinks the drunkard is to be treated
morally, legally, and medically, as a lunatic. If we mis
apprehend him, the controversy is a merely verbal one :
if not, we differ with him.
Now, it must be admitted that insanity is often induced
by intemperance ; that it often causes intemperance; and
that there is a distinct form of it denominated, from the
bottle, mania a potu, which evidently renders the indi
vidual nxm compos, and fit for the mad-house. It must be
conceded, also, that there is an analogy between the re
spective symptoras of drunkenness and insanity. But is
there not a broad distinction between the two conditions,
as usually described ?
^ 32

378 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
Can the drunkard be held and treated as a maniac,
morally? The maniac is unaccountable. Is the drunk
ard so ? We think not.
Let us consult,
1. Conscience. In the organization which God has
set up within the soul, there is a principle which ap
proves when we do intentional right, and reproves when
we do intentional wrong. Where is the drunkard whose
conscience leaves him at ease ? The maniac may kill,
the melancholist raay attempt suicide, but neither are
pierced by the stings of conscience, either while commit
ting these violations of law, or subsequently reflecting
on them. If the drunkard were irresistibly inclined to
drink, either by illusion or impulse, would his conscience
kindle the fires of remorse ?
2. The common sense of mankind. When did man
kind satirize and reproach the maniac, or fail to satirize
and reproach the drunkard? We have heard the lover
and the poet ranked with the lunatic, but never, till
recently, with the drunkard. When the wise men of
New England met to consider the means of reforming
society from its intemperate habits, they proceeded upon
the presumption that the inebriate is competent to sub
due his propensity for intoxication. Though Samuel
Dexter, Ex-Secretary of the Treasury, Nathan Dane,
author of the ordinance of 1787, and Isaac Parker, Chief
Justice of the commonwealth of Blassachusetts, presided
successively over the Massachusetts Temperance Society,
during the first few years of its existence, they did not
venture to suggest that it was based on a wrong principle,
and that lunatic establishments were the proper instru
ments of the temperance reformation. These, however,
were temperate men, and had no experience in regard to
intoxication. How, then, did the Washingtonians pro
ceed when they undertook to finish the work their pre-

DRUNKENNESS AND INSANITY. 379
decessors had begun? Did they discover all at once
that they had been insane all their lives, and that their
intemperate fellows were maniacs, whose only hope was
in medical management? Did they frame their addresses
as though the drunkard were incompetent to reason, and
an object of pity, but not of blame ?
Men never have legislated for the punishment of lu
natics, but they have for that of drunkards. Take a
few examples. By a statute of Connecticut it has been
ordained that, if a raan is " found drunk so as to be
bereaved and disabled in his reason and understanding —
appearing either in his speech, gesture, or behavior, he
shall be subject to a fine, for the use of the town, of
one dollar and thirty-four cents." New Jersey and Del
aware have passed similar laws, the former providing for
the punishment of offenders in the stocks, in case the
fine be not paid. The English statutes impose fine for
drunkenness, and, in default of payment, require punish
ment in the stocks. All legislation on drunkenness re
gards it as a misdemeanor, or crime, not a misfortune.
Laws have made the contracts of the idiot void, and
those of the maniac voidable at his election, or that of
his guardian, but have never so made those of the drunk
ard. If the legislators of the civilized world have, from
age to age, been unable to distinguish between crime and
insanity, alas for human reason! Courts of justice have
never condemned the maniac, but have inflicted all forms
of punishment upon the drunkard, for acts committed in
a state of intoxication.
3. The Bible does not treat the drunkard as guiltless.
A few quotations will suffice to show this clearly : "If a
man have a stubborn aud rebellious son, which will not
obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother,
and that, when they have chastened him, will not
hearken unto them : then shall his father and his mother

