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The American Whig review. / Volume 5, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages C-ii

f 7 / /~/ ~/~) / // jJIi~ - -~ THE AMERICAN REVIEW: A WHIG JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LiTERATURE, ART AND SCIENCE. TO STAND BY THE CONSTITUTIOW. VOL. V. Pulchrum est beiie facere Reipub1ic~, etiam bene dicere haud absurdum est. NEW-YORK: GEORGE H. COLTON, 118 NASSAU STREET. 1847. I ~ / )

B. B. The President's Message: The War 1-16

THE AMERICAN REVIEW: A WHIG JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERATURE, ART AND SCIENCE~ JANUARY, 1847. No. I. THE PRESIDENTS MESSAGE: THE WAR. WE should have heen quite content to leave the subject of the Mexican war with our readers, just as it was presented and submitted to them in the July number of this journalwe mean, in all the particu- lars in which it was then discussed were it not that the President of the United States, under the sanction of his high office, and from his place of pride and power at the head of this great Republic, communicating with the National Legis- lature, under constitutional injunction, and with a registered oath upon him, has deemed it necessary to present to the country a new manifesto of this wara manifesto of a character so extraordinary, so elaborately and cunningly wrought up, and so well calculated to mislead the pop- ular mind, and to imbue it with false im- pressions of the plainest occurrences pass- ing under our eye, and of the simplest facts of historyso well calculated, in fact, to prepare the heart of this people for war, for this war, and for any war which the Executive may choose to un- dertake, no matter with what designs of political ambition, or with what lust of conquest and extended dominion, if only veiled under the commonest disguises that we feel called upon to go once more somewhat at length into the subject, and into an examination of this remarkable document. That the President should make an effort to defend the awkward and unenviable position in which this war has placed him, does not surprise us; hut vOL. vNo. i. 1 we confess we are amazed and confound- ed, considering the station he occupies, at the consummate boldness of some of the assumptions he makes, as necessary to give a sufficient breadth of foundation for his defence to rest upon. The President begins with adverting to the fact, that there is a sentiment abroad in the country unfavorable to the war. He flatters himself that such views are entertained by hut few, though they have heen extensively circulated. We do not know how far Mr. Polk has been allowed to become acquainted with the real state of public opinion on this subject. It not iinfrequently happens that the ruler of a kingdom is nearly the last man in it to he well informed of what the people think of him and his government. We suppose he is a diligent reader of The Union, and that there is a warm and genial at- mosphere of flattery all around him, to keep him on comfortable terms with him- self. Still, it seems he is not altogether unaware that an opinion prevails, at least in some quarters, that this war was brought on originally by his own fault, and, in part certainly, for objects unwor- thy of the nation, and utterly repugnant to its sense of justice and honor. If he knew how wide-spread and deep-seated this opinion is among all classes and par- ties; if he knew what a feeling of dis- gust and abhorrence this confident belief creates, and how extended and diffused it is, we know he would shrink back in- VOL. V. 2 The ~ Message [Jan., stinctively, and withdraw his hand from the bloody work in which he is engaged, at the earliest moment at which the sim- plest objects of justice and safety could be secured. If the real sentiments of the American people could be embodied and presented before him, it would demand a higher courage than he possesses, how- ever brave for enterprises of this nature, to stand up unabashed and unblanched before the terrible frown, and the calm but indignant rebuke, he would have to encounter. We fear that he is making the common mistake of infatuated rulers, by fancying that the moderate and sup- pressed tone in which the public voice has thus far uttered its decided dissent from his policy and measures, expresses only the natural weakness of an interested op- position from which it emanates, instead of indicating, as it really does, that natu- ral repugnance which all patriotic minds feel when obliged to oppose and expose the conduct of their own government, es- pecially in matters involving its relations with other powers. We are not, how- ever, without some evidence that he is forced, at times at least, to view this mat- ter in its true light. The very labor which he has thought it necessary to be- stow on his defence, is some proof of his apprehensions lest the popular sentiment aginst him might be growing too formida- ble to be either agreeable or safe. And there is a sentencewhich we will quote in the paragraph with which he introduces his defence, indicating pretty clearly that he was not without some uneasy impres- sion that the whole force of the sentiment of the country against him had not been exhibited, and that if so, there was a rea- son for this moderation, creditable to the country, but by no means flattering to him, and which he must be prompt to avail himselfof still further, and turn, if possible, to a still more profitable account. The President, as we have said, begins his manifesto by a reference to the un- favorable opinion entertained in the coun- try in regard to the origin and character of the Mexican war; and he puts forth promptly, in this connection, an appeal, not to the patriotism of the people, but to a false and base sentiment, which he would fain have instructed to confound all distinction between an administration and the country, and between right and wrong, and persuaded to a servile, unrea- soned and abject ~ubmissiona mere pas- sive obediencenot to the divine authori- ty of a country governed by constitution and laws, but to the arbitrary, and, it may be, destructive rule of a chief, elevated, no matter by what unlucky accident, to the seat of temporary power. He undertakes to characterize any apparent want of such submission to his personal course and policy in this warany lack of this pas- sive obedienceany difference of opinion with him in this matter to which one may dare to give utteranceas moral and legal treason! Here is what he says: A more effectual means could not have been devised to encourage the enemy, and protract the war, than to advocate and ad- here to their cause, and thus to give them aid and comfort. The President applies this language to those who have been so unfortunate as to hold and express opinions unfavorable to the war, and to his agency in bringing it about. This is, in his judgment, to advocate and adhere to the cause of the enemy; this is to give the enemy aid and comfort. Treason against the United States, says the Constitution, shall consist. ...in adhering to their ene- mies, giving them aid and comfort. And this great statute of treason Mr. Polk does not scruple to quote against those who have ventured, or shall ven- ture, to utter a word against his war. This, too, is official. It comes before us in a grave state paper, in which, by the requirement of the Constitution, he is to give to Congress information of the state of the Union, and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient. He officially informs Congress how, in his judgment, treason has been commit- ted against the United States. He puts an official interpretation on this important clause of the Constitution, and delivers his solemn judgment to Congress, that those who represent this war as in its in- ception unjust and unnecessary, thereby bring themselves within the purview of this clause, are to he regarded as adhering to our enemies, giving them aid and comfort, and guilty, therefore, of treason against the United States. There is one other judicial opinion, and only one that we know of, in our time, to which this might form a fit companion and counter- part. It was that which Gen. Jackson expressed when he advised that the mem- hers of the Hartford Convention might be hanged under the second section of the rules and articles of war. But as the President does not follow up this im 1847.1 The War. portant information thus given to Con- gress, under the Constitutionthe ex- pression of this executive opinion con- cerning the law of treason, and its appli- cability to the guilty opponents of his administration and his warwith the recommendation of any measures to be adopted by Congress for carrying his views into practical operation, we may conclude, perhaps, that the opinion itself is held rather, speculatively than judicially, and was inserted in the Presi- dents Message rather than thrown into the columns of the Unionwhere it much more appropriately belongedfor the sake of the wider circulation, and the more imposing effect, that might thus be given to it. However this may be, we hold the expression of a sentiment like this, in such a place, to be no way credit- able to the President, or to the country. If we could suppose him serious in utter- ing such a sentiment, we should hold him capable, if he had the power, or could ac- quire it, of suppressing, by force, all freedom of opinion, of speech, of the press, and of debate. We should hold him capable of establishing a tyranny of the worst order, a tyranny which locks up the minds of men from all free inqui- ry, and shuts them up together in the country, as in one great prison-house, from which all light is excluded. except such as is permitted to struggle doubt- fully down to them from official sources, and through barred and graeed avenues. But whether, in his heart~ he entertains such a belief or not, siill, considering what a formal expression he has given to it, and the place is which it is found, at least we see in it a deliberate purpose, if he cannot whol1y suppress free discus- sion in regard to this war, yet to give it some check, and above all, by this abuse of the populer mind, to rouse, if possible, and as far as possible, a blind popular prejudice in the country, to vent its undis- criminating rage against any and all who may happen to have opinions of their own, and to express them, about the manner in which this war was begun, and the leaJing designs of the adminis- tration in bringing it on, and in its pro- secution. On this subject, we would have the President understand, that this very com- mon and cheap .mode of defending the administration and the war, and which is so much in vogue with his newspapers and partisans all over the country, derives no additional force or dignity by being voL. v.xo. i. 1* 3 thus elevated to a place in his annual Message to Congress. It is not made sublime by this elevation; and if it be not ridiculous, it is only because it is too odious to become so. And we would have the President understand also, that this is a war with Mexico in 1846, and not a war with England in 1812; that this is not a war for free trade and sailors rights; that it is not a second war for independence. He mistakes altogether the circumstances under which the imputation of treason, legal or moral, can he made with any effect against those who do not happen to agree with the Executive in regard to the justice or ne- cessity of undertaking a war. There is no Mexican party in this countrythere is no faction which prefers Mexico and Mexican interests to the soil, the home and the interests of their own country; nor can the people, not even the weakest of theni, be persuaded to believe any such abserditynot even when the President himself descends to make the imputation. But what kind of doctrine is this which teaches that no citizen is at liberty to raise his voice against any war in which the country may chance to be engaged, or against anythingabout the war, or even to whisper a word of disapproval: and that to do so, is to take sides with the ene- myis to advocate and adhere to their cause, and thus give them aid and com- fort ? Is this an American doctrineis it a constitutional doctrine? Who makes a war in this country? How is the country placed in a state of war? Why, if it is engaged in solemn war at all as the Constitution contemplates, it is placed in that state by an act of Congress. Congress legislates on the subject, and legislates the country into the war; and Congress is a representative body, and its constituency is the people. We are ac- customed to call this the peoples govern. inent; and the people are accustomed to think that it is their right, and a very sa- cred right, belonging to them, to canvass freely every act and measure of the gov- ernment. If Congress makes a tariff which does not suit them, they condemn it; if Congress makes a sub-treasury which does not suit them, they condemn it; and why, if Congress makes a war which does not suit them, shall they not condemn it? If an administration does not suit the people, they take the liberty to displace it, and elect a new one that may please them better. This is deemed the right and prerogative of the people. 4 The Presidents Message: [Jan., The whole ultimate authority of the gov- ernment, under the Constitution, is in the hands of the peoplethis is our system. And yet we have a doctrine here which withdraws from the people all authority, and gives the whole power, present and ultimate, over to the government, or the existing administration, and that, too, when the measure in question happens to be the most important and stupendous in which the country can be involved. And not only is all positive and direct autho- rity withdrawn from the people in such a case, but the very first element of their power is taken away; they may not even canvass or discuss the measure. Yet this is the Presidents doctrine, if he means anything; this seems to be the democratic doctrine of the day. But this is not the whole of it, nor the worst of it. We have been supposing the case of a war, regularly declared by Congress, the proper constitutional authority. B~t sup- pose a war undertaken by the Executive alone, without the authority of Congi~ss and such is demonstrably the very wa~ we have on handwhat shall be said of this doctrine of passive obedience as ap- plied to such a war? Now, indeed, as we thus consider it, the doctrine shines out, and shows us the kind of stuff it is made of. The Executive makes a war; the army is in the field, in the face of the enemy; battle ensues, and blood, and carnage, and all the horrors attendant on the shock of bristling hosts in deadly en- counter; and all this takes place before Congress is consulted on the subject; though, at last, Congress is asked to re- cognize the war, and make the necessary provision for carrying it on with vigor and effect. What now is Congress to do? The President declares and proclaims that the war is just and necessary on our part, and our only fault is that we had not be- gun it long before; and at any rate, we are in it now, and that, in fact, the enemy began it, by shedding the blood of Ame- rican citizens on American soil. The President puts the case thus before Con- gress, and, at the same time, Congress knows full well that there is not one word or shadow of truth in the declara~tion that the enemy had commenced hostilities, by shedding the blood of American citi- zens on American soil; but that in the face face of open day, and witnessed by all men, the Executive himself had com- menced hostilities by invading the proper soil, and the ancient homes and hearths of a foreign people, with whom, till that moment, we were at peace. What, we ask again, is Congress now to do? What does this notable doctrine of the Execu- tive, which we are considering, teach ? Why, that the only duty of Congress is the duty of passive obedience. If Con- gress, or any unlucky member of that body, hesitates, stops to inquire, and finally ventures to assert, on indubitable proof, that this is an Executive war, pre- cipitated and begun by him, without ne- cessity and without apology, this is trea- sonthis is treason! this is advocating and adhering to the cause of the enemy, and giving him aid and comfort ! It matters not that Congress proceeds with the true spirit of patriotisma sentiment which dwells in every generous bosom, along with the sentiment which makes a man honor his father and his mother, and leads him to provide for his own house- holdit matters not that Congress pro- ceeds to make ample and prompt provision to succor our brave army in the field, to defend the country at all points against the public enemy; and to prosecute the war, now made necessary, perhaps, post facto, to its conclusion in an honorable peace. This is not enough. There must be a spontaneous and unbroken echo from the halls of the national legislature to the Presi~nts manifestojust as ready, loud and nubroken, as if that ma- nifesto contained nothing but the truth; and the Yghtest whisper of dissent is to be proclaimed as treason to the United States. At the least, if there be any, who cannot, in their consciences, join in the shout for th~ Presidents war, they must humbly acqui~sce and be silent. Here, then, cleariy is a case, accord- ing to this doctrine, in which Congress is not at liberty to canvass or debate a mea- sure proposed by the President, or to hold and alter any opinions upon it, but such as he shall furnish it with; and that mea- sure, too, one of warthe most mo- mentous on which Congress can ever be called to deliberateand one, as it hap- pens, explicitly and exclusively commit- ted to its decision by the Constitution! Congress has nothing to do, but fur- nish men and money, just as the Presi- dent demands, and as long as he de- mands. And what sort of a government does this make of our Constitutional Re- public? What but the government of one man? In the nature of things, the Ex- ecutive has the direction of the war as long as it exists; and Congress has no pow- er, by the Constitution, directly, to make 1847.] The War. 5 peace. This is to be done by treaty; and the treaty-making power is, in the first instance, in the hands of the President. The control which Congress, and the people through their representatives in Congress, might be supposed by the old- fashioned republicans, to have over the progress of a warand especially an Ex- ecutive waronce begun, is mainly in the right to withhold the supplies neccssary for its prosecution, when, in their delibe- rate judgment, it is time to make peace. But Congress could not well take so de- cisive a step as this without allowing their reasons to go to the public. Indeed, such a measure itself would bear its own reasons stamped upon it. And this, by the Presidents doctrine, would be to adhere to the cause of the enemy, and thus give them aid and comfort. This would be treason! Congress might, too, deem it necessary to vindicate the Constitution of the country by calling the President to a solemn account for plunging the nation into an unnecessary war, by his own au- thority, and in contempt of the proper authority of that body. An impeachment might be instituted and prosecuted against him. And here, too, would be treason. The House of Representatives, prosecut- ing Articles of Impeachment, the grava- men of which would be, that an existing war was precipitated and begun by the deliberate act of the President, and that without any good cause, and for unjustifi- able objects; and the Senate, entertaining such an impeachment; both would be guilty of adhering to the cause of the enemy, and thus giving him aid and com- fort. And this would be treason! And just as it would be with these bodies, so it might be with the people themselves. Finding the President slow to make peace, in the case of an Executive war, or any other war, when peace ought to be made, and Congress itself, perhaps, subservient to his will and interests in the matter, the people, tired of the war, or believing it to have been unnecessary and iniquitous from the beginning, rise in the majesty of their strength, and with their own Con- stitutional weaponthe ballotmake an onslaught upon the Administration, drive them from power and fill their places with better men, and peacemakers. And here, too, is treason! This would be to advo- cate and adhere to the cause of the enemy, and thus give him aid and com- fort, which is treason: and so we should have the people in a body committing treason against the United States in the common and legitimate use of their own ballot! But we will leave this doctrine of pass- ive obedienceheretofore advocated only as a part of the necessary calling of de- magogues, and so far comparatively inno- cent, but now finding a place in the An- nual Message of a President to Congress we will leave this doctrine to the sober reflections of our readers, and to the re- probation of the people. Not in our day has a doctrine been seriously broached so utterly subversive of public liberty, if it indeed could be seriously countenanced by the country. We rejoice to believe it will prove impotent and harmless, on account of its own inherent grossness and absurdity. The President finds a cheap consolation for the general unpopularity of the war, in believing that the alacrity with which the volunteers have obeyed the call of their country, affords proof of their deep conviction that our cause is just. We suppose, really, that it is next to impossi- ble for a mere politician to understand, exactly, what an unalloyed sentiment of patriotism should mean; or how an act of sacrifice and duty should be performed under the influence of such a sentiment, without any mixture of the narrower and grosser feeling of polemic politics, or of party, to help it along. We believe if a vote could be taken today among the 20,000 volunteers called into the public service, or the survivors of them, on the question of the origin and necessity of this war, that Mr. Polk would find he had small cause for confidence on account of their opinions. Among the officers in the field, from the commanding general down, it is well understood that the war is very generally condemned. All this, however, is matter of small importance. Certain- ly it is true that, in neither arm of our military force, regular or volunteer, have our countrymen allowed their convictions in regard to the causes and origin of this war, however unfavorable to the Adminis- tration, to interfere with their sense of duty to their country. Many of them we know, multitudes we believe, have gone to the field, and into the front of battle perishing, not a few of them, on its perilous edgewho have never doubt- ed, more than we now doubt, that the war was begun by the fault of the President, and has wanted from the beginning the sanctions which can alone make a war creditable to any Christian nation. But an enlisted soldier fights his battles, as in 6 Tke rresidents Message: [Jan., duty bound, under orders; he does not make the war, nor is he responsible for it. The volunteer rushes to the field to fight for his country, as the son flies to defend his parent in the moment of peril; neither stops to ask how the quarrel began, or who is to blame for it. If, possibly, a lit- tle of the unadulterated spirit of war, so natural to brave hearts all the world over a savor of the genuine disposition for a fight, after a long piping time of peace has come in to deepen somewhat the glow of patriotism in the hearts of the gallant men who have fought, and mean to fight, the necessary battles of this war, there would be nothing very remarkable in such a state of things. At any rate we believe most men will think ours quite as rational a way of accounting for the promptness of our volunteers in taking the field, and quite as creditable to them, as that which the President has fallen upon. We have no desire, however, to de- prive him of one crumb of the satisfaction be seems to feel on the occasion of his notable discovery; only we really think it would be quite as creditable to him, if he could be made to understand that, whether in the army or out of the army, all the duties of good citizens in refer- ence to the existing xvar, may be as fully and faithfully performed, and no doubt will be, as thus far they have been, by the people of this country, of all classes and conditions, as if they believed that Mexi- co took the first step in the war, instead of the Executive, or as if they were, one and all, the unscrupulous supporters and defenders both of the wai and of his ad- ministration. What it is that the duty of patriotism demands in a case like the present may be safely left to the American people to determine for themselves, without any special admonition from those who have set this ball in motion. The love of country is pervading and universal. Our people are not likely to exalt Mexico in their affections above the United States; or prefer her interests to the interests of their own country. Since we are in the war, no matter bow begun, or with what intent on the part of the Executive, we must get out of it the best way we can; and it would seem that there is no other way, at least under the lead of this Ad- ministration, but to fight our way out of it. As long as we have war, we must support the warwe must support the Administration in the necessary prosecu- tion of the war. Congress must give the Executive the necessary supplies of men and money; though, certainly, it does not follow that the Executive must necessarily have all the men and money he may ask for. Congress ought to satis- fy itself, in our judgment, that the con- duct of the war is to be adapted to the proper and necessary objects to be se- cured on our side, in prosecuting it. We know very well that the Executive is re- sponsible for the conduct of the war, and must be left to plan his own campaigns; but it does not follow that he must be left to go on with a war forever in his own way, and for his own objects of spoliation or conquest. Against such objects, if they appear, Congress ought to be prompt to interpose the check which the Constitution has certainly given it. And if Congress will not interpose, or cannot, then nothing remains but for the people, at the earliest practicable moment, to take the remedy into their own hands. As being ourselves of the number of the people, and speaking, as we may flatter ourselves we do, in no very limited ex- tent, their opinions, in uttering our own, we do not hesitate now, as we have not heretofore hesitated, to express our utter distrust of the President in re- gard to the objects, some of them at least, at which he is aiming in this war. And we are not afraid to speak, and to speak very freely, just what we think of the whole matter; and if Mexi- co should chance to hear what we say, we believe little harm would be done. We hold her for our enemy, as she is the enemy of our country. In times past, she had inflicted injuries on American citizens, or those for whom she is respon- sible had done so; and when this war commenced they had not been redressed. We now want satisfaction for these inju- ries. Texas, too, is ours, and Mexico must relinquish her pretensions to it. We cannot now renounce this acquisi- tion; and we must have that country with its ancient and true boundary, and that boundary extended, if necessary, so as to embrace all persons in permanent settlements, who were at the time the proper subjects of the Texan Republic. Beyond this, this country had no claims on Mexico when this war was commenc- ed, whatever claims it may acquire by the obstinacy of that power in maintaining the war. These objects attained, the war ought to cease. We have no right to another foot of territory in any part of the Mexican empire. We do not want 1847.] The War. 7 her territory, and if we did, we are able to pay for it, and Mexico ought never to relinquish an inch of it, but by voluntary cession, and on her own terms.* Per- haps the President would think that this is advocating and adhering to the cause of the enemy, and thus giving him aid and comfort,perhaps, he would call this Treason. At any rate, these are our opinions; we are free to express them, and we are quite likely to abide by them. They indicate the terms on which we think peace should he made with Mexico the terms on which a standing and perpetual offer of peace should be kept before the Mexican government. But we are compelled to leave what further we have to say on the true objects of the war and the question of peace, for some other occasion. We proceed now to some further examination of the Presi- dents Manifesto. Upon entering on his defence of the war, the President informs us very ex- plicitly that his object is to give a con- densed review of the injuries we have sustained, of the causes which led to the war, and of its progress since its com- mencement. Plain readers would read- ily understand from this language that we should, of course, have the causes which led to the war when we should be put in possession of the injuries we have sustained. It turns out, however, in fact, quite otherwise. The inju- ries referred to are placed in the fore- ground of the picture with every possible disposition of light and shadow, and of intense coloring, which the skill of the artist could devise, heightened, indeed, even to the point of a very ridiculous ex- aggeration, to give them prominence and effect. They consist of the wrongs done to the persons and property of American citizens, by the authority of Mexico, in various hands, for a period of twenty years, and remaining unredressed at the commencement of this war. But after the display of these injuries has been carried through nearly one-fifth part of the entire message, behold, we come in the end, to the lame and impotent con- clusion, that, after all, they had nothing to do with the causes which led to the war. This part of the message is warded off with this very significant confession: Such are the grave causes of complaint on the part of the United States, against Mexicocauses which existed long before the annexation of Texas to the American Unionand yet, animated by the tone of peace and a magnanimous moderation, we did not adept those measures of redress which, under sach circumstances,arethe justified resort of injured nations. Thus far, then, it is manifest, we are no nearer the causes which led to the war than before, notwithstanding this for- mal and circumstantial showing up of our wrongs and injuries. It is manifest, that the task which the President bad imposed on himselg namely, that of show- ing us the causes which led to the war, had yet to be performed, even after he had taken so much pains to make us sen- sible of the sufferings we had endured at the hands of Mexico. The war, said the President, has been represented as unjust and unnecessary, and as one of aggression on our part upon a weak and injured enemy ; and he sat down to compose this manifesto, expressly and professedly, for the purpose of repelling this injurious imputation on him and his administration. Let it be observed, that this is not a dispatch addressed to Mexi- co to show her, now that we are in the war, what causes of complaint we have against her, for which she must consent to give us satisfaction before the war can cease; but it is literally and professedly a defence, addressed to his own country- men, and designed to justify the Execu- tive himself before the people of the United States, for his conduct and mea- sures in reference to the war. He had been charged with having himself pre- cipitated and brought on hostilities, and that not only without reference to the true causes of complaint we had against Mexico, but really, as was believed, for purposes of territorial acquisition and ag- grandizement thus trampling on the Constitution of his country in two vital respects at one and the same time. This was the charge; and we assume nothing when we say that the Message was ex- pressly designed as a defence against this serious impeachment of his con- duct. The first and leading fact in this charge had reference to the origin of the war, and it was affirmed that the Execu- tive was responsible for it, inasmuch as We leave out of our consideration here the question of the expenses of the war. Any claim we might have on that score would depend on the blame that might justly attach to Mexico: first in obliging us to go into the war, (if she did so,) and next in unreasonably refusing to make peace. 8 The Presidents Message: [Jan., hostilities were begun by our own army, under his orders, and it was to this point that the President undertook first of all to address his defence. What, then, has he given us to begin with? Why, a most elaborate exposition of wrongs and inju- ries which he insists might have led to the war, but which he confesses did not! And if these wrongs and injuries really had nothing to do with the origin of the war, it is natural that we should inquire why they have been paraded and recapitu- lated with so much pomp and circum- stance in the foreground of his defence. We are sorry to be obliged to say that we see in all this, only one of those com- mon juggles practiced by those who mean to carry off a successful deception; the attention of the audience is to be divert- ed and absorbed, while the trick is per- formed before theireyes, and escapes de- tection. We dare say there are thousands of readers, especially of those who feel bound beforehand to think that every- thing the President does is exactly right, and that there are of course good reasons for everything he does, who have risen from the perusal of this document with the firm conviction, not only that Mexico has done us grievous wrong in the mat- ter of our unredressed claims on her jus- tice, which is all very true, but that these very wrongs have been the causes which led to the war. So the Presi- dent intended they should believe even in the face of his confession to the con- trary. We desire, at least so far as our readers are concerned, that they shall fall into no error of this sort. Let it be kept distinctly in view all the while, that our unredressed claims on Mexico had no- thing to do with the origin of this war. They were not in the number of the causes which led to it. That there are such claims, the whole country knows; and nobody disputes, that when claims like these remain long unsettled and un- paid, either by positive refusal, or through evasion or inexcusable neglect, the na- tion may be justified in resorting to force either reprisals, or war if necessary in order to obtain satisfaction. We have elsewhere said, and we repeat, that, in our judgment, on the strictest ground of right, the United States might have had a justifiable cause, on account of these claims, for commencing hostilities against Mexico, if they had chosen to do so. We think that when Mexico, taking offence at annexation, suspended all diplomatic intercourse with us, leaving these claims unsatisfied, and giving them for the time no further attention, she took an attitude which could not strictly be justified, and which left us at liberty, if we had so chosen, to take our remedy into our own hands. Just-minded men everywhere, we believe, in the country and out of it, have felt no surprise, that Mexico should have been irritated and vexed with the measure of annexation, and the whole course of events which led to it; but then it was not a wrong which she had a right to resent by war, or by assuming an attitude which, for the time, seemed like a refusal, or might be construed into a refusal, to satisfy us for our claims. This was the error she committed, and it is one, as events have turned out, which give us a capital advantage over her. All this, however, belongs to the question of these claims as between the United States and Mexico. Between the people and the President, the question is, what had these claims to do with the commence- ment of this war? And we answer em- phatically as beforenothing at all. In our former article, already referred to, we entered at some length into the subject of our relations with Mexico. In the survey which we then took of those relations, we showed our readers, by ample recurrence to historical detail, just what original causes of complaint we had against Mexico, out of which it was possible to make a war. We show- ed that they had reference solely to these unsatisfied claims. We showed, to some extent, the character of these claims, from which it might appear how little there was in some of them to de- mand the interposition of the government at allclaims, for example, to the tune of a million or two, arising on unfulfilled land contracts with Mexicowhile others certainly were of a nature to deserve and require its active and zealous interfer- euce; we showed that however much Mexico had neglected or evaded attention to these claims in times gone by, yet she had never at any time, in terms, refused to recognize and settle these, and not only so, but that in fact every claim we had against hers down to the very last and least, had, in the month of March, 1844, when our Minister, Mr. Thompson, left that country, been actually recog- nized, and provision made, by solemn convention, for the final adjustment and payment of each and all, to the last dol- lar. Mr. Thompson had, as he declared, 1847.] The War. 9 cleared the docket. It is true, these claimsmany of themwere again put afloat by the unfortunate refusal of our government to ratify the convention which Mr. Thompson had negotiated with Mexico, and as he made it for the principal reason that the convention for the adjustment of the claims was to sit in Mexico and not at Washingtona very insufficient reason for that refusal, as we humbly think, since the nomination of the Umpire was secured to the United States by that concession. It was a most unhappy time for any light cause to throw back the subject matter of these claims on future negotiation, when the disturbing and distracting measure of the Annexation of Texas was just coming on, (a serious movement towards which had already begun,) and which, as all men were forewarned and foresaw, could not do less than break up, temporarily at least, all friendly relations and intercourse between the two governments. But for this ill-considered and inopportune rejec- tion of Mr. Thompsons convention with Mexico, it is very plain, that exactly at the time when Mr. Polks war movement towards that country was commenced, instead of havingthe unredressed wrongs and injuries of our citizens to harp upon in his message, a commission might have been actually sitting for the peaceable ad- justment of these wrongs and injuries, as so many matters of account are adjusted every day in our courts of justice. What might have happened, when Mexico, on account of Annexation, withdrew her Minister from this country, and declined all friendly diplomatic intercourse with us, of course we have no means of knowing. But we see no reason to con- clude, unless she had finally made up her mind to declare war, and take the field for Texas and against annexationa conclusion to which it is now manifest, she would never have brought herself that she would have broken up, or in any manner disturbed the Court of Commis- sion, if it had then been actually in ses- sion. She might have done so possibly; and so much at least is certain, that from the time when the measure of Annexa- tion was a thing resolved on at Washing- ton, Mexico neglected to pay the quarter- ly instalments due from her by previous convention. Probably she thoughtit is very natural she should thinkin the new relations between the two powers, that, giving up Texas, as she undoubted- ly felt she must, sooner or later, peacea bly or otherwise, and when the unsettled question of boundary for Texas should come to be adjusted, the United States would be found indebted to her for terri- tory, after which we are eternally grasp- ing, which would enable her to pay off our claims in a manner more convenient than by the advance of some millions of Mexican dollars. Nobody imagined at that period, certainly Mexico did not, that we were going to take, in the name of Texas, all the territory in the owner- ship and proper possession of Mexico, up to the Rio Grande, including Santa Fe, without at least making some compensa- tion for it; and Mexico had some right to count upon it, that, in one way or another, we should want all the land we could get. We think, at any rate, that nobody can wonder, whatever blame may attach to this conduct, that she did not continue to pay her hard dollars into our treasury after she found that Annexation was inevitable, and that she should con- clude to wait, before coming to a final settlement of the residue of our claims, until she could ascertain how much land we were resolved to have, and how much money, by way of set-off to these claims, we were willing to allow her for it. In- deed, on this subject we may add, that what we have here supposed Mexico to have anticipated, has been pretty distinct- ly avowed by the President as the policy of the Administration. We doubt, in- deed, if the President from the first, notwithstanding all the clamor he has raised about our unsettled claims on Mexico, has ever felt any serious regret after Annexation was effected with an undefined boundary for Texas, that Mex- ico should not have been brought to an independent settlement of these claims. He has evidently been satisfied to have them held in reserve, as the means of wringing from Mexican necessities a better and more comprehensive boundary for Texas than could otherwise be ob- tained. Perhaps we may find in the end that even California floated in his vision as an additional acquisition to be obtain- ed by the same means. At any rate, we have before us in this very message, a brief but significant declaration from the President, to which we can give no in- terpretation short of that just now sug- gested. When speaking of Mr. Slidells unsuccessful mission to Mexico, and the grounds on which she refused to receive the Minister, he says, The Mexican government well knew . . . that the two 10 The Pre~ide~ts lkTessage: fJan., questions of boundary and indemnity should be treated of together, as natural- ly and inseparably blended, and they ought to have seen that this course was best calculated to ble the United States to extend to them the most liberal justice. In other words, as we read this language, Mexico ought to have known that we should insist, at all events, on a very lib- eral boundary for Texas, and want pro- bably some independent slices of her ter- ritory besides, and that we should be able to allow her a moreliberal consider- ation for all this by trading off our claims to her by way of compensation, while she would find on her part, this mode of pay- ment to us, much less onerous than the heavy drain which would otherwise be imposed on her slender territory. We cannot, in our notice of that part of the Presidents Message relating to these claims, consent to pass by, without comment, the extraordinary tone of ex- aggeration in which he indulges on this whole subject. It is a small compliment which he pays to the intelligence and ge- neral information of those whom he is addressing when he ventures on a broad assertion like this: The wrongs which we have suffered from Mexico almost ever since she became an independent pow- er, and the patient endurance with which we have borne them, are without a paral- lel in the history of modern civilized na- tions. This was very bold language for the President of the United States to hold in the face of a history so recent and so well known as ours. One would really suppose, from reading this sentence, followed up, as it is, with every choice term and epithet that could well be select- ed to give intensity to the character of enormity and outrage which is charged on the acts of Mexico, that this was the only instance in which American citizens had suffered in their persons and property by the unjust and lawless proceedings of foreign governments; least of all would any one suppose that the President could be aware that our short history is full of just such cases. Or did he suppose that few persons in the country would proba- bly recollect, just now, what our expe- rience had been in this respect, and that he could, therefore, venture, with im- punity, to treat the wrongs which Mexi- co had done us, as if nobody had ever heard of such wrongs before, from any other quarter. If there is any one thing more remark- able than another in our relations with foreign countries, it is the extraordinary number of instances which have occur- red in our short term of national exist- ence, of outrage and injury committed on the persons and property of American citizens by foreign powers, and the ex- traordinary patience we have exhibited under these injuries, in deference, and steady adherence, to the policy of our government from the beginning, in favor of peace, as long as war could be avoided with honor. During the wars which fol- lowed the French Revolution, and which involved at one time or another, nearly every considerable power in Europe, the United States, as the most important maritime, neutral nation, became the sub- ject of every species of illegal exaction and depredation, in their trade and com- merce, which the wit and rage of the belligerent powers could devise. These outrages continued through a series of years. England, France, Spain, Hol- land, Naples, Denmark, all engaged in the commission of these offences. Nor have such acts been confined to the Con- tinental governments; we have been subjected to similar outrages in our own hemisphere, and from other quarters be- sides Mexico. We settled this business with England by a war, because of the peculiar nature of her depredations, par- ticularly on the high seas, and the~ doc- trines she set up and maintained in their justification. But we settled with all the rest by treatynot, however, generally without great difficulty, and very great delay. The claims which we had on the European Governments for spoliation and illegal seizure of property, dated, some of them, as far back as 1806 or 6, and the injuries complained of ran through several years. The claims on Spain were set- tled through the cession of Florida to the United States in 1819. Those on the Danish Government were not settled till 1830; the Treaty of indemnity with Na- ples was concluded in 1832. Mr. Rives Treaty with France was in 1831. If Mr. Polk would take the trouble to look a little into the nature and character of the various acts of spoliation, insult and injury committed under the authority, and often by the special direction, of the French Government, on the persons and property of American citizens, through a series of years, he would find that the wrongs we have suffered from Mexico are not altogether without a parallel. And yet in that case a quarter of a cen- tury passed away, counting from the 1847.] The War. 11 commencement of these outrages, before redress was obtained. Every possible difficulty was tbrown in the way of their adjustment; and it was not till tbat gov- ernment passed, at length, into the bands of the present sovereign, that satisfac- tion was obtained. France then ac- knowledged herself indebted to citizens of the United States, in the sum of 25,000,000 francs, which was probably about one-third of the amount really and justly due. If ever a war could be jus- tified for injuries of this nature, it might have been against Francenot only on account of the aggravated character of the acts complained of, but on account also of the frivolous pretexts set up, at various times, to evade the claims, and finally to get rid of them altogether. Indeed, in every one of the cases referred to, the United States might have found occasion to go to war, if it had not been much better to remain at peacequite as much occasion, indeed, in nearly every instance, as anybody could find for war against Mexico on the same account. Some of the claims against Mexico were for injuries of a very outrageous charac- ternever, however, for one moment at- tempted to be justified by the government. But others, among the very largest in amount, and helping, more than all the rest together, to makeup that round sum of three millions and a third which the President is so fond of parading before the country as having been left undecid- ed by the Commission at Washington in 1842, are claims of a very different character. We are not aware upon what principle it is that the government is call- ed on to take cognizance of a claim founded on a mere breach of contract for land, between a citizen of the United States and the Republic of Mexico. We are quite sure that our government has never listened to any claim of this sort against any other power; and we should think it well enough to take care that it do not set an awkward precedent against itself in this matter. At any rate, what- ever may be said of other claims on Mexi- co, these certainly are not exactly the sort of cases to make a war out of; and we are sorry to see them so carefully brougrit in by the President on all occa- sions, to swell the amount which Mexico is charged with holding back from us, and for which he insists we ought to have gone to war long ago. Claims of the nature of theseeven those the least admitting of excuse or apologyhave, in all the practice of the government, been deemed much more fitly satisfied by ap- propriate sums of money, though obtain- ed with extreme difficulty, and after many years of patient solicitation, than re- dressed by war. And there has been nothing to take the claims against Mexi- co out of this category. In truth, as we have seen, they were all in the way of amicable adjustment, when the measure of Annexation came in to break up, for the time, our friendly relations with that power; and we have not a doubt that in due time, with a becoming patience on our part, and some judicious treatment of the case, the obstructions which that event threw in the way might have been removed, and full satisfaction for every just claim peaceably obtained, to the last dollar. But let us be allowed now to recur once more to the fact, that after all this show of brave indignation, which we have in the Message on account of these unsatisfied claims, we do not yet find in them the causes which have led to the war. How, indeed, could we? It is for Congress to make any war that is be- gun on the part of this nation for any cause; and certainly Congress did not make this war, nor was it ever asked to do so by the Executive, whether for this cause or any other. So far from all this, the President insists that the war was begun by Mexico, when Congress, of course, had nothing to do but to recog- nize its existence, and provide the means for its prosecution on our part. It is true, we do not agreewe wish we could, since we are in the ~varthat hostilities were begun by Mexico. They were be- gun by the Executive; and still, confess- edly, without the slightest reference to these claims. Under this state of facts, we think they are made to occupy quite too large a space, and figure too con- spicuously, in a grave State Paper, which professed to be about to give us the causes which led to the war. But we turn now to that part of the Message which does in reality treat of the causes which led to the war.