380 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his
city, and unto the gate of his place; and they shall say
unto the elders of his city : This, our son, is stubborn
and rebellious ; he will not obey our voice ; he is a glut
ton and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall
stone him with stones, that he die : so shalt thou put
evil away from among you, and all Israel shall hear, and
fear." Deuteronomy xxi, 18-21. Is comment necessary ?
Gluttony and drunkenness, so far from excusing the stub
bornness and rebellion which they excite, seera to be re
garded as aggravating the criminality of the offender.
" Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers,
nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God." 1
Corinthians vi, 10. Maniacs are no where, in the book
of God, classed with thieves, and declared ineligible to
heaven. Now, is it reasonable to suppose that the world has been
upward of four thousand years in a state of delusion on a
plain question of crime or innocence, of vice or virtue —
a question, too, perpetually before them ? Is it possible
that the voice of God within us is not to be trusted? Is
it possible that the divine Lawgiver can err? Let me
not be told that this is a question on which modern sci
ence has thrown new light. It is a plain question on a
point of morality — one of the very subjects which the
Bible was intended to teach.
But the inquiry may arise, is not the mind disordered
during intoxication ? If so, why not regard the drunk
ard as no more accountable than the maniac who acts
under no greater delusion ? The accountability lies be
hind the condition, in the act of voluntarily and know
ingly inducing a state of mental disorder. If a man
choose to place himself in a condition in which he loses
self-control, ho is accountable for acts he may commit
in that state. This is a principle too obvious to admit of

DRUNKENNESS AND INSANITY. 381
controversy. The only question is, whether the drunk
ard's appetite is controllable. All the foregoing reason
ing is calculated to show that it is.
Ought the drunkard to be treated as a maniac, legally ?
It is a maxim of the law, that an insane person can not
bind himself by contract. Suppose this maxim be ap
plied to the drunkard. What a pause would ensue in
the commercial world ! What caution would be neces
sary in raaking a contract! What a nullifying of bad
bargains ! What endless litigation ! The maniac is sub
ject to the custody and treatment of others. Suppose a
man, in a state of intoxication, be considered a lunatic.
His friends, prior to using personal restraint, take the
precautionary steps prescribed in most states for determ
ining the question of insanity. The jury is summoned;
but before they assemble the ¦man is sober.
Is the appetite manifested by the habitual drunkard
considered proof of insanity? Then he might be con
demned to the custody of his friends, or of the public
officer, and his property might be placed under their con
trol. But how often would it happen, under such an ar
rangement, that the most successful business men in com
munity would have their concerns placed under the man
agement of the least successful !
It is a maxim of the law that the insane is unaccount
able. Let this apply to the drunkard, and crime would
flow over us like water. No man would commit a crime
without intoxicating himself. Indeed, most criminals
do now prepare themselves for crime by strong drink.
When a certain mother gave a rifle to her son and said,
"Shoot the sheriff," he said, "I can't." She gave him
the bottle, and, after waiting a few minutes, said, "Now
shoot." He took aim — but his hand trembled, and again
he said, "I can't." "Drink again; drink deep," said
the mother. A few minutes longer, and he said, " Now

382 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
I can,'' and, seizing the rifle, he accomplished the deed.
How easy would crime be, if its usual preparative were its
sufficient excuse !
Can the drunkard be treated medically as insane?
Shall all persons intoxicated be deemed proper subjects
for medical treatment, and be held, during the fit, under
lancet, and blisters, and emetics ? Would they derive
any benefit from this management, or be less liable to
renew their potations ? But perhaps the Doctor would
say, let the habit of intoxication be regarded as proof
of insanity, and let the habitual drunkard be confined
in the asylum till it be overcome. There is reason to
fear that relapse would occur so soon as the individual
was liberated ; for being taught that he was a maniac,
his reason, his self-respect, and his conscience, would all,
in a great measure, lose their power, and, consequently,
the great bulwarks to temptation would be weakened or
torn down.
But suppose this method would be effectual in reform
ing the drunkard : it might be well to consider whether
it would not be attended with too much expense, both of
means and of principle. The whole community would
be in some measure involved; for the opium-eater, the
wine-tippler, etc., must be considered intemperate, and
the drunkenness of passion deemed as much entitled to
medical treatment as any other. The world would not
hold the asyla necessary for us. But this would not be
the greatest difficulty. Man would be degraded from the
lofty position in which his Creator has placed him. He
has been called into the arena, and bid to struggle with
temptations, with the assurance that he is competent, by
grace, to the conquest of his spirit.
If we misapprehend the Doctor we shall be corrected ;
for his graceful and nervous pen is ever ready to defend
what his mind approves.

DRUNKENNESS AND INSANITY. 383
In conclusion, we must express our regret that we
have not space to give a synopsis of the Professor's
cases and arguments. Suffice it to say, that they have
proved sufficiently cogent to convince a great many intel
ligent men.

884 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.