~~ The object of the President is to shift the responsibility of the war, in its inception, from himself, and fasten it upon Mexico. The mode is easily described. The first actual collision of arms took place on the left bank of the Bravo, by an attack of the Mexican forces on a detachment of United States troops. This the Presi- dent, of course, holds to be the com. 12 The rresidt3flt8 Me88age. mencement of hostilities; here the war began. To this view, however, he is aware, a serious difficulty has been inter- posed. What was our army doing on the left hank of the Rio Grande? Was not this the proper soil of Mexico, at any rate occupied by her citizens, governed by her laws, dotted with her waters and cities, and with her military posts? And this brings the President in earnest to the task which he had imposed on him- self, and bravely indeed does he encounter the difficulties and perils of his position. Nothing daunts himnothing stays his march. He now deals with the familiar history of his country, and with current events, just as he had already dealt with the Constitution ; they are cast aside, or trampled beneath his feet. Having shown by an elaborate argument that Texas belongs to the United States by the process of Annexationa point on which he might have spared himself all argumentbe proceeds to maintain, with all gravity and earnestness, that Texas the Texas thus annexed to the United Stateshas its western boundaryits historical, well-defined and indisputable boundaryon the Rio Grande, from its mouth to its source! The army of the United States, then, was in its proper place on the left bank of that river, and so Mexico did begin this war, by invading our territory, and shedding tbe blood of American citizens on American soil ! In the earnest desire which we con- stantly feel to treat President Polk with the respect due to the Chief Magistrate of the nation, our commentary on this part of his manifesto shall be confined as strictly as possible to his allegations, and the conclusions he draws from them. In the first place the President goes back to the Treaty of 1803, by which France ceded to the United States the Colony or province of Louisiana, notori- ously without any expression of limits or boundary whatever, for the professed pur- pose of finding a definite boundary for the Spanish or Mexican province of Texas. Texas, he says, as ceded to the United States by France in 1803, has been always claimed as extending west to the Rio Grande. It is difficult to con- ceive at the first blush that the President is here speaking of the treaty which ceded the mighty province of Louisiana to the United States; and yet he could not refer to any other. If he,had said that Louisiana, as ceded to the United States, had been sometimes claimed as extending to the Rio Grande, we could have under- stood such an allegation as at least ap- proaching historical truth. Louisiana, ceded as a vast province principally of pri- meval forest, without an attempt at nam- ing a single line or even point of boundary, was subsequently claimed as extending to the Rio Grandefeebly claimed, for diplomatic objects, as the President must very well know. It was rather a pre- tension than a claim ; while, on the other hand, Spain never ceased to claim the country east of the Rio Grande, and to the Sabine, as belonging to her and not at all within the province of Louisiana; and she did not hesitate, as sh~ had oc- casion, to back her claims by military possession. But the President does not stop with the allegation thatTexas, eo nomine, was ceded to the United States by France, with its western limits on the Bravofor so he means, at least, the casual reader shall uiiderstand him; but in order to forge his chain of title in unbroken links, he next refers to the Texas which was ceded to Spain by the Florida treaty of 1819, as embracing the country up to the Rio Grande, and precisely as if this same Texas, eo nomine, had been ceded to Spain by the United States. Just how much historical truth is here exhibited will appear from a very simple statement. The Treaty referred to, after ceding to the United States the two Floridasnot from the Perdido merely, to which on the east the United States had chimed for their province of Louisiana, but from the Mis- sissippi up to which Spain had pushed her pretensionsproceeds to establish a boundary line between the respective countries of the two contracting parties west of the Mississippi ; that is to say, between the colonial possessions of Spain, on the one side, and the province of Louisiana as now owned by the United States on the other. This line begins on the Gulf of Mexico, at the mouth of the river Sabine, and follows the western bank of that river towards its source. Having describedthe boundary, the two high contracting parties, says the treaty agree to cede and renounce all their rights, claims and pretensions to the territories described by the said line ; the United States renouncing all preten- sions to the territories west and north of that line, and Spain renouncing all pre- tensjons to the territories east and north of that line. As to all the territories on the one side and the other of the Sabine, 1847.] The War. 13 this was just the common case of de- fining, by treaty, a boundary line be- tween two countries, by mutual agree- ment, where no definite line positively described had been fixed before, and where there had been mutual and con- flicting claims and pretensions. And this plain and simple proceeding is made to figure iu the Message as if a specific cession of Texas, eo nomine, bad been made by the United States to Spain! Having carried his work forward thus far, no doubt to his own entire satisfac- tion, the President next proceeds to ex- hibit the various acts of the Republic of Texas, in minute and particular detail, which go to prove, as he seems to think, that she always claimed this river (the Rio Grande) as her western boundary.~ These acts of the Republic of Texas were quite familiar to all who bad ever taken the trouble to make themselves ac- quainted with her history; and we very much doubt if there be another man of any considerable standing in the whole country besides Mr. Polk, who would have risked his reputation by being the first to affirm that he regarded any or all of these acts together, as establishing any just claim whatever, in that Repub- lic, to the whole country between the Nueces and the Rio Grande, and from the mouth to the source of the latter river. In the same circumstantial way the Message recites the acts of the Congress of the United States since the measure of Annexation, as showing that that body has claimed the Rio Grande as the west- ern boundary of Texasand here, too, we repeat our solemn belief that no public man of any repute in the whole country, besides Mr. Polk, could be found, who would have been the first to venture on such an assertion. Of course, there will not now be wanting those, both of high and low degree, who will not be afraid or ashamed to follow where the President of the United States has dared to lead. The juggle, for we cannot call it less, which the President has here attempted to play off on unpracticed minds, is but repeated, a little more at large, from his special message to Congress of the 14th of May last. It consists in the adroit em- ployment of terms and phrases when giv- ing locality and application to certain acts of the Republic of Texas, ~nd of our own Congress, by which all distinction is confounded in the mind of the common reader, between a mere narrow strip of country lying along the west bank and lower portion of the Nueces, and a broader belt of country, separated from the other by a wide expanse of chapparel and desert, situated along the east bank of the Rio Grande, and extending up that river to its source in the mountains, 2,000 miles distant. Let any one run over this part of the Message with the distinction we have now indicated in his mind, and he will see exactly what we mean, and exactly what the President means. Let it be enough to say that in reference to the whole country on the Rio Grande here adverted to, there is not the slightest ground or pretence for saying, what the President means should be understood, that the Republic of Texas ever asserted or ex- ercised a single act of sovereignty and ju- risdiction over this territory or its inhab- itants; that she ever extended her judi- cial system over it, or established a cus- tom-house, a post-office, or post-road, or land-office, within its limits, or ever at- tempted anything of the sort; or that any senator or representative residing in it was ever elected to the Congress of the Republic, or to the Convention which gave its consent to annexation. Just as little ground or pretence is there for saying, what the President also means should be understood, that the Congress of the United States ever established a collection district in this country on the Rio Grande; or that a surveyor of the revenue was ever appointed to hold his office within its limits; or that Congress ever established a post-route in it; or that it practically constitutes a part of one of the Congressional districts of Texas, or is represented, in any way, either in the House of Representatives or in the Senate of the United States. The whole foundation on which the President has reared up this compound of monstrous and absurd pretension, is found in the fact, which nobody has ever denied or disputed, that Texas had succeeded in pushing her settlements, few indeed in number and extremely feeble, across the Nueces, the ancient, well-known boundary on the west of the state and department of Mexico of that name. A lodgment had been effected at Corpus Christi, on the immediate bank of that river, near its mouth; and altogether, of village and rural population, scattered up and down that stream, on its west bank, confined to its valley, and at no great distance from its mouth, there might have been found, at the period of annexation, 600, possibly a thousand, souls. But what, in the name 14 The Presidents YTes~age: of wonder, had all this to do with the country and the population on the Rio Grande? A country widely separated from the other by the natural boundary of a great desert, comprising parts of four states or departments of Mexico, stretch- ing through twelce degrees of latitude, having continuous settlements for 500 miles of its lower, and 500 miles of its upper, portion, many of them of ancient date, with not less than thirty towns, cities, and villages, and a population of not less, altogether, than 60,000 souls, all living under their own laws, governed by their own magistrates, and as loyal to their own country as any people under the sun. And yet this is the country that Mr. Polk would persuade us to believe was a part of the Republic of Texas, was governed by the laws of that Republic in its lifetime, and is now governed by the laws, nay, actually represented, at this day, in the Congress of the United States! It serves to illustrate and characterize this pretension that it is set up in the face of the well-known fact, that there is a law of the United Statesand the only law that we know of ever yet passed by Congress with any special application to any part of this whole region of country on the Rio Grandewhich authorizes a drawback of duties paid on goods import- edinto the United States and exported to Santa Fe; a law constantly observed and enforced by the Executive until recently, when this same town, and the province of New Mexico, of which it is the capital, was captured by the American army, and taken possession of as a conquered coun- try! This noted city of Santa Fe is sit- uated in the upper portion of the Rio Grande country, some 1500 miles from the sea. Quite at the opposite extremity on the Gulf, is the town of Santiago, also now in our hands by military capture. And here, as at Santa Fe, until they were conquered by our arms, the com- merce of the United States was accus- tomed to pay duties at a Mexican custom- house, as regularly and as freely as such duties were paid at London or Liver- pool. The attempt which the President has made, by historical recital, to carry Texas up to the Rio Grande, even from the beginning, demands that we should say a word or two more on this point. For a long period previous to 1776, the country known as Mexico was divided so as to form three kingdoms, so called; one colony, that of New Santander, and six provinces. Of these provinces, Texas was one, and Coahuila was another, and the river Nueces was the boundary be- tween Texas on the one side, and New Santander (New Tamaulipas) and Coa- huila on the other. In 1776, the country, then called the Viceroyalty of New Spain, was divided into twelve Intenden- cies and three provinces. The Inten- dency of San Louis Potosi compre- hended Tamaulipas, (formerly New San- tander,) Coahuila, and Texas, with the same boundaries they had under the pre- vious arrangement. The Republic of Mexico succeeded, and in 1824, the country was divided into nineteen States, four Territories, and the Federal District. Tamaulipas was one of these States, still having the Nueces for its northern and eastern boundary. Coahuila still touch- ed the Nueces above Tamaulipas; and on the opposite side of this river, over against Tamaulipas and Coahuila, was Texas. Under the Constitution of 1824, Coahuila and Texas retained each its distinct geographical existence, as when they were provinces, but had a political union for the purposes of State govern- ment. Finally, in 1835, a decree of the General Congress dissolved the State Legislatures, and converted the States again into provinces, or departments. Of these departments, Texas was one, on one side of the Nueces, as before, with Tamaulipas and Coahuila on the other. In 1832, the people of Texas, still with her western boundary on the Nueces, formed a separate State Consti- tution, casting off Coahuila, and asked for admission as such into the Confede- racy. This was refused by the Central Government. Then came her revolt, and her declaration of independence in 1836, while Tamaulipas and Coahuila, on the other side of the Nueces, main- tained their fidelity to Mexico. They never revolted. Her independence estab- lished by the fight of San Jacinto, the Republic of Texas proceeded, with sin- gular modesty, to declare, by act of Congress, that she would deem the Rio Grande to be her western boundary, thenceforward, from its mouth on the gulf to its source in the Rocky Moun- tains! This is the plain and simple history of Texas and her boundary. And in the face of facts like these, we have the President of the United States with a modesty only equaled by that of Texas in her Act of Congress through the process of annexation, which nevertheless expressly reserved the question of boundary to be settled 1847.] The War. 15 between Mexico and the United States, setting up, not a claim, but a positive and unquestioned title in the United States to the whole country in the left valley of the Rio Grandetowns, cities, rancheros, and allSpaniards, Creoles, Indians, Mulattoes, Mestizoes, and Zam- boesthe people of Tamaulipas, the people of Coahuila, the people of Chi- huahua, the people of New Mexico; for all these are claimed, of course, along with their country, by the same title, and constituted, at once, 60,000 souls of themand such souls toowilling or unwilling, good adopted citizens of the Model Republic! And now we return to the embar- rassing question, which we have sup- posed, some distance back, to have moved the President to flounder into the meshes of this desperate entanglement what was our army doing, in the month of March last, on the banks of the Rio Grande? There it was, set down opposite the old Spanish town of Matamoros, with a battery of four 18 pounders, bearing directly, as the Gen- cml in command promptly reported to the President, on the public square, and within good range for demolishing the town. Their object, he added significantly, cannot be mistaken by the enemy. And to attain this position, the army had marched in hostile array, and as a force invading an enemys ter- ritory, more than one hundred miles through a country (where it was occu- pied at all) peopled with Mexican sub- jects, governed by Mexican laws, and defended by Mexican troops, and to which neither Texas nor the United Statesthe brulum fairnen of a Texan Act of Congress notxvithstandinghad no more title, claim, or pretension, than they had to the city of Mexico itself. What was our army doing there? Con- gress had not declared war against Mex- ico; Mexico had not declared or made war on the United States. Well, the army was marched to that position by the positive orders of the Executive. This is not denied; and we see now what apology the President has had to offer to the country for this extraordi- nary proceeding. He chose to assume, against all fact and all history, that our new Texan dominion had its fixed boun- dary on the Rio Grande, and he sent his army into the very centre of the Mexican State of Tamaulipas, and up to the doors of its capital, by way of covering Texas with military protection! We give the President the benefit of his own apology and defence, as he has chosen to write it down. The Bravo being in his mind the proper limit of Texas, the point to which the army was directed, was the true position to be tak- en for the defence of Texas against a threatened attack from Mexico. This is his case, as he himself presents it to us. But our army had occupied a defensive position on the Nueces for the protection of Texas, in complete security and quiet, for five months before the peremptory or- der of the 13th January was given which carried it to the Rio Grande. Whnt, then, had occurred to require this change in the position of the army? The Pre- sident, we are sorry to say, treats this part of the case with as little directness and candor as the rest. He jumbles the most important dates together in a way to pro- duce confusion and misapprehension. We will take, however, for his true defence, the exact impression that he means to conveyespecially, as otherwise no sha- dow of defence is presented. It is, that this order of the 13th January was given on account of the apprehensions of a contemplated Mexican invasion, the dan- ger of which was then specially felt to be imminent by the Executivean invasion, the avowed purpose of which was to reconquer Texas, and to restore Mexican authority over the whole territory, not to the Nueces only, but to the Sabine. If this is not exactly what the President means we shall understand by his lan- guage, then we can only say that he has used language, in all this part of the case, without any meaning at all and has offered no defence whatever for his order of the 13th January. And if we have given his meaning correctly, then we have to say, that his defence has not one single fact, or shadow of a fact, to stand on. The published correspondence which we have, shows in the clearest manner, that on and about the period when this fatal order was given, neither the President at Wash- ington, nor the General at Corpus Christi, felt any apprehension whatever, or had the slightest reason to feel any apprehen- sion, of an immediate or early Mexican invasion, for the reconquest of Texas, or, indeed, apprehension of any hostility whatever to be begun by Mexico, for any purpose, so long as our army was not advanced beyond Corpus Christi. In the 16 The rre8ident8 .ZVTe8sage [Jan., summer of 1845, it had been thought pos- sible, and only possible, that Mexico really might mean something by her threats of war. This feeling had now, and for some time, quite subsided. Ear- ly in September, Gen. Taylor had beg- ged that no militia force should be sent to him. I am entirely confident, said he, that none will be required. And this tone of confidence was kept up down to the last letter written by him, which could have reached Washington before the order of the 13th of January. The same tone of confidence in the peaceable aspect of affairs, was express- ed in the letters of the Secretary of War and the Secretary of State, during the same period. The last communication from Mr. Marcy to Gen. Taylor, before the order of January 13th, was dated October 16th, and began with saying; The information which we have here renders it probable that no serious at- tempts will at present be made by Mexi- co to invade Texas. And yet this very letter contained an authority to Gen. Taylor, only just short of an order, to move his army to the Rio Grande. It was only because Taylor would not take on himself a responsibility which be- longed to the Executive, that the march to the Rio Grande was not begun under the instructions of this letter of the 16th of October. We have not a doubt that the Executive intended it should be. And at any rate, between the date of this let- ter and the peremptory order, not a sign had appeared on the earth, or in the heavens, to induce the President to be- lieve that war was any nearer at hand from Mexico, than it had been three months, or six months before. Though Herrera had then descended from the Chieftainship in Mexico, yet this fact was unknown in Washington; and it was positively known that Ilerrera would not make war on the United States on his own responsibility. True, the President intimates that this revolution, which placed Paredes at the head of affairs, was anticipated, and not without appre- hensions for the consequences, from the letter of Mr. Slidell of the 17th of De- cember, received before his hostile order was issued; but it is also true that that same letter, in allusion to this expected or possible revolution, gave to the Presi- dent this very significant opinion of the writer, in regard to its effects; Not- withstanding the desire, which I believe the present administration really enter- tains, to adjust all their difficulties with us, so feeble and inert is it, that I am rather inclined to the opinion that the chances of a successful negotiation would be better with one more hostile, but possessing greater energy. The President cannot say with truth that he believed, or seri- ously apprehended, on the 13th of Janu- ary, that Paredes, if then in power in Mexico, was any more disposed, or more likely, to declare or make war on the United States, or to invade Texas, on his own responsibility, than Herrera was, or had been. Not the slightest intimation of the sort had been given from any quarter. Such a measure, it was well known, if resorted to at all, and whoever might be chief, must come from a Con- gress of Mexico, and not from any Presi- dent; and the work of gathering such a Congress, and collecting its opinions, was to be a work of time. In point of fact, the first movement of Paredes on this subject was after our army had marched from Corpus Christi, when he issued or- ders for the defence of the Mexican ter- ritory, invaded by the United States, with a public proclamation, declaring to the world, even then ; I solemnly an- nounce that I do not declare war against the United States. It is of the number of remarkable things found in the Message of President Polk, that he should roundly assert that Mexico herself had never placed her warlike de- monstrations towards our forces in Ta- maulipas, upon the ground that our army occupied the intermediate territory between the Nueces and the Rio Grande, but that her avowed purpose was to reconquer Texas to the Sabine. Can it be possible that the President had ever read the proclamation of Paredes, and the communications and proclamations of the several chiefs, Meija, Arista andAmpudia, which preceded the commencement of their military operations? Their lan- guage was, that General Taylors occu- pation of the soil of Tamaulipas must lead to hostilities; and they called on him to retire, not to the Sabine, but to the Nueces. And we aver that not a syllable can be found from any one of them which indicated any further purpose than to compel him to fall back to the latter river. But we stop here; we are sick of fol- lowing the President through the sort of defence which he has ventured to set up for invading Mexico, and bringing on a

On the Death of a Young Girl 16-17

16 The rre8ident8 .ZVTe8sage [Jan., summer of 1845, it had been thought pos- sible, and only possible, that Mexico really might mean something by her threats of war. This feeling had now, and for some time, quite subsided. Ear- ly in September, Gen. Taylor had beg- ged that no militia force should be sent to him. I am entirely confident, said he, that none will be required. And this tone of confidence was kept up down to the last letter written by him, which could have reached Washington before the order of the 13th of January. The same tone of confidence in the peaceable aspect of affairs, was express- ed in the letters of the Secretary of War and the Secretary of State, during the same period. The last communication from Mr. Marcy to Gen. Taylor, before the order of January 13th, was dated October 16th, and began with saying; The information which we have here renders it probable that no serious at- tempts will at present be made by Mexi- co to invade Texas. And yet this very letter contained an authority to Gen. Taylor, only just short of an order, to move his army to the Rio Grande. It was only because Taylor would not take on himself a responsibility which be- longed to the Executive, that the march to the Rio Grande was not begun under the instructions of this letter of the 16th of October. We have not a doubt that the Executive intended it should be. And at any rate, between the date of this let- ter and the peremptory order, not a sign had appeared on the earth, or in the heavens, to induce the President to be- lieve that war was any nearer at hand from Mexico, than it had been three months, or six months before. Though Herrera had then descended from the Chieftainship in Mexico, yet this fact was unknown in Washington; and it was positively known that Ilerrera would not make war on the United States on his own responsibility. True, the President intimates that this revolution, which placed Paredes at the head of affairs, was anticipated, and not without appre- hensions for the consequences, from the letter of Mr. Slidell of the 17th of De- cember, received before his hostile order was issued; but it is also true that that same letter, in allusion to this expected or possible revolution, gave to the Presi- dent this very significant opinion of the writer, in regard to its effects; Not- withstanding the desire, which I believe the present administration really enter- tains, to adjust all their difficulties with us, so feeble and inert is it, that I am rather inclined to the opinion that the chances of a successful negotiation would be better with one more hostile, but possessing greater energy. The President cannot say with truth that he believed, or seri- ously apprehended, on the 13th of Janu- ary, that Paredes, if then in power in Mexico, was any more disposed, or more likely, to declare or make war on the United States, or to invade Texas, on his own responsibility, than Herrera was, or had been. Not the slightest intimation of the sort had been given from any quarter. Such a measure, it was well known, if resorted to at all, and whoever might be chief, must come from a Con- gress of Mexico, and not from any Presi- dent; and the work of gathering such a Congress, and collecting its opinions, was to be a work of time. In point of fact, the first movement of Paredes on this subject was after our army had marched from Corpus Christi, when he issued or- ders for the defence of the Mexican ter- ritory, invaded by the United States, with a public proclamation, declaring to the world, even then ; I solemnly an- nounce that I do not declare war against the United States. It is of the number of remarkable things found in the Message of President Polk, that he should roundly assert that Mexico herself had never placed her warlike de- monstrations towards our forces in Ta- maulipas, upon the ground that our army occupied the intermediate territory between the Nueces and the Rio Grande, but that her avowed purpose was to reconquer Texas to the Sabine. Can it be possible that the President had ever read the proclamation of Paredes, and the communications and proclamations of the several chiefs, Meija, Arista andAmpudia, which preceded the commencement of their military operations? Their lan- guage was, that General Taylors occu- pation of the soil of Tamaulipas must lead to hostilities; and they called on him to retire, not to the Sabine, but to the Nueces. And we aver that not a syllable can be found from any one of them which indicated any further purpose than to compel him to fall back to the latter river. But we stop here; we are sick of fol- lowing the President through the sort of defence which he has ventured to set up for invading Mexico, and bringing on a 1847.] The War. 15* ~var, no matter for what cause, on his own responsibility, in contempt of the Consti- tution, and in contempt of Congress. Congress, be it ever remembered, was in session under his eye, at the moment when he issued his daring and fatal order of the 13th of January. He refused to consult that body, until he had made a movement, which all men see, if he did not, was sure to bring on warwhich left Congress no alternative, but to adopt the war which he had thus precipitated. He madethis movement deliberately, and with a purpose distinctly disclosed in a dis- patch from Mr. Buchanan to Mr. Slidell of the 20th of January. The Presi- dent, in anticipation of the final refusal of the Mexican government to receive you, has ordered the army of Texas to advance, & c.; and why ? Is it because the President expected, in that event, a declaration of war from Mexico, or an in- vasion of Texas? Nothing of the sort is pretended in that letter. Government, it is said, would then take the redress of the wrongs of its citizens into its own hands. Congress was to be asked to give the Executive the requisite authority, but not until it should be too late for Con- gress to deliberate, or have any opinion in the matter, The anticipated rejection of our minister was the signal for a war- like demonstration, undertaken by the President, on his own responsibility. The wrongs of our citizens were to be brought in on an appeal to Congress, to recognize and adopt the war, if in the progress of this experiment it should be found that Mexico had courage enough to meet our invasion; for come what might, the territory of Mexico to the Rio Grande was, first of all, to be secured to the United States by an armed occupa- tion of the country. The President completes his account of the causes which led to the war, by a circumstantial narrative of the mis- sion of peace to Mexico instituted by him, and conducted by Mr. Slidell. It had been our purpose to examine that mission at some length in this articlea purpose which we are now obliged to forego for want of space. We shall not forget that mission, however. We think it ought to have been, and might have been made successful, provided only that the terms of peace which the government were prepared to offer, were sufficiently moderate and reasonable. Why it was a total failure we think is apparent enough, and may be easily shown. From the length to which this article has already run, we feel obliged to bring it to a sudden conclusion. We must do this without exposing the Message inse- veral particulars wherein it seems to us the American people are loudly called on to wake up to the imminent hazards to which the country is exposed. A war commenced by the Executive has been followed already by vast acquisitions of foreign territory, conquered by our arms, and over which, or some parts of it, the President, through his military command- ers, has assumed the prerogative of or- ganizing complete governments. Tricks have been played in these conquered countries before high Heaven, to make the angels weep. Governors of province s make and unmake themselves, and ap- point successors, and establish laws, and judicial tribunals, and receive oaths of al- legiance, and Heaven knows what not, as if all this was an ordinary business, done after approved precedents, and by authority of the Constitution. Surely, de- mocracy is progressive. Already, it has left the Constitution of the country far enough out of sight. There seems to be nothing that it dare not attempt, even though, like Ph~ton, it may set the world on fire. B. On the Death of a Young Girl. ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. Our meek and silent Emma then is gone, And we are mourning over one we loved; Yet who could scarce be said to love in turn, So cold and passionless and pure she seemed. A girl of fifteen summers,in her face Most beautiful, in words most kind and sweet, Patient beneath her dutys slender calls, And unrepining at whatever came ; But yet, a mystery, she moved about, With no more sympathy for breathing things Than what was needed for her being here; Seeking no tie hut those by nature hers, Her thoughts and her affections all unknown. Her life brought no distress nor joy to her, So peacefully she rested on the sea Of measureless content. She never seemed Like one of humankind: or, if she did, Like one who moved and spoke, yet all the while Dwelling serenely in a blissful dream. We might have deemed her sinless: as it was, She never could have wandered far from heaven. 1-ler heart was in her thoughts, and they, no doubt, Were pure and beautiful in sight of God A sacred wedlock in itself content And so she seemed to seek no love beyond. And could they call thee cold, thou angel one! Because thy spirit neer was bared to us, But, like the new moon dark among the stars, Shone to some other world, but not to this Save in the palest outline of her form Her brightness turning to the holy sky! Or wert thou but the more the heaven.guest, Because thy heart and soul found each their love The human on the breast of the divine? How softly, too, thy spirit stole from us And, ere we knew it, was in heaven again! As when a fainting breeze, unheard, yet heard, Melts to the murmur that the ear will make When silence reigns supreme; we startand lo! The sound has faded into memorys realm. The cords of life which tied thee were not snapped, But gently drawn and made attenuate, Until they were not for their subtleness! Death came, and found thy soul already loose; Re looked againit seemed within thy lips, Yet when he made the sign it moved away. The young flowers close their petals on thy grave, To shade their hearts from dayand so, are pale. But at the spirit hour they ope their lids, To catch a vision of the starry host, And drink the light that quickens nought but soul, And for return breathe out their balmy lives, Meek emblems of thy being,holy flowers! Farewell, thou dear poetic maid! although The music of thy being was unheard; As zephyrs breathing the pine-groves among, So is thy memory lingering in the heart. 16* LJan., 1847.] Notes b3f the Road. 17 NOTES BY THE ROAD.No. Y~ BY CAIUS. THE ILLYRIAN CAVERN. THERE was a frouzy-haired, stout man, not a year ago, at the Hotel Met- ternich at Trieste, who secured for our partyCameron, Monsieur le Count B., and myselfone of the Government post- coaches, to go on to the Austrian capital, just as lazily as we wished. The two- headed black eagle on the yellow coach door gave us the dignity of Government patronage :a huge roll of paper we carried would secure us relays of horses in every post town between Trieste and Gratz; and our profound ignorance of the language would ensure to every begging, red-coated postillion, a plump Go to the devil, from our wicked friend Cam- eron. Our coach was chartered for the whole route, and we could loiter as long as we chose, provided we could make the postmen understand our wretched German, or ourselves understand their wretched French or Italian. Every Eu- ropean traveler has heard of the awful caves of Addlesberg in Illyria, and to the awful caves of Addlesberg we want- ed to go. There was a fourth seat to our coach, and it was not filled. We were on the look out for a good-humored fellow, to make up our number, and to pay his fourth of the footing. We broached the subject to a table full at the Metternich, who had just come in, with terribly bronz- ed faces and queer Egyptian caps, from the Alexandria steamer. Whether it was that Vienna did not really lie in their paths, or whether they had grown in the East distrustful of proposals so peremptorily made, I do not know, but not one of them would listen to us. In this dilemma, our Sancho, the frouzy- haired man, offered us the services of a Polish courier, who had just left the, suite of a Russian princess in Sicily, and who was now making his way back to the North. But on consideration, we were unanimously of opinion, that our equipage would not suffer by denying the royal applicant; and that the gratui- ty of the vacant seat would be better kept in reserve, than sq~ian4ered in so VOL. V.NO. 1. 2 sudden charity as helping the poor devil of a Pole on his way to Cracow. We refused him. We paid the stout man his fees, and bade him good morn- ing. The porter waved his hand to the postillion; the postillion cracked his whip; and so, we dashed out of the court of the great inn at Metternich: And so, we passed, slow and toilingly, over those mountains that shut up the city of Trieste and its bay from that part of Southern Austria which is called Hungary. The long, blue waters of the Adriatic stretched out in the sunshine behind us, and the shores of Dalmatia lifted out of their eastern edge. We made the rascal that drove us stop his horses a moment when we had gained the full height. Thence we could see one side, the little dot of a city where we ate so villanous a dinner the day be- fore at the Metternichglistening by the side of the Gulf of Venice. The other way, looking north and east, we saw green Hungary. Down, down we went galloping into its bosombeautiful- hill-sidedsweet-sounding Illyria. In the caserne at Venice, and all through Austrian Lombardy, I had seen the tall, Hunnish grenadiers with their braid-cov- ered coats; now I saw them loitering at home. And at each post station, they sat on benches beside the log cottages, and stretched their fine muscular limbs lazily into the sunshine. While I was looking at the grenadiers, Cameron was feasting his eyes on the full proportions of the ruddy Hungarian giris. He told me they had bright, open faces, and a dashing air, and moved off under the trees that embowered the cottages with the air of princesses. At the very first stopping-place after we had gone over the hills, there came up to me such a winning little beggar as never took my money before. Italy, with all its caritas and pel amore di Santa Maria, makes one hard-hearted. I kept my money in my breast-pocket, buttoned tight over my heart. I l~d learned to walk boldly about, Wjtlio~t loosing a button for a pla~ding eye.

Caius Caius Notes by the Road. No. V 17-26

1847.] Notes b3f the Road. 17 NOTES BY THE ROAD.No. Y~ BY CAIUS. THE ILLYRIAN CAVERN. THERE was a frouzy-haired, stout man, not a year ago, at the Hotel Met- ternich at Trieste, who secured for our partyCameron, Monsieur le Count B., and myselfone of the Government post- coaches, to go on to the Austrian capital, just as lazily as we wished. The two- headed black eagle on the yellow coach door gave us the dignity of Government patronage :a huge roll of paper we carried would secure us relays of horses in every post town between Trieste and Gratz; and our profound ignorance of the language would ensure to every begging, red-coated postillion, a plump Go to the devil, from our wicked friend Cam- eron. Our coach was chartered for the whole route, and we could loiter as long as we chose, provided we could make the postmen understand our wretched German, or ourselves understand their wretched French or Italian. Every Eu- ropean traveler has heard of the awful caves of Addlesberg in Illyria, and to the awful caves of Addlesberg we want- ed to go. There was a fourth seat to our coach, and it was not filled. We were on the look out for a good-humored fellow, to make up our number, and to pay his fourth of the footing. We broached the subject to a table full at the Metternich, who had just come in, with terribly bronz- ed faces and queer Egyptian caps, from the Alexandria steamer. Whether it was that Vienna did not really lie in their paths, or whether they had grown in the East distrustful of proposals so peremptorily made, I do not know, but not one of them would listen to us. In this dilemma, our Sancho, the frouzy- haired man, offered us the services of a Polish courier, who had just left the, suite of a Russian princess in Sicily, and who was now making his way back to the North. But on consideration, we were unanimously of opinion, that our equipage would not suffer by denying the royal applicant; and that the gratui- ty of the vacant seat would be better kept in reserve, than sq~ian4ered in so VOL. V.NO. 1. 2 sudden charity as helping the poor devil of a Pole on his way to Cracow. We refused him. We paid the stout man his fees, and bade him good morn- ing. The porter waved his hand to the postillion; the postillion cracked his whip; and so, we dashed out of the court of the great inn at Metternich: And so, we passed, slow and toilingly, over those mountains that shut up the city of Trieste and its bay from that part of Southern Austria which is called Hungary. The long, blue waters of the Adriatic stretched out in the sunshine behind us, and the shores of Dalmatia lifted out of their eastern edge. We made the rascal that drove us stop his horses a moment when we had gained the full height. Thence we could see one side, the little dot of a city where we ate so villanous a dinner the day be- fore at the Metternichglistening by the side of the Gulf of Venice. The other way, looking north and east, we saw green Hungary. Down, down we went galloping into its bosombeautiful- hill-sidedsweet-sounding Illyria. In the caserne at Venice, and all through Austrian Lombardy, I had seen the tall, Hunnish grenadiers with their braid-cov- ered coats; now I saw them loitering at home. And at each post station, they sat on benches beside the log cottages, and stretched their fine muscular limbs lazily into the sunshine. While I was looking at the grenadiers, Cameron was feasting his eyes on the full proportions of the ruddy Hungarian giris. He told me they had bright, open faces, and a dashing air, and moved off under the trees that embowered the cottages with the air of princesses. At the very first stopping-place after we had gone over the hills, there came up to me such a winning little beggar as never took my money before. Italy, with all its caritas and pel amore di Santa Maria, makes one hard-hearted. I kept my money in my breast-pocket, buttoned tight over my heart. I l~d learned to walk boldly about, Wjtlio~t loosing a button for a pla~ding eye. 18 Note3 by the Road. [Jan., The little Hungarian rogue took me by surprise: I had scarce seen him, before he walked straight up beside me, and took my hand in both his, and kissed it, and then, as I looked down, lifted his eye timidly up to meet mine ;and he grew bolder at the look I gave him, and kissed my hand againmolle urn levibus cor est riolabile telisand if I suffer this I shall be conquered, thought I; and looked down at him sternly. He dropped my hand, as if he had been too bold ;he murmured two or three sweet words of his barbarian tongue, and turned his eyes all swimming upon me, with a look of gentle reproach that subdued me at once. I did not even try to struggle with the enemy, but unbuttoned my coat and gave him a handful of kreitzers. Now before I could put my money fairly back, there tame running up one of the wildest-look- ing, happiest-hearted little nymphs that ever wore long floating ringlets, or so bright a blue eye; and she snatched my hand, and pressed her little rosy lips to it again and againso fast that I had not time to take courage between, and felt my heart fluttering, and growing, in spite of myself, more and more yielding, at each one of the beautiful creatures caresses; and then she twisted the little fingers of one hand between my fingers, and with the other she put back the long, wavy hair that had fallen over her eyes, and looked me fully and joyously in the faceah! sempersemper causa est, cur ego semper arnern! If I had been of firmer stuff, I should have been to this day five kreitzers the richer. She ran off with a happy, ringing laugh that made me feel richer by a zwanziger; and there are twenty kreitzers in a zwanziger. I had buttoned up my coat, and was just about getting in the coach, when an old woman came up behind me and tap- ped me on the shoulder, and at the same instant a little boy she led kissed my hand again. I do not know what I might have done, in the current of my feelings, for the poor woman, if I had not caught sight, at the very moment of this new attack, of the red nose, and black whis- kers, and round- topped hat of Cameron, with as wicked a laugh on his face as ever turned the current of a good mans thoughts. It is strange how feelings turn themselves by the weight of such trifling impulses. I was ten times colder than when I got out of the coach. I gave the poor woman a most ungracious refusalAhI the reproaches of com plaining eyes! Not all the pleasure that kind looks or that kind words give, or have given in life, can balance the pain that reproachful eyes occasion !eyes that have become sealed over with that leaden seal which lifts not; how they pierce one by day time, and more dread- fully by night, through and through! Words slip, and are forgotten; but looks, reproachful looks, frightful looks, make up all that is most terrible in dreams. I hope Cameron in some of his wan- derings over the moors, in his blue and white shooting jacket, had his flask of mountain dew fail, when the sun was straight over his headand that between that time and night, gray night, damp night, late night, there came never a bird to his hagnot even a wandering field-farebecause he laughed me out of my charity to the old beggar-woman of Illyria. He insisted, however, that there was nothing uncharitable in laughing, and that there was no reason in the world, why genuine benevolence should not act as freely in the face of gaiety as of the demure-looking faces, with which the Scotch presbyters about the West Bow drop their pennies into the poor-box. Ten thousand times in life, one is ashamed of being laughed out of a course of action, and never stops to think whe- ther the action after all is good or bad. I never yet met a man who hadnt pride enough to deny his sensitiveness to ridi- cule. It will be seen that I was in quar- reling humor with Cameron, and we kept the beggars fresh in our minds and on our tongues for an hour or more, when we appealed to Monsieur le Count, who looked very practically on even the warmer feelings of our nature. Monsieur le Count thought the money to the boy was well enough bestowed; to the girl, he would have given himself, had she been a trifle older And she had kissed your hand, as she did mine But as for the old woman, she did not deserve it. He was behind the coach, while I was in front, and had seen the mother send forwardfirst the boythen the little girland after tak- ing the kreitzers from both, had come up with a third! Happily, Camerons laugh of triumph was drowned by the noise of the postil- lions bugle, as we dashed into the court- yard of the inn of Addlesberg. Troops of the Illyrian peasantry, in 1847.] Notes by the Road. 19 tall, steeple-crowned hats, came staring about us; and the maids of the inn, dressed for a fair day, overwhelmed us with a flood of their heathenish dialect. A short, wild-looking fellow, with a tall- er hat than any in the crowd, could in- terpret for us in a little of Italian. He was to be our guide for the Caves. The great hall of the inn had a deal table stretching down the middle, and from this hall opened a corridor, out of which were our sleeping quarters for the night. The sun had gone down when we had finished the dinner of broth and chops, and our steeple-crowned guide came in with his Servitore, Signori. Now the Counts idea of the Cave was formed by casual recollections of the dim catacombs under the capital, of the Pont Neuf, when the Seine was so low as to leave dry ground between the pier and the shore on the side of the Cit& ;Cam- eron was thinking of Rob Roys Cave under the lea of Ben Lomond, which, though a very fair sort of cave in its way, might, if the stories of some Edin- bro bloods were true, be stowed away Inversnaid, Loch Lomond and allin the crevices of the great Illyrian cavern we were going to see. My own notions had a dreamy vague- ness; and though I was fuller of faith than the French Count, yet my hopes were not strong enough to stave off the fatigue that came upon us, even before we had reached the grated door, in the side of the hill, that opens to the first corridor. We had wound, by the star-light, along the edge of a beautiful valley: Boldothat was the guides nameand myself in front, and Monsieur le Count with Cameron behind, when we came to where the path on a sudden ended in the face of a high mountain ;so high that in the twilight neither Cameron, nor myself, nor Le Count, who was taller than both, could see the top. Boldo pulled a key out of his pocket, and opened the door of the mountain. This sounds very much like a fairy story; and it would sound still more so, if I were to describe, in the extravagant way of the story writers, how the guide, Boldo, lit his torch just within the door, and with its red light shining over his wild brigand face, and flaring and smok- ing in great waves of light over the rocky roof, led us along the corridor. It was a low and dismal den, and even the splash of a foot into one of the little pools of water that lay along the bottom, would make us start back, and look into the bright light of Boldos torch for courage. By and by, the den grew higher, and white stalactites hung from it, and as the smoke laid its black billows to the roof, their tips hung down below it, like the white heads of crowding genii. Gradually the corridor grew so high, that the top was out of sight, and so broad, that we could not see the sides. Presently over the shoulders of the guide I saw a dim, hazy light, as if from a great many lamps beyond us, and soon after, Boldo turned round with his finger on his lip, and we heard plainly a great roaras if of a river falling. Then we walked on faster, and breath- ing quick, as the light grew stronger and the noise louder. We had not walked far, when we found ourselves upon a narrow ledge, half up the sides of a mag- nificent cavern: fairy tales could not de- pict so gorgeous a one, for the habitation of fairy princes. Above our heads, sixty feet and more, great, glittering stalactites hung down like the teeth of an A~nean hell: below us, by as many feet, upon the bottom of the cavern, a stream broad and black was rushing, and in the dis- tance fell into some lower gulf, with a noise that went bellowing out its echoes among the ghostly stalactites of the dome. Across the water a narrow bridge had been formed, perhaps eighty feet in length, and two old men in cloaks, whom we now and then caught sight of grop- ing on the opposite cliffs, had lighted ta- pers along its whole reach; and these were flickering on the dark waters below, and reflected upon the brilliant pendants of the vault, so as to give the effect of a thousand. There we stoodtrembling on the edge of the cliffthe red light of Boldos torch flaring over our little group; Le Count had for some little time banished his habitual sneer, and his eyes wander- ed wondering up and down, with the words at intervals escaping him Ce~t maort~fique rraiment magn~/ique ! dameron stood still, scowling, and his eye flashing. Non e una merariglia, ~ignore 7 said Boldo. Davrero, davvero, and my eye wan- dered dreamily, now over the earnest faces of the Illyrian, the Frenchman, the Scotchmannow over the black bridge below, mouldering with moisture, on 20 Notes lnj the Road. [Jan., which the tapers glistened, throwing the shadows of the frame-work darkly down upon the waters. The two old men were moving about like shadows; their tapers shed gleams of. light upon the op- posite side of the cavern: Boldos torch glared redly on the side that was nearest us; the lamps upon the bridge sent up a reflected ray, that wavered dazzlingly on the fretting of the roof :but to the right and to the left, dark subterranean night shut up the view; and to the right and to the left, the waters roaredso loudly, that twice Boldo had spoken to us before we heard him, and followed him down the shelving side of the cliff, and over the tottering bridge we had seen from above. The old men gathered up the lights, and we entered the other side a little corridor, and walked a mile or more un- der the mountain ;the sides and the Troof all the way brilliant as sculptured marble. Here and there, the corridor spread out into a hall, from whose top the stalactites hung down and touched the floor, and grouped together in gigan- tic columns. Sometimes, the rich white stone streamed down from the roof in ruffles, brilliantly transparent ;some- times, as if its ffintiness had wavered to some stalking hurricane, it spread out branches and leaves, and clove to the crevices of the cavern, like a tree grow- ing in a ruin. Sometimes the white stone in columnar masses, had piled up five or six feet from the floor, and stood solemnly before us in the flare of the torch, like sheeted sentinels. Some- times, among the fantastic shapes would be birds, and cats, and chandeliers hang- ing from the roof; and once we all stop- ped short, when Boldo cried, Leone ! and before us lay crouching a great white Lion! Farther ontwo miles in the moun- tainone of the old men in the cloaks appeared in a pulpit above us, gesticu- lating as earnestly as the Carmelite friar who lifts up his voice in the Coliseum on a Friday. Presently he appeared again, this time behind the transparent bars of a prison-house, with his tattered hat thrust through the crevices, imploring caritd; and I will do him the justice to say, that he played the beggar in the prison with as much naiveM as he had played the friar in the pulpit. We had not gone ten steps further, when Boldo turned about and waited un- til Cameron and Le Count had come fairly up; then, without saying a word, but with a flourish of the torch that pre- pared us for a surprise, wheeled suddenly about, turned a little to the right, then leftstepped back to one side, lowered his torch, and so ushered us into the splendid Salon du Bal. The old men had hurried before us, and already the tapers were blazing in every partand the smoke that rose from them, was floating in a light transparent haze over th~ surface of the vault. The fragments of the fallen stalactites had been broken into a glittering sand, over which the peasantry come once a year, in May, to dance. Masses of the white rock formed seats along the sides of the brilliant hall. Now for the last mile, we had been ascending in the mountain, and the air of the ball-room was warm and soft, whereas before it had been cold and damp; so we sat down upon the flinty and the glittering seats, where, once a year, the youngest, the most charming of the Illyrian girls do sit. The two old men had sat down together in a distant corner of the hall. Boldo laid down his torch, and put it out among the glittering fragments of the sta- lactites at.his feet; and then it was that he commenced the recital of a strange, wild story of Hungarian love and madness, which took so strong a hold upon my feel- ings, that I set down my remembrance of it that night, in the chamber of my inn. I know very well, that it may not ap- pear the same sort of tale to one sitting by a glowing grate full of coals, in a rocking and be-cushioned chair, that it did to me, in the depths of the Illyrian cavern, sitting upon the broken stalactite columnsto say nothing of a brain gen- tly warmed by a good glass of Tokay at the inn. Still does it show, like all those strange legends, that stretch their deep, but pleasing shadows over the way of a mans travel, strong traits of the wild Hungarian charactermad in loving quick in vengeanceheadstrong in re- solve, and daring in execution. In short, after thinking, if possibly I should not lose more than I should gain by giving it to the world, I have determined to let the tale come in, as a little episode of travel. 