VHEN I first entered the alms-house at  , after
passing through the entrance-hall, I paused awhile
on the platform, which commanded a full view of the
court, whose coup d' ceil was gloomy and repulsive, reraind-
ing me of descriptions of the feudal residences of mid
dle ages. This court was surrounded on all sides by
high, dark, and dirty walls, affording a glimpse of the
street only through the hall, from which I had emerged.
A few blades of grass struggled here and there for a pre
carious subsistence; filth and gravel contended for the
mastery all around the building; and a small mound sur
mounted by an old sun-dial, looked in surly solitude upon
the scene, telling the poor sufferers, who gazed upon it
from the windows on all sides, that time was rapidly
measuring out their days of sorrow. In this court were
a few convalescent subjects and a number of harmless
maniacs. One of the miserable group attracted my spe
cial notice. His countenance appeared a perfect blank,
save when his attention was fixed by a sick man conveyed
across to the clinical wards, or the groans and shrieks of
some manacled lunatic, whose hideous countenance he
saw through the iron grating of the cells that occupied
the basement all around the court. Even then his gaze
was but momentary. He had a violin, but its strings
were broken ; like his own mind, it could make no music.
His spine was hideously curved. It would seem that the
spiritual lightning which had riven his soul, had been

THE DEFORMED MANIAC. 385
unable to accomplish its errand without twisting his body
into zigzag lines, to mark its course. Notwithstanding
his repulsive appearance, there was an air about him
wiich plainly told that his manly features had once been
fired by a noble soul. Sometimes I fancied I caught a
glimpse of his returning reason, as he seated himself
upon a stone, and looked up to the deep blue sky, which
alone remained of all he saw, to remind him of former
happiness. Sinful as I was, my rebel knees were ready
to bend in thankfulness to God, that a like woeful stroke
had not fallen upon myself, and my grateful heart earn
estly besought Divine protection from the most dreadful
of human maladies. Weeks passed by, and every time I
crossed the court, in my way to the lecture-room, and the
wards, the deformed maniac was before me. If I spoke
to him, he turned aside with some incoherent expression,
and a demeanor evidently importing his conviction that
he was under some direful spell, which rendered him
unfit for human intercourse.
It was not long ere I learned that he was a lone being.
No father calls at the office, or stops the physician in the
street, to make kindly inquiries after him ; no mother
sighs for him at her fireside, or weeps for him on her pil
low, or stealing to an upper window in the building,
fondly watches his movements, to cheat her heart with
some delusive hope, or retires to the silent closet to re
lieve her heavy heart from long pent-up agony, by a rush
of tears, and a prayer to the God of mercy for his resto
ration. No sister sends him unexpected delicacies, to
show that one being upon earth cares for him. He has
no brother to throw over him the shield of protection —
to rescue him from the hand of neglect or unskillfulness,
or to vary the methods of cure, or to change the gloomy
and monotonous scenes which encompass him, and open
to him as much of the loveliness of nature as he may.

386 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
with safety, enjoy. It is said that the maniac hates the
worst the objects whora, in his sane condition, he loved
the most; and that any thing calculated to awaken the
idea of home, is detrimental to his case; but, methinks,
if any sound could disenchant the soul that has long
wandered stultified within the walls of an asylum, it
would be the voice of that dearest earthly relative, whose
attention no sickness can wear out — whose fondness no
coldness can repel — whose affection no poverty or misfor
tune can diminish, no unkindness, or ingratitude, or
folly, or even guilt, can alienate; that one who forgives
when all others revenge, who extenuates when all others
blame, and who remains when all others desert — whose
love, like the ivy on the oak, flourishes in all its green
ness after the wintery blasts have stripped off every leaf,
and twines its tendrils around the branches in the bosom
of the storm, nor releases its hold even when the roots
are upturned; but this poor maniac had no wife.
In the course of a few months the professor com
mences a course of lectures on mania and mental aliena
tion, and sends for subjects, from the lunatic department,
to illustrate, as be advances, the different forms of intel
lectual disease, interrogating each, till he has satisfied
his class, and then dismissing him. In due time, the
deformed one in the court was brought forward; urged
into the area with difficulty, he moved from side to side,
eagerly looking for a passage out. As he glanced upward
around the amphitheater, crowded with students taking
notes, and heard the doctor speak of a particular case of
insanity, which, he seemed to understand, was his own,
he fired with indignation, and then rushed like a tiger to
the passage; put two strong men pushed him back. He
then looked intently, first at the lecturer, and next at the
students, when the doctor paused and said, "Don't get
your back up; it is high enough already." He could