1847.] Note8 by the Road. 21 BOLDOS STORY. Once a year, said he, the pea- santry come to the cavern to be merry; for days before, you may see them coming, from the mountains away to- ward Salzburg, where they sing the Ty- rolese ditties, and wear the jaunty hats of the Tyrol, and from the great plains, through which the mighty arms of the Northern Riverthe Danubewander; and from the East, where they wear the turban, and talk the language of the Turk; and from the South, as far as the hills, on which you may hear the mur- mur of the waters, as they kiss the Dal- matian shorefrom each quarter they comevine-dressers and shepherds, young men and virginsto dance out in the cavern the Carnival of May. A whole night they dance: for they go into the mountain before the sunlight has left the land; and before they come out ,the next day has broke over the earth. But the light and the joy make day all the time they are in the cavern. Tapers are blazing everywhere; and the great stalactite you see in the middle, is so hung about with torches, that it seems a mighty column of fire, swaying and waving under the weight of the moun- tain. Ab, Signori, could you see them the Illyrian maidens with their pretty head-dresses, and their little andes, go glancing over the glistening floorSig- noriSignoriyou would never go home ! Cest biencest tres bien / said Le Count. Boldo xvent on. A great many years ago, and there was a beautiful maiden, the daughter of a Dalmatian mother, who came on the festal day to the cavern ;and her name was Copita. She had three brothers, and her father was an Illyrian shepherd. She had the liquid eye, and the soft, sweet voice of the southern shores whence came her mother; but she had the nut-brown hair and the sunny cheek of the pasture lands, on which lived her father. Their cottage was on a shelf of those blue mountains, which may be seen rising along the southern and west- ern sky from the inn door at Laibach. The cottage had a thatched roof, and orchard trees and green slopes around it. Just such an one as may be seen now-a- days, by the traveler toward the northern bounds of the Illyrian kingdom. The smoke curls gracefully out of their deep- throated chimneys; the green moss speckles the thatch; the low sides, made of the mountain fir, are browned with storms. Copitaloved flowers; andflowers grew by the door of her fathers home. Copita loved music; and there were young shepherds, who lingered in the gray of twilight about the cottagenor went away till her song was ended. The brothers loved Copita, as brothers should love a sister. For her, they gath- ered fresh mountain flowers, and at eve- ning, the youngest braided them in gar- lands for her head, while she sang the songs of old days. And when they went up to the Cavern in Maywhich all through Illyria is time of summerthey twisted green boughs together, and so, upon their shoulders, they bore the beau- tiful Copita over the roughest of the mountain ways. Duringthenightsofwinterforinthis region there is winter through the time of four moonsshe spun and she sang. But not one of all the young shepherds, or the vine-dressers in the valleys, who came to listen to her song, or to watch her small white hand, as it plied the distaffnot one had learned to make her sigh. Twice had she been with her brothersthe fair-haired Adolphe, the dark piercing eyed Dalmetto, the stout Rinulph, with brown curling locksto the Cavern, in spring time. And often she would dream of the column of fire in the middle, and the sparkling roof, and the gloomy corridors, and the roar of the waters, and wake up, shaking with fear. For she was delicate and timid as a fawn, and these were memories that frightened her. Strange it was that so good a virgin should ever wake up aifrighted. Strange it was, that so beautiful a maiden should not be wooed and won! NowCopitahad a cousin, of wild Hun- garian blood. Their eyes had met, but their souls had not. For Otho was pas- sionate and hot-blooded, and often stern: he loved the boar hunts of the forests of Juliennes. But he had seen Copita, and he loved her more than all beside. Once, when wandering in early winter with his boar spear, he had come to her cottage; and once, he had seen her at the dance of the Cavern. Otho was not loved of his kinsfolks in his homefor he was 22 Notes by the Road. [Jan., cruel. None struck the boar spear so deeply; and if he met a young fawn up- on the hills, lost and crying piteously, he would plunge the rough spear in its throat, and bear it home struggling on his shoulder, and throw it upon the earth floor of his cottage, and say, Ho, my sisters, here is a supper for you! and the fawn not yet dead! It is no wonder Otho was not loved at home; it is no wonder he was not loved of Copita. And whom Copita loved not, Adolphe did not love, Rinuiph did not love, Dalmetto did not love. Now in those old days, where there was not love between men there was hate. So there was hate between the three brothers and the Hungarian cousin of the wild locks and the dark eye. What should itbe,butthose wild locks and that dark eye of her Hungarian cou- sin, that made Copita ever wake in a fright, when she dreamed of the great 11- lyrian Cavern? Adolphe was ever by her side to defend her, but Adolphe was young and innocent of all the wiles of manhood; the eye of Dalmetto was quick and watchful, but the eye of Otho had watched the flightof thevultures, and seen them bear away kids even from the flock over which the father of Copita was shep- herd; Rinulph was strong, but Otho had struggled with the wild boar, and con- quered itand was the brown-haired brother of Copita stronger than the wild boar? Was it strange, then, that Copita, the daughter of a Dalmatian mother, should sometimes tremble when she thought of of the passionate eyes of the cruel and determined Otho, bending fixedly on her, from out the shadows of the Cavernfor Otho loved the shadow better than the light. But dreams,though they be unpleasant, make not dim the happy life-time of an Illyrian peasant girl. The shuttleit rattled merrily; the songit rose cheeri- ly; and the father, and the mother, and the brothers, were light hearted. Copita dreamed less of the last years fete, and she dreamed more of the fete of the one that was coming. She dreamed less of eyes scowling with hate, and love; and she dreamed more of eyes that were full of admiration. Ah, Signori, it is pleasantlife-time in the mountains! in the mountains of Illyria! The green fir trees cover them, summer and winter; the deer, wild as we, wander under them, and crop their low branches, when the snow covers the hills; and when the spring comes, the grass is green in a day !*~then what frolicking of boys and maidens !what smiles upon old faces ! Boldo drew his coat sleeve over his eyes. For one mo- mentone little momenthis heart was in his mountain home. Monsieur le Count, who was old and unmarried, drew a long breath. Boldo thrust the end of his torch deep- er in the shining sand arid went on. May was coming; Copita sang at eve- ning gayer-hearted; Copita danced with the fair-haired Adolphe on the green sward before the door of the cottage. The father played upon his shepherds pipe; the mother looked joyously on, and thank- ed Heaven, in her heart, for having given her such a daughter as Copita, to make glad their mountain home. She shed tears though, and the father almost as many, when their children set off for the festive meeting in the Cavern. Down the mountains they went singing, and the mother strained her eyes after them, till she could see nothing but a white speckCopitas dressgliding down, and gliding away among the fir trees. There was no singing in the cot- tage that nightnor the nextnor the nextnor the next Scusatemi, Signori! Two days they were coming to the Cavern. At nightthey stayed with friends, in a valley; and in the morning, doubled their company, and came on together. As they walked, sometimes in the val- leys, sometimes over spurs of the hills, there came others to join them, who went on the pleasant pilgrimage. But of all the maidens not one was so beautiful as Copita. None walked with a st~telier or freer step into the village below the mountain. Ah, Signori, could you but see the gathering upon such a day, of the pret- tiest dames of Illyriathe braided hair, dressed with mountain flowers, and sprigs of the fir tree, and the herons plumes and in old days the gathering was gayer than now. In a street of the village, in the ~Nothing can be richer than the verdure of the hills of Southern Austria; and I have seen, on the tops of the mountains, the snow and the grass lying under the same sun, and close together. 1S47.] Notes by the Road. 23 throng, Copita had caught sight of the dark face of her Hungarian lover. Per- haps it was this, perhaps it was the cold, but she trembled as she came with her brother Adolphe into the Cavern. The waters roared, as they roared the year beforeas they are roaring now. The noise made her shudder again. Adolphe, said she, I wish I was in our cottage upon the mountain. What would Rinulph say, what would Dalmetto say, what should I think, who love you better than both, if our beautiful sister were not of the festal dance?, Just then the noise of the music came through the corridor, and Copita felt her proud mountain blood stirred, and went on with courage. The night had half gone, when Co- pita sat down where we sit. The fawn upon the mountains sometimes tires it- self with its gambols; Copita was tired with dancing. Adolphe sat beside her. Copita had danced with Otho, for she had not dared deny him. She had danc- ed with a blue-eyed stranger, who wore the green coat of the Cossacks, and a high herons plume, whose home was by the Danube; for who of all the maidens would choose deny him? When Adolphe spoke of Otho, Copita looked thoughtful and downcast, but turned pale. And when Adolphe spoke of the stranger from the banks of the Great River, with the herons plume in his Cap, Copita looked thoughtful and downcast, but the color ran over her cheek, and temple, and brow, like fire. Ah! for the poor young shepherds, and the vine-dressers, who had watched her white hand as it plied the distaff, and had listened to her voice as she sang in her mountain homeAdolphe knew that their hopes were gone! Now it was a custom of the fete, that in the intervals of the dance, the young men and virgins should pass hand in hand around the column of fire in the mid- dle, in token of good will between them. But if a second time a virgin went round, with her hand wedded to the same hand as before, then was the young man an accepted lover. But if a third time they went round together, it was like giving the plighted word, and young man and virgin were betrothed. It was the custom of old days; and all the company of the cave shouted greeting. Once had Copita gone round the column with cousin Otho, of the dark locks and wild eye. Once had Copita gone round the column with the blue-eyed stranger, of the herons plume. A second time the stern Hungarian had led forth the beautiful Copita. She hesitated, and she looked pale, and she trembled: for there were many eyes upon her. Adolphe looked upon her, and bit his lip. Rinulph looked, and he stamp- ed with his foot upon the sand. Dal- metto looked, and his eye seemed to pierce her through ;but more piercing than all was the sad, earnest look of the stranger of the herons plume. Copita shook: the memory of her dreams came over her, and she dared not deny Otho. Copita sat down trembling; Otho walked away with a triumphant leer. A second time came up the blue-eyed stranger, doubting and fearful. A se- cond time went the beautiful Copita with him round the flame. This time she trembled: for many eyes were upon her. The eyes of Adolphe, ~f Rinulph, of Dal- metto, looked kindly, but half reproving- ly; there were eyes of many a virgin, that seemed to say, Is this our gentle Copita who has two lovers in a day? There was the vengeful eye of Otho, that seemed to say, Two lovers in a day she shall not have. It was no wonder Copita trembled. The music went on, and the dance; but the soul of the mountain girl was with her father and with her mother at home. Why is that tear in your eye? said Adolphe, as he put his arm around her. I wish I was in our cottage upon the mountains, with the distaif in my hand, and singing the old songs, said Copita. The dance ceased. Copita trembled like an aspen leaf. A third time came up Otho. Copita turned pale, but Otho turned away paler. A third time came up the blue-eyed strangerwhose home was on the Dan- ubewho wore in his cap a herons plume. Copita blushed; Copita trembled and rose up and stood beside him. Hand in hand they stood together; hand in hand they went round the column of flame: the gentle Copita and the stranger of the herons plume! A wild song of greetinga Hunga- rian songburst over the roof of the Ca- vern. You would be afraid, Signori, to 24 Notes by the Road. [Jan., listen to the shaking of the Cave, when the ?nountain company lift up their voices to a mountain song! There is not a corner but is filled; there is not a stalac- tite but quivers; there is not a torch flame, but wavers to and fro, as if a strong wind were blowing! Now the face of the Hungarian Otho, as he looked, and as he listened, was as if it had been the face of a devil. Copita went with Adoiphe into the cool corridor, for the night was not yet spent, and other dances were to follow. Adolphe left his sister a little time alone. Othos eyes had followed, and he came up. Will my pretty cousin Copita walk with me in the Cavern, said he. She looked around to meet the eye of Adolphe, or Rinulph, or Dalmetto. The dance had begun, and they two were unnoticed. She said not no: she made no effort to rise, for the strong arm of Otho lifted her. Boldo rose, and lit his torch, and the two old men came behind, as we went out of the Salon du Bal into the cor- ridor. Along this path, said Boldo, they went on. Copitas mind full of shadows of dreams; she dared not go back Othos mind full of dark thoughts; his strong arm bore her on. She had not a voice to shout; beside the music was louder than the shouting of a frighted maiden. Otho pushed on with cruel speed. Copitas faltering step stayed him no more than the weight of a young fawn, which, time and time again, he had borne home upon his shoulder, from the wild clefts of the mountains. The roar of the waters was beginning to sound. Bravely led Boldo on, with his broad torch flaring red. The road was rough. The rush of the waters nearer and nearer, and the damp air chill- ed us. Cameron was for turning back. No, no, said ]3oldo, come and see where Otho led Copita; where he stood with her over the gulf. And now we could hardly hear him talk for the roar; but he beckoned us from where he stood upon a jutting point of the rock, and as we came up, he waved his long torch twice below him. The red glare shone one moment upon smooth water, curling over the edge of a precipice, far below. The light was not srong enough to shed a single ray downtwhere the waters fell. My cousin Copita, said Otho, has given her hand to the proud stranger of the herons plume; will she here, upon the edge of the gulf, take again her promise? The stranger is not proud, said Co- pita, and my word once given, shall never be broken. And as if the word had given life to her mountain spirit, her eye looked back contempt for the exult- ing smile of Otho. Like a deer, she bounded from him; but his strong arm caught her. She called loudly upon each of her brothers; but the dance was far away, and the roar of the waters was terrible. Her thoughts flew one moment home her head was pillowed as in childhood, upon the bosom of her Dalmatian mother. With such memories, who would not have force to struggle? She sprang to the point of the rockit is very slip- pery: again, the strong arm of Otho was extendeff toward heranother step back poor, poor Copita! Look down, Signori ; and Boldo waved his red torch below him. The cottage of the Illyrian shepherd of the Dalmatian mother was desolate upon the mountains! The voice of singing was no more heard in it! Otho heard a faint shriek mingling with the roar of the waters, and even the stern man was sorrowful. He trod back alone the corridors. None know why he made not his way to the mountains. The stones stirred under his feet, and he looked behind to see if any followed. The stalactites glistened under the taper that was fastened in his bonnet, and he started from under them, as if they were falling to crush him. Now in the hall of the dance, there was search for Copita, when Otho came in. There are three ways by which one can pass out of the hall, and after Otho had come in alone, Adolphe stood at one, Rinulph at one, and Dalmetto at one. The Hungarian could look the wild boar in the eyes, when they were red with ragebut his eyes hod no strength in them then, to look back upon the eyes of virgins. He would escape them, by going forth; but when he came to where Rinulph stood, Rinulph said, Where is my sister Copita? and Otho turned back. And when he came to where Dalmetto stood, Dalmetto said, Where is my sister Copita? And Otho was frightened away. And when he came to where Adolphe 1847.] Notes by ike Road. 25 stood, Adolphe said, Tell us, where is our sister Copita? And Otho, that was so strong, grew pale before the blue-eyed Adolphe. When Otho turned back, the young stranger, with the cap of the herons plume, walked up boldly to him, and asked, Where is the beautiful Copita? And Otho trembled more and more. and the faces grew earnest and threaten- ing around him, so he told them all; and he was like a wild boar that is wounded, among fierce dogs. The three brothers left not their places, but the rest spoke low together, and bound the Hungarian hand and foot. Hand and foot they bound him, and took up torches, and bore him toward the deep river of the Cavern. The brothers fol- lowed, but the virgins joined hands and sung a wild funeral chant; such as they sing by a m~ountain grave. Adolphe, and Rinulph, and Dalmetto, stood together in the mouth of the way, that goes over the bridge and out of the mountain. It was well the three brothers were there: for as they bore Otho on, and as they neared the gulf, he struggled, as only a man struggles who sees death looking him in the face. He broke the bands that were around him; he pushed by the fore- mosthe rushed through those who were behindhe leaped a chasmhe clung to a cliffhe ran along its edgebut, be- fore he could pass out, the brothers met him, and he cowered before them. They bound him, and bore him back, and hurled him headlong, and the roar of the waters drowned his cries. One more dancea solemn dance around the column of fire, and the night was ended. At early sunrise, Adolphe, Dalmetto, and Rinulph had set off over the moun tains, with heavy hearts, homeward. They picked no flowers by the way for the gentle Copita! Copita sang no songs to make gay their mountain march! The blue-eyed stranger had torn the plume of the heron from his cap, and with a slow step, and sad, was going by the early light, down the mountains, to his home upon the banks of the mighty Danube. They say that in quiet evenings, in the gulf,and Boldo swayed the red torch below him may be seen a light form, that angels bear up. And when it is black without, and the waters high, may be seen a swart form, struggling far downand again Boldo swung his torchthis time too rapidly, for the wind and the spray put it out. We were on the edge of the precipice. Santa Maria defend us The two old men were groping in the distancetwo specks of light in the darkness. Boldo shouted, but the waters drowned the voice. Thrice we shouted together, and at length the old men came toward us. Af- ter the torch was lit, we followed Boldo over the bridge, and through the corri- dor, out into the starlight. Pour hours we had been in the mountain, and it was past midnight when we were back at thee inn. I am not going to saybecause I can- notwhether the story that Boldo told us was a true story. Cameron said it was a devilish good story. And story or no storythe Cavern is huge and wild. And many a time since, have I waked in the middle of the night, and found myself dreaming of the pretty Copita, or the cap with the herons plume. 26 Adoiphe ThieT8. [Jan., ADOLPUE THIERS.* WE now arrive at a point of our nar- beyond its limits? Alas! like Archilo- rative in which an incident occurs in the chus and Horace, M. Thiers, little used life of M. Thiers which has remained to the tumult of battles, has felt his con- unexplained by him until almost the mo- rage give way; the feebleness of his ment at which we write, and even now physical organization has prevailed the explanation comes in an indirect against the force of his will, and he has manner. departed to seek refuge from the affray M. Thiers, as we have seen, was the in the shades of Moutmorenci, to shelter most active of all the public men con- himself at once from the dangers which nected with the press in exciting the precede victory, and from the proscrip- people to resistance. He wrote the pro- tions which follow defeat. But do not test of the Journalists. From his Bu- charge M. Thiers with want of courage. reaux it was circulated. It might there- His heart failed him, it is true, on that fore have been expected, and it undoubt- emergency, but the same charge may be edly was expected, that this chief instiga- made against many others on the same tor of the movement would have continu- occasion. M. Thiers has since proved, in ed on the spot to give it the benefit of his rushing with ostentation to the barricades direction and superintendence, and to of June, that, when necessary, he has share its dangers. Grant that his physi- enough of military courage. But what cal character would have rendered his would you have? On this particular oc- active aid in the street of little avail, casion he was not provided with a supply his sagacity and intelligence would not of courage: possibly, also, he may reply have been the less valuable, though he that there was no room for the exercise did not issue from his bureaux. Yet as of genius in a street fight; perhaps the soon as the movement assumed a really long study which he had made of our serious aspect; as soon as it became evi- victories, and the admiration he entertain- dent that it was going to be something ed for our armies, rendered it impossible more than a mere emeute of the fau- for him to conceive how a successful bourgsbut before its successful issue struggle against our disciplined soldiers seemed probableM. Thiers disappeared could be made by a mob of printers boys from the scene! This fact is undenied, and shop-clerks, led on by editors of and it remains now only to state the cir- newspapers; that in short, the rabble of cumstances with which it was attended, Paris must necessarily have been crushed the impression it left upon the liberal by the regular forces. M. Thiers mingled party, and the explanation which has been boldly enough in the struggle, so long as lately offered by the friends of M. Thiers. the question was one of legal and peace- Behold at last, says a writer in the ful resistance. He remained firm at his Revue des deux Mondes, the tocsin post in the bureaux of the NATIONAL to has sounded, the people are roused, and the last moment; he did not take his rush to the conflict! Blood already departure until the moment that old Ben- flows! The artillery rolls over the pave- jamin Constant arrived; the moment at ment! M. Thiers has been heard. His which the beat of the drum calling to anathemas have taken effect. The mo- arms, and the sound of the musketry, narchy which has broken its compact is gave him the signal to retire. The first already overturned. A leading voicea day of this sudden revolution, M. Thiers head alone is waited for. But where wrote the celebrated protest of the press, then is M. Thiers? Where has that bold- while in another quarter, M. Guizot ness concealed itself which promised wrote the protest of the Chamber; there victory to its party, and which awaited were assemblies held of every class where with so much impatience the event which deliberations were held on the means best has now anived? What has become of calculated to produce the recall of the the popular orator who traced so proudly ordonnances. M. Thiers advised at these a circle round power, and defied it to pass meetings that all civil proceedings should Concluded from Vol. IV. p. 568.

Adolphe Thiers 26-41

26 Adoiphe ThieT8. [Jan., ADOLPUE THIERS.* WE now arrive at a point of our nar- beyond its limits? Alas! like Archilo- rative in which an incident occurs in the chus and Horace, M. Thiers, little used life of M. Thiers which has remained to the tumult of battles, has felt his con- unexplained by him until almost the mo- rage give way; the feebleness of his ment at which we write, and even now physical organization has prevailed the explanation comes in an indirect against the force of his will, and he has manner. departed to seek refuge from the affray M. Thiers, as we have seen, was the in the shades of Moutmorenci, to shelter most active of all the public men con- himself at once from the dangers which nected with the press in exciting the precede victory, and from the proscrip- people to resistance. He wrote the pro- tions which follow defeat. But do not test of the Journalists. From his Bu- charge M. Thiers with want of courage. reaux it was circulated. It might there- His heart failed him, it is true, on that fore have been expected, and it undoubt- emergency, but the same charge may be edly was expected, that this chief instiga- made against many others on the same tor of the movement would have continu- occasion. M. Thiers has since proved, in ed on the spot to give it the benefit of his rushing with ostentation to the barricades direction and superintendence, and to of June, that, when necessary, he has share its dangers. Grant that his physi- enough of military courage. But what cal character would have rendered his would you have? On this particular oc- active aid in the street of little avail, casion he was not provided with a supply his sagacity and intelligence would not of courage: possibly, also, he may reply have been the less valuable, though he that there was no room for the exercise did not issue from his bureaux. Yet as of genius in a street fight; perhaps the soon as the movement assumed a really long study which he had made of our serious aspect; as soon as it became evi- victories, and the admiration he entertain- dent that it was going to be something ed for our armies, rendered it impossible more than a mere emeute of the fau- for him to conceive how a successful bourgsbut before its successful issue struggle against our disciplined soldiers seemed probableM. Thiers disappeared could be made by a mob of printers boys from the scene! This fact is undenied, and shop-clerks, led on by editors of and it remains now only to state the cir- newspapers; that in short, the rabble of cumstances with which it was attended, Paris must necessarily have been crushed the impression it left upon the liberal by the regular forces. M. Thiers mingled party, and the explanation which has been boldly enough in the struggle, so long as lately offered by the friends of M. Thiers. the question was one of legal and peace- Behold at last, says a writer in the ful resistance. He remained firm at his Revue des deux Mondes, the tocsin post in the bureaux of the NATIONAL to has sounded, the people are roused, and the last moment; he did not take his rush to the conflict! Blood already departure until the moment that old Ben- flows! The artillery rolls over the pave- jamin Constant arrived; the moment at ment! M. Thiers has been heard. His which the beat of the drum calling to anathemas have taken effect. The mo- arms, and the sound of the musketry, narchy which has broken its compact is gave him the signal to retire. The first already overturned. A leading voicea day of this sudden revolution, M. Thiers head alone is waited for. But where wrote the celebrated protest of the press, then is M. Thiers? Where has that bold- while in another quarter, M. Guizot ness concealed itself which promised wrote the protest of the Chamber; there victory to its party, and which awaited were assemblies held of every class where with so much impatience the event which deliberations were held on the means best has now anived? What has become of calculated to produce the recall of the the popular orator who traced so proudly ordonnances. M. Thiers advised at these a circle round power, and defied it to pass meetings that all civil proceedings should Concluded from Vol. IV. p. 568. 1847.] Adoiphe Thiers. 27 be suspended; that lawyers should not plead, judges should not decide, that no- taries, attorneys, and all other public offi- cers should suspend their functions. He wished thus to paralyze the nation and thus to compel the Executive to fall on its knees. It was in this way, he said, that governments were formerly compel- led to recall their brutal decrees. But while M. Thiers was thus underrating the importance of the crisis, and reducing it to the dimensions of squabble be- tween the Court and the Parliament, the movement was swelling into much greater proportions, and instead of a Fronde, as M. Thiers regarded it, it be- came a League, and something more. It was then that M. Thiers retreated from the struggle. It exceeded his stature. M. Thiers returned to Paris when or- der was restored and tranquillity re-estab- lished. Many conjectures have been of- fered respecting his proceedings, extra muros during the three days: we could, if we pleased, give the historiette of this petite voyage. But to what purpose? The material fact, and the only one, is that M. Thiers did return and that we now possess him safe.* Such is the statement of one who was an eye-witness and an ear-witness of the revolution of the three days. Let us now hear the story of another contemporary writer On the 28th July, Paris was in effect declared in a state of siege, the Duke of Ragusa having been virtually invested with military dictatorship. The troops which had been collected around the Tuilleries were put in motion. The ar- tillery was heard rolling through the streets. Civil war raged. What was to be the issue of this war? The savans, the men of letters, the majority of the sol- diers themselves, felt compassion for the people, and for the fate apparently await- ing them. M. Thiers ran to a place of refuge which he found in the house of Madame De Courchamp, in the Valley of Montmorenci. In the office of the Globe, M. Coudin spoke of the white flag as the only ensign which the nation could recog- nize, and reproached Monsieur Leroux with compromising his friends by the revolutionary tone which he was giving to the journal. Among the most conspicuous of the journalists of that day was an individual of tall and lank figure, abrupt but noble impulses and serious aspect. At the fiyst report of the fire-arms he shook his head mournfully. Then he went unarmed, except with a walking cane, through the town, indifferent to the balls which were whizzing around him, and braving death without seeking for victory. This indi- vidual, destined afterwards to play a sad but noble part, was then little known; his name was ARMAND CARREL. Have you even a single batallion? said he in- cessantly to his more sanguine friends. On the morning of the 28th, meeting M. Etienne Arago (the brother of the astron- omer), who evinced much ardor, he said to him, Stop ! and pointing to one of the populace who was greasing his shoes with the oil of a broken lamp, he said, Behold the people such is Paris ever the same levity,indifference, shown in the appropriation of the results of great and important actions to the most trifling uses. When M. Thiers had reappeared in Paris on the 30th, and presented himself at Lafittes, before receiving the commis- sion to Neuilly (which we shall presently advert to), he expressed some annoyance that important measures had been decided in reference to the Duke of Orleans, without consulting him. Beranger, (the poet), who had a prominent share in the transactions of these days, replied with an ironical smile, Is it not then quite natural that the absent should be for- gotten.* In short, there can be no doubt that an impression has prevailed universally, that after having contributed to the utmost of his power, as well by his writings as personally to rouse the emeute, M. Thiers withdrew from its consequences at the critical moment, and did not reappear un- til its success ceased to be doubtful. Recently, however, a narrative of the incident has appeared, which must be re- garded as having the authority of M. Thiers himself, and as we have given the view of the matter popularly received, we must in justice give the other side. M. Alexandre Laya, in his Etudes His- toriques de A. Thiers, says that on Fri- day, 28th July, orders had been issued by the government to arrest several deputies, and that warrants (mandats darr~ts) had been issued against the principal persons who had signed the protest of the press; $ Revue des deux Mondes. Vol. IV. 674, f Histoire de5 dix Ans. Vol. 1. Ch. IV.-VI 28 Adolpke Thiers. [Jan., that M. Royer Collard gave notice to M. Thiers, that he, as well as MM. Mignet and Armand Carrel, would be arrested if they did not immediately conceal them- selves. This notice is said to have heen received by them on the evening of the 28th. An immediate decision on their parts became necessary. They had taken a conspicuous part which rendered them especially obnoxious. The government still retained its full power. The skir- mishes between the troops and the peo- ple on the 28th seemed, according to M. Laya, only to demonstrate the feebleness of the popular resistance. MM. Thiers, Mignet, and Carrel, were well known, and if they did not retire they might easi- ly be arrested, and if so, what would be- come of their influence? These circum- stances, we are told, were well consider- ed at the Bureaux, by the Journalists, and it was the general opinion that the individuals thus menaced ought to with- draw. Accordingly, at nine oclock in the evening, in the twilight, the three threatened victims departed from the of- fice of the National and took refuge in the neighborhood of St. Denis. Before quitting Paris, M. Thiers, it is stated, ordered a confidential servantwho remained there to come to him the next morning with intelligence of the pro- gress of the movement, having resolved to return to his post if it should appear that the popular resistance had any pro- mise of success. It was on the next day, Thursday, the 29th, that the combat might be considered as seriously begun. The people had fairly committed them- selves and the national cause offered some hopes of success. MM. Thiers and Mignet received the expected intel- ligence and heard in their retreat the echoes of the cannonade. They deter- mined to return to Paris. They attempt- ed to enter the city by the Barriere St. Denis, but found the streets impassable. They accordingly passed along the outer Boulevards to the Barriere des Batig- nolles, and descended through the Fau- bourg Chauss6e dAntin to the office of the Journal, where they did not arrive until late in the afternoon. Thus it appears, according to this ac- count of the matter, which must be con- sidered as proceeding indirectly from the chief party concerned in it, that the entire duration of the absence of M. Thiers was from the night of Wednes- day, the 20th, until the afternoon of Thursday the 29th, and that even during the day of Thursday he was in the streeta of Paris endeavoring to make his way through the tumult to the office of his Journal, and further, that M. Armand Carrel (since dead) and M. Mignet, still living, quit Paris with him. As the office of the National had been the centre of the legal resistance in the first instance, it had now become the head-quarters of the armed insurrec- tion. There MM. Thiers and Mignet met MM. Cavignac, Paulin, Bastide and Thomas, and with them one, who, during the three days, directed the movements of the people with great courage and ability, M. Joubert. Immediately after their arrival, MM. Thiers and Mignet went to the Hotel Lafitte. The triumph of the people was now certain. MM. Semonville and DArgout had been sent to Charles X. with a view to some arrangement. The Assembly of Deputies had resolved that they would listen to propositions from the King; but M. Thiers opposed this in the strongest manner. The question, he said, was no longer a change of Ministry but a change of Dynasty. It was too late for any compromise. The difficulties of the conflict were over. Those of the victory were now to begin. Two centres of discussiontwo political head quarters had been establish- ed. At the Hotel de Ville, General La- fayette, who had taken the command of the National Guard, was surrounded by those who loudly demanded a republic. A few voices out of the many shouted, Napoleon II. At the Hotel Lafitte all minds in- clined favorably to the establishment of a constitutional monarchy, with represen- tative institutions, after the pattern of those of the United kingdom. With M. Lafitte himself this had long been an ob- ject of favorite contemplation, and had in fact long been anticipated. The name of the Duke of Orleans was pronounced as that of a person well fitted by his character and his historical antecedents to be elevated to the throne. The part played by the Duke was as yet one of strict neutrality. Although in the neigh- borhood of St. Cloud he did not show himself in the Royal presence, gave no countenance to those proceedings whch led to the revolution, and offered no con- dolence for its result. Some of the- monarchical party ex- pressed doubts whether the Duke woukl Adoiphe 77& iers. 29 lend himself to the proposed measure. lIe had as yet given no sign. M. Thiers advised M. Lafitte to assume the respon- sibility of committing the Duke to the Revolution without waiting for his sanc- tion. M. Lafitte hesitated. M. Thiers represented the danger of delay; that the partisans of a republic were gaining the ground which the friends of mon- archical government were surrendering; that besides there was nothing to be feared; he could throw the responsibility of the measure, if necessary, on the un- controlable ardor of those by whom he was surrounded. In short, M. Thiers proposed to put in immediate circulation a proclamation in favor of the Duke of Orleans which he accordingly wrote on the spot. This Document was as follows: Charles X. cannot return to Paris. He has caused the blood of the people to be shed. A republic would expose us to fright- ful divisions ; it would embroil us with Europe. The Duke of Orleans is a Prince, de- voted to the cause of the Revolution. The Duke of Orleans has never fought against us. The Duke of Orleans was at Je- mappes. The Duke of Orleans has fought under the tricolor-flag. The Duke of Orleans will again do so. We desire no other. The Duke of Orleans has not offered himself. He awaits the expression of our will. Let us proclaim our wish and he will accept the charter as we have al- ways understood and desired it. It is from the French people that he will hold the crown. This proclamation appeared immedi- ately in the National, the Courier Fran- cais and the Commerce. Thus, says a contemporary writer, while the united energies of a people were necessary to overthrow one Dynas- ty, a sheet of paper issued by a deputy and two Journalists was sufficient to es- tablish another. The object, however, was not attained without some expres- sions of dissent. When M. Thiers and his colleagues walked from the office of the National to the Exchange, with this printed panegyric on the Duke in their hands, they were filled with apprehension at the surprise they excited among the public whom they encountered in the streets and still more by the storm of hiss- es with which they were saluted at the Bourse. These circumstances occurred on the afternoon and in the evening of Thurs- day, the 29th. On Friday morning no- thing had yet been heard of the Duke of Orleans. Whether or not he would lend himself to the course which had been taken, or intervene at all in the move- ment, no one was able to say. Delay was full of peril. A decisive step must be taken. MM. Thiers and Sebastiani were at the Hotel Lafitte. The latter proposed to MM. Thiers to go to Nenilly, see the Duke, and ascertain personally his senti- ments. But M. Thiers was not known to the Duke. It was therefore arranged that he should take a letter with him signed by MM. Sebastiani and Lafitte introducing him, and requesting the Duke to place full confidence in the proposi- tions with which he was commissioned. M. Scheffer, who was personally known to the Orleans family, agreed to accom- pany him. The Prince of Moskwa (son-in-law of M. Lafitte) lent his saddle-horses for the expedition, and they departed for the Cha- teau of the Duke of Orleans at Neuilly, where he was supposed to be then stay- ing. The direct route by the Champs Ely- sees being obstructed, they rode by the streets St. Lazare and Clichyto the quar- ter of the Batignolles. Here, beingnus- pected to be royalists attempting to escape and emigrate, they were stopped and brought before the Mayor of the Ar- rondissement, who, on ascertaining their object, set them at liberty. They contin- ued their route, aiid after some further difficulty arrived in fine at the Chateau; the door of which was at first shut in their faces! Such was the first rceep- tion of the bearers of a crown! When their persons were recognized by M. Oudart, one of the attendants of the family, they were admitted and intro- duced to the study of the Duke, where, after a few minutes, the Duchess present- ed herself. While M. Thiers unfolded to her the tenor of the message of which they were the bearers, her look became serious and severe, and when, in fine, she learned that it was proposed to place on the brow of her husband the crown torn from the head of an old man who had ever proved towards her family a faithful relative and generous friend, she addressed M. Scheffer with much ~ppa- rent emotion. Sir, said she~ Jaow could you consent to be the Iieazer ~ef 1847.1 30 Adoiphe Thiers. such a message? That this gentleman~ looking towards M. Thiers, should have dared to undertake it I can well conceive, for he does not know us. But you who have been received into our acquaintance, and ought to be able to appreciate our feelingsoh! we cannot forgive you for this indignity. M. Thiers, however, pressed on the Duchess the necessity that he should personally confer with the Duke. The Duchess thereupon withdrew for a few minutes, and returned accompanied not by the Duke, but by Madame Adelaide, the Dukes sister, and all his children except the Duke de Chartres, who had gone to join his regiment at Joigny. They assured M. Thiers that the Duke of Orleans was absent at Raincy. Then ensued between M. Thiers, the Duchess and her family, one of those scenes the recollection of which can never be effaced from the memories of those who witnessed it, and which possess true historical in- terest. M. Thiers laid before them all the dan- gers and difficulties of the crisis which had arrived. The neutrality observed by the Duke; his absence from the Roy- al presence during the existing struggle, and his previous disapproval of the mea- sures of the court, would, in any event, identify him, more or less, with the mea- sures of the revolution; that if the ex- isting dynasty must fallof which there seemed now no reason to doubtand the Duke declined to come forward and ac- cept the measures now proposed, a repub- lic would certainly be tried. Who could foresee the consequences of such a re- turn to the situation of 1793. Evidently the most elevated persons would be the first victims. The very name of Bourbon would awaken hatred and excite ven- geance, and the Duke of Orleans would not be protected by a popularity which he would compromise by retiring at the mo- ment when his presence would have seconded the efforts of the people to de- fend their liberty menaced and their rights violated. He would be ranked among the enemies of popular institu- tions. The republic would re-erect its scaffolds, and excesse~ would ensue. In fine, the name of the Duke of Orleans had been already proclaimed, and had been received in such a manner as to en- courage him to present himself to the people. The resolution of the Duchess appear- ed to waver before these reasons. But it was on Madame Adelaide, the Dukes sister, that they seemed to make the deep- est impression. She replied, and with great clearness showed that she appreci- ated the peculiar position in which her brother and his family were placed. She was duly impressed, also, with the noble part which her brother would have to perform, in the difficulty of the country; to snatch the people from the consequences of revolutionary excesses by prevent- ing the establishment of a republic. She declared that she would answer for her brother; that she would guarantee his consent; and she authorized M. Thiers to announce this officially to those who sent him. M. Thiers, however, thought he could not return without some more conclusive solution of the difficulty, and demanded of Madame Adelaide whether in her brothers absence she would con- sent to present herself personally t? the Deputies? On which the lady, rising with much dignity, said, I will go, cer- tainly. They will not hesitate to put faith in the word of a lady, and it is natu- ral for a sister to risk her life for her brother !* It was agreed that General Sebastiani should return for Madame Adelaide, and MM. Thiers and Scheffer departed for the Chamber of Deputies, where it had been arranged that they should make their re- port. They had scarcely entered the Fau- bourg du Roule, on their return to Paris, than they found themselves obstructed by the populace, who were in a state of great excitement, some shouting Vire Napo- leon II. ! others Vixe ict Republique ! The name of the Duke of Orleans was as yet in no ones mouth. No one among the people seemed even to think of the possibility of one so nearly connected with the fallen family being admissible to the vacant throne. It was not without considerable diffi- culty that M. Thiers succeeded in cross- ing the Place de la Concorde and the Bridge. Having arrived at the Chamber of Provisional Assembly, he found depu- ties, combatants of the streets, and jour- nalists, mingled together, and the greatest Jirai, mon cher M. Thiers, dit elle certainment Jirai; on ne se de defera pas dune femme, et il est naturel quLine s~ur risque sa vie pour son frere !Etudes Husto- riques, 17. 115. 1847.] Adoiphe Thiers. 