THE DEFORMED MANIAC. 387
restrain his indignation no longer; but, turning to the
pupils, exclaimed in a strong voice, " This doctor struts
about the wards of this house, lecturing on mania and
mental alienation. Gentlemen, it's a humbug; he can't
analyze the sentiments of a flea." A loud laugh rever
berated through the skylight as he completed his argu
ment a fortiori.
The doctor having ordered him out, by way of recov
ering himself, or of atoning for the inhumanity of the
remark which called for the maniac's assault, gave us a
skeich of the unfortunate man's history. I dropped my
pencil, and resigned myself to the story, of which I can
now only give an imperfect outline.
He was the son of a wealthy merchant, who had but
two children, the maniac and an elder brother. The lat
ter was a prodigal, and had, by ingratitude, extravagance,
and intemperance, alienated the feelings of his father,
his only surviving parent, who, at his decease, left his
large estate entirely to the younger son, whose prudence,
affection, and virtue, were above all praise. Shortly after
the decease of the father, the favored son sends for his
elder brother, and, after an affectionate embrace, explains •
to him the nature of the will, and assuring him that he
knew nothing of the contents till inforraed by the execu
tor, says, " I have a proposition to make to you. If you
will reform, I will relinquish to you one-half of the es
tate." I will not venture to describe the mutual embrace
and the tears of gratitude which coursed down the cheeks
of the one, or the tears of joy which flowed from the eyes
of the other. Weeks rolled round, and the drunkard was
a sober man. You have seen the unsightly worm weave
its chrysalis, and lie motionless, apparently lost forever;
presently it emerges a beautiful butterfly; instinct with
life and radiant with beauty, it skips from fiower to
flower, and is the brightest and happiest thing of a joy-

388 INCIDENTAL SKETCHES.
OUS and beautiful universe. Thus with the prodigal,
" when the dead is alive and the lost is found."
The estate is divided. The younger brother having
no business — trained only to the enjoyment of fortune —
concludes to visit foreign shores. Taking leave of his
native land, and expecting to be gone for years, he places
a power of attorney in the hands of his reformed and
grateful brother, with directions concerning his part of
the estate. He is soon borne upon the billow. I can
not follow him. Let the reader gaze with him, if he
will, at the pavilions and gardens of the Tuilleries ;
stand with him upon the Alps, or the Appenines ; look
up by his side at the Pantheon, the column of Trajan,
the pillar of Pompey, or the arch of Constantine; let
him sail with him up the Nile, or listen to his flute on
the summit of Sinai, or see him musing upon the walls
of Jerusalem, or searching upon the banks of the Tigris
for the remains of ancient Nineveh. Years revolve,
while he pursues his wanderings, fondly dreaming of the
pleasure which he is laying up for himself in distant
years, when Providence shall give him a happy fireside,
shared by her whom neither towering Alps, nor ruined
cities, nor smitten Horeb, nor solemn Sinai, nor even the
Church of the Holy Sepulcher, can induce him to forget,
though he has never uttered his love. Months after
months he hears pleasing accounts from his brother, by
whom all his drafts are cashed. At length he returns,
with bounding heart, to his native city. Walking up
the street, he meets a bloated sot — his brother ! The
tale may be finished by the reader's fancy. The re
formed drunkard had relapsed; and in drunkenness,
gambling, and debauchery, had spent not only his own
living, but the estate of his brother, whom he had all
along deceived by writing false accounts and paying
drafts. What can the generous youth do? His for-

THE DEFORMED MANIAC. 389
tune gone, his brother ruined and disgraced, his loved
one the wife of another, his parents in the grave, and
the friends of his better days frowning upon him lest he
should appeal to them for help. He has no trade or pro
fession; he can not dig — to beg he is ashamed.
From an enemy we can bear almost any thing ; but to
be betrayed by a familiar, a brother, one with whom we
have taken sweet counsel, and in whose company we have
walked to the house of God — one who had grown rich on
our bounty, and honorable on our influence — to be be
trayed, too, with a kiss — 0, Father of mercies, save the
reader from such a fate ! What became of the generous
youth? Did he not sink? Nay, his manly spirit girded
itself for the hour. He resolved upon the law for a pro
fession, and, entering an office, studied so intently, that
sickness invaded his feeble frame. One disease followed
another, as he lay upon his cheerless and forsaken pallet,
and he was no longer permitted to divert his mind, by
books, from the painful past or the dreaded future; at
length his noble frame became deformed. At this point
his mind gave way. 0 that, like Job, he could have
said, from the depths of his afflictions, " Now I know
that my Eedeemer liveth, and that though after my
skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I
see God I"

THE END.

'!*'^«*»'^*i*iV»^»i!V