31 confusion prevailing. Some were for es- tablishing a Provisional Government. No party knew what course to take. M. Thiers reported the result of his mission. lint it was little attended to; every one offering his own project. Messages were sent to and fro between the Palais Bourbon and the Chamber of Peers. M. Dupin insisted that some definitive gov- ernment must be decided on. Messengers from the Peers arrived with the informa- tion that all possible combinations had been suggested there, but that the mem- bers did not arrive at any definitive settle- ment of the difficulty. In the midst of this confusion, M. Remusat, the Editor of the Globe, who had been the first to sign the protest of the journalists, suggested means of extrication from their embar- rassment. He advised M. Thiers to pro- pose that the Duke of Orleans should be nominated Lieutenant-General of the kingdom. At the instance of M. Thiers, M. Sebastiani made that proposition, as a step preparatory to a final and conclu- sive settlement of the government. The title of KING, suddenly proposed, might be dangerous. That of Lieutenant-Gen- eral, beingonly temporaryand provisional, woi,ild not startle the timid, nor provoke the opposition of the anti-monarchists, and would give time for the more delibe- rate re-constitution of the state. This proposition was promptly and unanimous- ly adopted. The Duke of Orleans was accordingly invited to Paris to be invested with the new authority. A deputation of twelve members of the Chamber, with M. Gallot as President, was accordingly commis- sioned to bear this invitation to Neuilly. On the morning of the 31st M. Thiers had his first interview with the Duke of Orleans, who had arrived at the Palais Royale at midnight. In the course of that day, a tumultuous meeting of the now ardent partisans of a republic was held at the office of the National; at which M. Thiers endeavored to dissuade his friends from further recourse to force, and after much discussion, proposed to conduct a deputation from them to the Duke of Orleans. Six were accordingly selected for this interview, and they ac- companied M. Thiers to the Palais Roy- ale that evening, where they were receiv- ed by the Duke in the gallery of the Battle Scenes painted by horace Vernet. On this occasion a conversation is said to have taken place between them and the Duke, on the general principles of the contemplated government. The Duke frankly and openly declared himself the partisan of legal resistance to the en- croachments of despotic power; but firm- ly opposed, on the other hand, to revolu- tionary excesses. He recalled the events of the past, and reverted to the excesses of the Republic and the Convention. M. Cavignac, interrupting him, request- ed him not to forget that his (Cavignacs) father was a member of the Convention. So was mine, promptly replied the Duke; and I do not, therefore, the less respect his memory.~~ M. Thiers, during this interview, ob- served perfect silence. The young re- publicans were not slow to perceive that their cause was lost. Well, said Thiers, after a pause, as they walked up the garden of the Palais Royale, what think you of the Duke ? Cest un hon homme, said M. Bas- tide. Cest un 221, said M. Thomas. Il nest pas franc, said M. Cavignac. This was the last interview of these great actors in the Drama of July 1830. M. Thiers rose, as we shall see, to the highest political honorsto office and to affluence. The others lived to descend into the dungeons of a prisontheir for- mer friend being in the plenitude of his ministerial power. When the new Royalty was establish- ed, a ministry was formed including all shades of opinion, and composed of ma- terials so heterogeneous that their long coherence was a political impossibility. In this Cabinet, the Baron Louis, an early patron of M. Thiers, was Mihister of Fi- nance. M. Thiers was appointed a Coun- cilor of State, an office having some analogy to that of a Privy Councilor in England, and which, like the latter, has no very important functions; but it was at the same time arranged, that without accepting the formal title of the office, M. Thiers should perform the duties of Chief Secretary to the Ministry of Fi- nance. This office afforded him oppor- tunities of information and experience in administrative details under the immedi- ate instruction of the most eminent finan- cier of the day, which, with his usual ability, he turned to advantage. In the Cabinet Council dissensions were soon manifested. It was split into two parties, one of which advocated re- sistance to the party of the movement, and the other tended to progression. The former course was advocated by MM. Casimir Perier, Mol6, Baron Louis, M. 32 Adoiphe Thiers. Guizot, and M. de Brogue, and the latter by MM. Dupont de lEure, Lafitte and La Fayette. These differences ultimate- ly produced the dissolution of the admin- istration. The movement party having prevailed, M. Lafitte became the head of the suc- ceeding Cabinet, and as such, was ap- pointed President of the Council of Min- isters. Immediately after the interview of the Baron Louis with the King at the Palais Royale,at which the former resign- ed his office of Minister of Finance, M. Thiers was sent for. On entering tbe presence of Louis Phillippe, the first words the King addressed to him were, M. Thiers, are you ambitious ? An explanation followed, and, much to the surprise of M. Thiers, the King offered him the Ministry of Finance, which the Baron Louis had just resigned. M. ThiersdidnotaffecttocOlicealhis am- bitious hopes for the future, but he begged his Majesty to reserve so high an honor and so eminent a proof of his confidence for a future day, when more advanced age and more mature experience would enable him to accept such an office with greater confidence in his own fitness for it than he was then able to feel. The King, however, pressed the matter, and observ- ed that the Baron Louis had himself ex- pressly advised his appointment. In fine, M. Lafitte was charged with the office, with M. Thiers as Secretarythe latter assuming all the active and laborious dii- ties. The Cabinet, thus formed, and known as the Ministry of November 2, con- sisted of MM. Lafitte, Dupont de lEure, Sebastiani, Soult, Montalivet, de Rigny, and Merilhou. While M. Thiers labored in the Hotel of Finance, under the practiced superin- tendence of the Baron Louis, he had little opportunity of assuming any conspicuous position in public affairs. The Baron, an e~perienced financier, left him only a subordinate part to play. Accustomed to regard him as an intelligent young man that he formerly patronized and ad- mitted to a place at his table, he still ad- dressed him by the paternal phrase of Mon enfant, and used to laugh hearti- ly at the opinions which the youthful ardor of Thiers would prompt him to ut- ter, and which only betrayed to his supe- rior the extent of his financial hiexperi- ence. All this, however, was completely changed when M. Lafitte took the port- felioof the ~hiai~ces. iBeingalso Pr~ident of the Council, and having private busi- ness to engage a portion of his attention, the whole burthen of the Finance De- partment fell upon M. Thiers, who instead of being, as under the Baron Louis, an inconsiderable subordinate and a pupil, found himself, under the title of Secreta- ry, the real head of the Department, at a crisis when the country was reduced to the brink of bankruptcy at home, and menaced with invasion from abroad! lie was fully sensible of the importance of his position, and the personal advan- tages to be gained from it. Accordingly before he assumed the position he saw open to him, he announced to M. Lafitte his intention to resign with Baron Louis. Lafitte, sensible how necessary his aid would be in an office in which he had just been drilled for four months by so experienced a superior, and conscious of his own complete ignorance of the tech- nical official details, found himself obli- ged to go to the King and announce the impossibility of his retaining office unless M. Thiers could be induced to render him that assistance which he alone could at that moment give. The consequence of this proceeding was, that an express com- mand was sent by the King to M. Thiers, that the interests of the state demanded that he should retain the place of under- Secretary of State in the Department of Finance. The first impulse of a young man such as Thiers was.entertalmng a profound consciousness of his own capacity and talents, and having all respect for official traditions, unshaken by the study of a succession of revolutions, and the person- al observation of and participation in at least onewas to overturn all received ideas, and to establish a new system a dangerous step, more especially in the finances. A more unfortunate mo- ment for experiments of the kind could scarcely have been selected. The coun- try was shaken to its centre. Emeutes were everywhere menacing. The South hesitated to submit to the laws of 1830. La Vend~e had already again taken up arms. The city of Lyons showed symptoms of revolt. Still M. Thiers was not deterred from his innovations on the sensitive ground of taxation. What Napoleon in the plenitude of his power, or the Bourbons in the security of profound national tranquillity, dared not attempt, M. Thiers did not hesitate to propose amid the storms which were gathering around the throne of the Bar- 1847.] Adoiphe Thi~rs. 33 racades. The system of taxation, which had not been attempted to be disturbed in all the vicissitudes of administration since 1791, when it was settled by the consti- tuent assembly, was now to be over- thrown, not for the relief of the tax-payer, but to enable the government to plunge its hands deeper into the p~kets of the people, and augment the gross amount of the finances. The more the taxes are varied, said M. Thiers, the more pro-. perties they will reach; and this principle must be applied in every variety of form. Taxation is an art which is in a state of progressive improvement, and which it may be hoped will soon attain the high- est degree of perfection. By the new law a million of individuals will be liable to contribution, who were exempt under the old system! ! Such was the charac- ter of the first measures projected by the prime instigator of the Revolution of July! At this time M. Thiers made his debut in the Chambers, not as a Deputy, but as a Royal Commissioner, authorized to de- fend the projects of law on the subject of finance which were submitted to the Chambers. It was a curious incident in the life of this parliamentary orator, that in these his first attempts, he ex- cited so much disgust, that M. Lafitte was compelled by the majority to engage that the bills which were to be subse- quently introduced should be supported by himself, and that he would not continue to inflict upon the house his most intoler- able under-secretary ! Yet this same man has since proved to be incontestably the most powerful orator in the French Chambers. What, it will naturally be asked, was the cause of the invincible re- pi6ignance which he excited? We are told by those who were witnesses of these proceedings, that the tone of carelessness (insouciance) and levity which he assumed gave offence; that his long speeches, in which facts were loosely and inexactly cited, and figures given with flippancy were so erroneous that they were often exposed on the spot, were too like lectures, or articles read from a journal. In a word, the I-louse regarded M. Thiers as an adventurer who came to retail his gatherings of history and literature from the Tribune. Such were the first results of the at- tempts as a parliamentary speaker of one who was destined at a later period to fill ~ large space in European politics and diplomacy. His friends were beginning to look at his prospects with despondency. VOL. v.ao. I. 3 Meanwhile difficultiescontinuedto miii- tiplyaroundthe Cabinet from other causes. Its intrinsic feebleness was suchthatitwas evident it could not long subsist. It was discovered by M. Lafitte that the king him- self was interferingwithout his knowledge in the business of the state; and justly considering such interference inconsistent with the principle of ministerial respon- sibility, he resolved to resign. Having foreseen the approaching dis- solution of the Cabinet, M. Thiers antici- pated it, and resigned his office before the retirement of his friend and patron. Swal- lows, says a contemporary writer, who noticed this proceeding, are endowed with an instinctive presentiment of the falling of buildings in which they have fixed themselves. Another construction, less unfavorable to M. Thiers, has, however, been put upon this proceeding, even by those who cer- tainly are not too favorably disposed to- wards him. The following are the cir- cumstances which have been mentioned in connection with it: During this short administration of M. Lafitte, M. Thiers, as we have seen; held virtually the Ministry of Finances. At this time reports became prevalent in pub- lic, and were, without much affectation of reserve, repeated by the Press, which greatly embittered the life of this rising statesman, and have entailed upon his re- putation injurious effects, which will pro- bably never be effaced. These attacks assumed a form so definite, that nothing but a public and explicit refutation of the charges brought against him could by pos- sibility deprive them of their most mis- chievous effects upon his character; and unfortunately that public refutation was never offered. In short, M. Thiers was charged with sharing in the improper gains derived from douceurs received for appointments to offices in the Department of Finances. That the nominees did pay these douceurs has not, we believe, been disputed. But it was not proved that M. Thiers was the receiver of them. A writer who appears to have been well informed, states that one of the old- est and most attached friends of M. Thiers, with tears in his eyes, and his front suf- fused with a blush of honest shame, in- formed him of this deplorable circum- stance. He affirms that the traffic re- ferred to was carried on in the name of M. Thiers, by one whom it was impossi- ble that he could denounce; that M. Thiers was deeply afflicted at it; and 34 Adolplze TMers. [Jan., that he instantly, on being made ac- quainted with it, renouncing all his ambi- tious hopes, and looking down with grief from the elevation to which he had raised himself to his original position, he deter- mined to descend to his former station, and withdraw into the ranks of private life; that he went to M. Lafitte, confided to him the bitter misfortune of his situation, with a tone of simplicity and frankness of rare occurrence. He had resolved, he said, to quit the ministry, to return to those labors which he had pursued before the Revolution of July, and feeling the impossibility of offering the only refuta- tion of the injurious reports which would be conclusive, he hoped at least to silence them by his retreat. On this occasion M. Lafitte displayed towards him all the affection and sympathy of a parent, con- soled him, and enabled him to stop the furtherprogress of the discreditable traffic. The king, informed of the circumstances, joined M. Lafitte in re-assuring M. Thiers, and in effacing from his mind the painful impressions which remained upon it.* It gives us much pleasure to quote this authority in refutation of injurious rumors, which even still continue to be credited. It unfortunately happens with public men, in every country, that charges against them once getting into circulation can never be entirely neutralized, no matter how conclusive their refutation may be. One hundred persons will hear the slan- der for one that will listen to its refuta- tion; and, unhappily, the public takes greater pleasure in believing ill of those who have risen to eminence than in cre- diting their vindication. In fine, M. Lafitte retired from the Ministry on the 13th March, 1831, the under-secretary having previously resign- ed. Casimir Perier succeeded to the Presidency of the Council and Ministry of the Interior. M. Thiers made a voy- age to the South to canvass the electors of Aix, whose suffrages he hoped for at the next election; and in this canvass he was supported by the new Ministry, not- withstanding his connection with the out- going Cabinet, and his previous resigna- tion of office. In fact it was known to the new Ministry that he would support their measures, and oppose his late col- leagues. Under the Ministry of Lafitte, Thiers was the life and soul of the movement party; he spoke only of crossing the Rhine, and of raising again in Italy the old banner of Napoleons victories. On his return from the South, however, his tone was totally changed. His Thoughts, he must confess, were turned on peace. The country; he declared, could only be served by peace; and as Lafittes zeal in favor of the movement was guided by that of his under-secretary, so Casimir Perier found himself equally surpassed by the same individual in his advocacy for the pacification of Europe, and the consolida- tion of the foreign alliances. M. Thiers, however, or his friends speaking for him, defend him against this charge of inconsistency. They say that he differed from M. Lafitte before the dis- solution of his cabinet; that in his pri- vate conversations with him he adjured him not to allow himself to be allured by the mere attraction of a hollow popularity, but to adopt the conservative policy, and protect the new monarchical institutions from the factions which menaced them. He declared that although he would re- sign with M. Lafitte, he would neverthe- less defend the principles of order and of resistance to the enemies of the new gov- ernment. Such conversations, it is said, took place in the presence of several of the members of Lafittes family, who are living witnesses of them. All this may be perfectly true, and yet the inconsistency charged against M. Thiers remains unexplained. M. Thiers knew of the approaching changes in the government long before they occurred; and nothing could be more natural than to smooth the way to his future course by such conferences. It rendered the tran- sition less abrupt. Be this as it may, M. Thiers and his former friend and patron were thencefor- ward mutually estranged; and it was evident that the former suffered from an uneasy consciousness of the awkward- ness of his new position towards the late president of the council. After his elec- tion, and his opening speech in favor of the new cabinet and against his friends, M. Thiers could not conceal his efforts to avoid personal communication with his former friend. An amusing exam- ple of his want of tact in permitting this feeling to be visible in the Chamber is related. There are two doors leading into the Chamber. The habitual seat of * Loeve Viemar: Revue des deux Mondes. 1847.] Adoiphe Thiers. 35 M. Lafitte was at the extremity of the lowest bench on the left, next to one of these doors, and in the position most re- mote from the other. Before the dissolu- tion of the Lafitte cabinet Thiers invari- ably entered the Chamber by the door on the left, next the seat of Lafitte, stopping as he passed to chat with his friend. After its dissolution he just as invariably entered at the right hand door, to avoid the necessity of such a conversation! M. Thiers, in fact, became now the avowed supporter and orator of the new cabinet; and, if we can credit the state- ments of M. Loeve Viemar, received two thousand francs a month from the secret service fund for his trouble. His influ- ence on the Chamber as well as his repu- tation for good faith were, however, se- riously impaired by the reckless precipi- tancy with which he hazarded assertions of facts and figures. While the Ministry accepted his advocacy they were not wil- ling to avow the connection. M. Perier openly ridiculed the gasconade rashness and levity of his speeches; and did not dissemble his vexation when M. Thiers identified himself with the ministry by using the first person in speaking of Cabinet measures. On one occasion, when M. Manguin, in referring to M. Thiers, spoke of the latter as the orator of the Cabinet, M. Perier said in a con- temptuous tone, and loud enough to be heard by M. Thiers, That thing an organ of the government !Oh! M. Manguin wishes to ridicule us As an instance of the carelessness, to use the most gentle term, which M. Thiers evinced at this time, with regard to the truth of the statements he made from the Tribune, we may mention one occasion on which General Lamarque had spoken of the military forces of France and of other powers, with which it was well known that he was intimately acquainted, from having kept up an ac- tive and extensive correspondence with the eastern states of Europe. M. Thiers, armed as usual with a load of documents, came to the Chamber, spreading before him an enormous chart, which covered the entire bench of the doctrinaires, on which he had planted himself. He then mounted the Tribune, casting a sarcastic glance at the opposition benches; he be- gan to count on his fingers what the forces really were, as he maintained, which France had to fear. So many regiments were on the Rhine; few in number, feeble, with small complements of men, and totally destitute of artillery! these were not worth mentioning; he enu- merated the entire Prussian army, from Aix-la-Chapelle to Magdebourg; not a di- vision or company that he did not careful- ly count, and the whole body amounted to a very contemptible force! And was this force to be held up as a bughear! The opposition listening to all this, and re- membering the many instances in which the speakers inaccuracies had been al- ready detected and exposed, gave vent to expressions of incredulity. No one, how- ever, was prepared at the moment to re- fute the statement, and the orator obtain- ed a temporary triumph. The next day, however, when a search was made, it was found that the army of M. Thiers and the army of the King of Prussia had nothing in common. But this discovery took place the next day, and the next day is an epoch which M. Thiers holds in small respect or consideration.* Until the debate on the question of ~n hereditary peerage, M. Thiers must be regarded as floundering through a suc- cession of failures as a parliamentary speaker. It is true that there were, now and then, momentary flashes of success, but he had established no influence; on the contrary, he had excited much ridi- cule on the part of the opposition, and even those in whose faVor he spoke, ac- cepted his advocacy with a certain shy- ness and reserve, and as though they were ashamed of the connection. The debate on the peerage was the crisis of his parliamentary life. He evi- dently intended that it should be so. From what we have formerly stated, and from some of the quotations we have given from his writings as a journalist, it will be perceived that the beau-ideal of government which he had set before his mind was the British. The Sovereign, the higher aristocracy, and the represen- tatives of the people; these elements were essential to the system of his admi- ration. He would have France copy this. The sense of the country was, however, opposed to the principle of here- ditary legislators. The question of the constitution of the peerage had been postponed, on the set- tlement of the government after the revo- lution of July. It was left for future and more mature and dispassionate dis ~ Revue des deux Mondes IV. p. 686. [Jan., 36 Adoiphe Thiers. cussion than it could receive in the con- fusion which necessarily followed the fall of one dynasty and the establtshment of another. The time had now arrived when it became necessary finally to set this important question at rest. Is the legislative power conferred on a peer to descend to his heir, or is it to determine with the death of him on whom the Royal will has conferred it. The head of the Cabinet, Casimir Perier, declared his conviction that the principle of inheritance should be adopted, but like the Duke of Wellington and Peel, in the case of Catholic emancipa- tion, he at the same time admitted that, in the actual state of public opinion and feeling in the country, its adoption was impracticable. With an opinion, there- fore, against the measure, he neverthe- less proposed to the Chamber, that the peerage should only be enjoyed for life; that the principle of an hereditary peer- age should be renounced in France. M. Thiers, on this occasion, delivered a speech in many respects remarkable. Admitting that he was a supporter of the Cabinet, secretly paid, and therefore bound, in general, to advocate its mea- sure, on this particular question, it is ap- parent, from what we have just stated, that he was free. It was, in fact, an open question. He knew the predomi- nant feeling in the country and in the Chamber, and was well aware that the hereditary principle could not be main- tained. Yet he tookthe unpopular side, and not satisfied with speaking in favor of the hereditary system, voted in favor of it; thus going further even than the Presi.. dent of the Council himself did. It was evident, as we have already said, that M. Thiers intended to produce a great impression on this occasion. For eight days previously, his speech was talked of in the Chamber and announced in the newspapers. It was known, in short, that a performance of no common order was designed, and expectation was on tiptoe. M. Thiers, contrary to his custom, arrived early in the house. It was observed that more than usual care had been bestowed upon his external man, and that, es cially, he wore gloves! It was evident that he was going to pro- duce a profound impression. At last he ascended the Tribune with a slow and deliberate step, but with the air of negli- gence of one who is about to discharge some common t& ~k, which gives him neither trouble nor solicitude. lie stood for some time silent, endeavoring, by his manner, to impose a silence on the Cham- ber which it had not usually accorded to him. At length, by the interposition of some members friendly to him, the House was hushed. From the first it was evi- dent that, in all respects, the orator had: undergone a revolution. He used no manuscriptreferred to no notes. His delivery, gesticulation, and even his per- sonal attitude in the tribune, were all dif- ferent from what they had ever before been. It was apparent that he was going to try a new style of eloquence; that he had laid aside his prelections and histo- ry, and his pompous rhetoric, and had adopted that familiar and celloquial style which prevails generally in the British House of Commons. In a word, instead of the clasrical eloquence in which, hitherto, he had had such indifferent suc- cess, he was trying the conversational style. He endeavored to make the House enter into the spirit of this style of speaking, by telling it that this was an assembly of sensible men, and not an ancient forum. Throwing off the toga in which, hitherto, he had robed himself when he ascended the tribune, he was there in his individual person, as he had met and chatted separately with the de- puties of his acquaintance. The speech. he delivered on this occasion had cer- tainly been deliberately composed and written. Its complete structure and plan, and its very lapguage, were evidence of this. The reasoning formed a chain, the artificial connection and regularity of which were very imperfectly concealed by the tone of conversation in which the speaker endeavored to dress them up, or by the episodes and historical anecdotes with which he so elaborately adorned them. His speech on this occasion oc- cupied four hours. His voice, naturally feeble, failed in the middle of it, and he was obliged to make a considerable ~anse to recover strength before he could proceed. This speech was listened to by the Chamber, and at the period of his parlia- mentary life at which he delivered it, that was a great point gained, font could scarcely be said of any of his former ora- tions. M. Thiers had yet much to learn of parliamentary tactics. He was still unable to carry his audience with him. He produced an effect, it is true, and that, probably, was all he expected to do. But he did nothing for the question under de- bate. The success he attained was his Adoiphe 7kier8. own, and not that of his cause. His speech amused all, and was admired by many, hut it persuaded none. While M. %1~uizot, who then far surpassed him as a master of parliamentary eloquence, would fasten upon some one great principle, some prominent idea, and by presenting it to his audience in various points of view, render the dullest minds familiar wit~h it, until he would make them believe the principle was their own. This is essentially the art of a professor, and hence the success of M. Guizot in its application. M. Thiers, on the contrary, would crowd into his speech such a diver- sity of topics, so intermingled with anec- dotes and historieues, that his discourse resembled a piece of mosaic, very dazzling to the eye, but having little to engage the more reflective powers of the under- standing. While the one orator would reproduce the same leading idea in many speeches, the other would crowd a plu- rality of leading ideas into a single speech. In leaving the house, after hearing M. Guizot, the deputies went home, thinkino of the subject. In leav- ing the house, after hearing M. Thiers, they went home thinking of the man. This speech on the peerage was char- acterized both by the good and bad quali- ties which were so apparent in the elo- quence of MI. Thiers. But the former were more than usually conspicuous, and the latter were less than usually offen- sive. lIe as usually exhausted the subject. He took up in succession all the common and popular objections on the score of the unreasonableness of hereditary legislators, and replied to them first on general grounds, and then by argument derived from the experience recorded in history. He maintained that the existence of he- reditary rank was a principle inherent in human society; that wherever in popular commotions its extinction was attempted, it was sure to reappear; he gave as an example, the creation of hereditary titles and rank under the Empire. But as a rxiatter of fact, he disputed the irrationali- ty of the principle of an hereditary branch of the legislature. What is the objection to it? That intellectual en- dowments are not transmitted from father to son, and that therefore a House of Lords may become in time a House of Fools! But he contended that in the first place, although intelligence does not always descend, traditions do, and that we find men descen~led from high families, prompted by traditions to a course of conduct, to which inferior ranks could only be conducted by reason. Besides, although it be true that talent does not descend from father to son, and therefore in an hereditary monarchy,the crown may descend on a head but feebly endowed by nature; this cannot happen with a body consisting of several hundred individuals. Among the families of three hundred peers, a fair average of intelligence will always be found. If, said the speaker, wise fathers sometimes beget foolish sons, it happens also that foolish fathers sometimes beget wise ones. As exam- ples of the descent of mental endowments in the same family, he produced the exam- ples of the Medici and Lord Chatham. Here he indulged his propensity for his- torical anecdote, and amused the House with the (well known in England) story o! the younger Pitt being put upon the table at six years old to recite, for the amusement of the company, passages from the celebrated speeches of English orators. While he was relating this, it was impossible for those who listened to him and saw him, to avoid comparing M. Thiers himself with the boy he described. His diminutive stature which left his head alone visible over the marble of the Tribune, his childish, shrill voice, his provincial accent, and the eternal sing- song with which he delivered his periods, the volubility with which he poured forth those passages of history with which his memory had been stored, all irresistibly suggested to the minds of those who saw and heard him, that he was himself the great sublime he drew, that he was in fact himself the surprising boy, mounted before the company to astonish them with the prodigies of a precocious me- moryl Yet this speech with all its defects es- tablished the reputation of M. Thiers in the Chamber, and enabled the clearsight- ed to recognize in him one, who must, before the lapse of much time, rise to em- inence in the affairs of the state. This speech was delivered in October, 1831, M. Thiers being then in his thirty-fourth year. On the division of the Chamber on the question whether the hereditary principle should be recognized in the peerage, there were in favor of it only forty votes, against it three hundred and eighty-six; a striking manifestation of the state of public opinion in France upon the ques- tion, especially when it is considered that 1847.1 37 38 Adoiphe Thiers. [Jan., the head of the cabinet was from strong conviction in favor of the hereditary principle. M. Thiers had now, so to speak, gain- ed the ear of the Chamber, and with his usual restless activity he took full advan- tage of his success. He spoke frequent ly. The House served him as an arena for his oratorical gymnastics, and he was listened to with increased willingness and obvious interest. His physical de- fects and provincial disfavors were either forgotten or mentioned only as augment- ing the wonders accomplished by his talent, in having surmounted disadvan- tages under which ordinary men would have succumbed. Finance was a favor- ite subject of discussion with him, and he had some credit for practical knowledge of its administrative details from his long and intimate connection with the Baron Louis. 0 Among the intellectual feats ascribed to him, we shall mention one which he performed about the period at which we are now arrived. In January, 1832, the Chamber had been engaged in the discus- sion of a project of law upon the inter- marriage of persons with their wives~ sisters or husbands brothers. M. Thiers at this time was named as the reporter of the committee on the Budget, and the state of the country was at the moment such that the work must necessarily have been work of great length and com- plexity. He expected that the debate we have just referred to would have protract- ed to a considerable length, and postpon- ed accordingly the commencement of his report. It happened unexpectedly, how- ever, that the debate on the marriage question was suddenly brought to a close on the 22d of January, the day on which it commenced and the report on the Budget was the order of the day for the 23d. To write a report so voluminous in a single night was a mechanical impossi- bility, to say nothing of the mental part of the process. What was to be done? Such reports are always prepared in writing and read to the Chamber for this obvious reason, that although necessarily the composition of an individual member of the committee, they are in fact suppos- ed to proceed, and do really possess the sanction of all the members of the com- mittee, as well as of that individual mem- ber who is more especially charged with their composition. M. Thiers, however, pressed by the exigency of the occasion, and not sorry to find an occasion for play- ing off a parliamentary tour deforce, went down to the Chamber on the morning of the 23d. He presented himself in the Tri- bune, and apologizing to the Chamber for being compelled to depart from the usage of the House, by the unexpectedly early period at which the report was called for, in giving a viva voce and unwritten re- port, he proceeded at once to the subject aided only by a few numerical memoran- das, and delivered a speech of four hours duration, in which he discussed and ex- hausted every topic bearing on the mat- ter of the budget. He plunged with the more ready and voluble fluency, into financial, political, and administrative de- tails, unfolded with a logical perspicuity, an arithmetical order and precision, and intermingled with bursts of picturesque oratory with which he astonished and confounded the Chamber. History, poli- tics, public economy, questions of nation- al security and progress, were passed in succession before his wondering hearers, like scenes exhibited in a magic lantern. As usual no topic was omitted, every question was marshaled in its proper place and order, and the House neverthe- less exhibited no signs of fatigue; they hung upon his words. On several occa- sions in pauses of his speech, after he had continued speaking for nearly three hours, they invited him to rest, not from fatigue on their part, but from apprehension of his physical powers being exhausted. Repose-vous en pore, exclaimed several deputies. He proceeded, however, to the close without suspension. The budget was at this moment a question of the highest importance. The country was placed between the danger of foreign war and the disasters of civil broils. M. Thiers delivered from the Tribune a complete tableau of the finan- cial condition of the State past and pre- sent, minglin~ the details with frequent bursts of spontaneous eloquence. Be~- hind his demands for supplies he exhibit- ed the question of life or death of the country. Throughout this session M. Thiers was the extra-ofli ial champion of the minis- try, and altogether the most prominent debater in the Chamber. The cholera broke out in Paris in the Spring, and on the close of the Chamber, M. Thiers, ex- hausted by his exertions, and willing pro- bably to retire from the epidemic, started on a tour to Italy. On the 16th of May, Casimir Perier sank under the cholera, and the premiership became vacant, Is 1847.] Adoiphe Thier8. 39 which event it was apparent that a recon- stitution of the cabinet must ensue. The part which M. Thiers had played in the session which had just closed, was too important to allow him to be overlooked in the composition of the new cabinet, and he was invited to return to Paris. Towards the close of the session popu- ular disturbances took place in various quarters, and repressive laws against tu- multuous assemblies were passed, which, like the other measures of the cabinet, were advocated by M. Thiers. The re- moval of the president of the council and the temporary reaction of the government, consequent upon the state of ministerial transition which followed, augmented by the difficulty of forming a new cabinet, emboldened the malcontents. Among those who fell under the effects of the pre- valent epidemic at that moment was General Lamarque. His funeral was the occasion of the assemblage of the re- publican party in vast numbers, and an accidental circumstance, like a spark fall- ing in a magazine of gunpowder, caused on this occasion a general emeute of the city and the Faubourgs. A measure was proposed by M. Thiers in this emergency, which, in after years, cast great and general obloquy on his name, and for which, until very late- ly, no defence or explanation on his part has been offered by himself or his friends. On his proposition the city of Paris was declared in a state of siege, a measure of an extreme kind, which could only be ex- cused by public disturbances of a much more serious and extensive kind than those which then prevailed. The explanation or apology, if it can be called so, is to the effect that on the breaking out of the insurrection, on the occasion of the funeral of General La- marque, Paris was a prey to the greatest anxiety; that it seemed to all well-dis- posed persons that the revolution of July was about to be recommenced. The Faubourgs had risen, armed as one man; the red flag had been unfurled; blood had been shed. At the moment the insurrec- tion was at its height, as it is now said,* M. Thiers advised that, in order to oppose the excesses which were breaking out with adequate energy, the capital should be declared in a state of siege. But without any assigned motive, it was not until after the emeute had been suppress- ed and tranquillity had been re-established that this measure was put in force. To the astonishment of all, exceptional tri- bunals were at the same time established for the trial of the accused. Sentence of death having been pronounced against one individual by these illegal courts, it was set aside upon an appeal to the court of cassation. The ordonnance declariag the capital in a state of siege was soon after withdrawn, and the record of that measure, say the defenders of M. Thiers, only remains as an evidence of the exist- ence of a groundless chimera and a bar- ren menace on the part of power. Meanwhile, the Chambers being about to assemble, the reconstruction of the cab- inet was indispensable and pressing, and many and intricate were the intrigues by which that process was obstructed. The personal interference of the sovereign in the administration which has since been so loudly complained of, was beginning already to manifest itself. The elder Dupin was invited to join the new minis- try, but he objected to assume joint re- sponsibility with MM. Sebastian and Montaliv~t, who had been understood to be too obsequious instruments of the royal will. The chief difficulty, however, was to find a head for the new cabinet to replace M. Perier. Several eminent men there were, but not one to whom all the others would voluntarily submit to be sub- ordinate. In the absence of statesmanlike eminence, it was therefore proposed to place Marshal Soult in the presidents chair, whose great military reputation, like that of the Duke of Wellington, none could dispute. It was finally settled, accordingly, that under the Marshals presidency a ministry should be formed, excluding MM. Sebastian and Montaliv~t, the personal friends of the King, and consisting of MM. Bouthe, De Rigny, Hermann, the Duc de Broglie and Comte DArgout, with M. Thiers as minister of the Interior, and M. Guizot minister of Public Instruc on. This cabinet is known in the history of the day, as the ministry of the 11th of October, and it constituted the ministerial debut of M. Thiers. The advent of M. Thiers to power was signalized by two remarkable events, in the accomplishment of one at least of which, the exclusive merit or demerit must be accorded to him. These were the capture of the Duchess of Bern, and the almost simultaneous capture of the *Laya, Vol.1. p. 198. 40 Ado/p he Thiers. [Jan., citadel of Antwerp. By the latter, the Belgian question was set at rest, and by the former all the surviving hopes of the elder Bourbons were laid in the grave. As the measures which terminated in this latter measure were conducted personally and exclusively by M. Thiers, we shall here relate them at length. The Duchess of Bern was known to be concealed in La Vend~e or its immedi- ate vicinity. The minister of the Interior resolved that she should become his cap- tive. With this view he ordered all the agpnts of the government and the police of that country, from whom he could hope to gain information on the subject, suc- cessively to Paris. The city of Nantes was supposed to he the place of conceal- ment of the princess. M. Maurice Duval, known for his official ability, was named prefect of the place, with a body of the most able and active subordinates. To the various officials who had been com- manded to attend at the ministry of the Interior, M. Thiers held a decided and unequivocal tone. The princess must be seized, but without resorting to the least violence. No fire-arms must be borne by those in quest of her. It is impossible to foresee the efThcts of fire-armsother weapons are under the more complete control of those who use them. There must be no killing; no wounding. If you are fired on, do not return the fire. The Duchess must be taken unhurt. In a word, we desire to take the Duc DEn- ghien, hut not to shoot him. Such were the instructions. Great difficulties, however, still present- ed themselve~g. The information which had been collected was of a vague and uncircumstantial nature. Fortune, how- ever, to which M. Thiers, like Napoleon, has been so frequently indebted, did not desert him in this emergency. An anon- ymous letter arrived one day at the min- istry of the Interior, addressed to him, in which he was told that a person who was unknown to him had disclosures to make of the highest importance, relating to her Royal Highness the Duchess of Bern, and that if he would go unattended about nine oclock that evening to a certain road called the All~e des V uves,branching from the main avenue of the Champs Elys6es, he would there obtain means of procuring all the information he desired relating to the Duchess. Such an epistle, it may be easily con- ceived, was well calculated to pique the curiosity of so hvely a mind as that of M. Thiers. Yet the place, and the hour, and the conditions annexed to the invitation, were not without danger. At that time, the part of the Champs Elys6es which was named, had the reputation of being the haunt of robbers and assassins. It would have been easy to have sent agents of the police there, or to have gone under their protection. But in that case would the informant venture to appear? There was reason for hesitation, but so much was at stake that the minister decided to take his chance of the danger. He accordingly ordered his carriage to draw up in the main avenue of the Champs Elysbes, at the corner of the All~e des Veuves, where he descended from it, and walked alone to the appoint- ed spot. Arrived there an individual emerged from among the trees, and ad- dressing him by his name, informed him that he was the writer of the anonymous letter. This was the man DEIJTZ, who afterwards gained an infamous celebrity. The traitor assumed an humble and re- spectful tone. It was the humility of baseness. It soon appeared that Deutz was the depository of important secrets. He had been employed as the confidential hearer of dispatches between the exiled princes and those absolute powers which favored their pretensions, and had even been the recipient of favors from the sovereign pontiff. He was now about to sell the secrets of his benefactors to their enemies. M. Thiers could not esteem the wretch, but he nevertheless made him his tool. Conducted to the Hotel of the Minis- try of the Interior, and dazzled by the splendor which be saw around him, his cupidity was excited by the hope of gain and he at once placed himself at the dis- position of the Ministry. M. Thiers or- dered the commissary of police, Joly, to conduct him to Nantes and there take such steps as might seem best suited to the attainment of the desired object. When they arrived at Nantes they put up at the lIotel de France, Deutz assum- ing the name of M. Gonzague. He im- mediately transmitted information of his arrival to the Duchess, informing her at the same time that he was the bearer of important dispatches. M. Duguigny was commissioned by her in reply to se Deutz, from whom he received a private signal agreed on previously. Divided cards of address were exchanged be- tween M. Duguigny ano the traitor, an- ne doubt remained of his identity. In 1S47.] The Loom of Life. 41 fine, Deutz was introduced by Duguigny into a house where he had a long con- ference with the Duchess. He soon af- ter succeeded in obtaining an appoint- ment with her for a second interview which was fixed for the 6th of November. On this day he had agreed to betray his mistress, but at the last hour his re- solution gave way and he desired to re- tract. Instead of the Duchess he offer- ed to deliver up Marshal Bourmont with whom, also, he had had an interview. IBut M. Thiers declined this, saying that he had no wish to take a prisoner whom he would be compelled to shoot. Deutz, still recoiling with remorse from the odi. ous part he had undertaken, now offered to deliver up the correspondence of the Duchess. It was too late, however. He had advanced too far to retreat and was compelled to fulfill his engagement. He at length proceeded at the hour ap- pointed and was admitted to her Royal Highness, with whom he had a long in- terview, during which there were no bounds to the expression of his gratitude, and he withdrew, leaving his mistress more deeply than ever impressed with his fidelity and devotion. This was the more singular, because, as it afterwards appear- ed, he tried, during the interview, by cer- tain equivocal expressions to awaken her suspicions. He had scarcely withdrawn, before the house, surrounded by soldiers, was forci- bly entered by the agents of the police, pistol in hand. The Duchess, Mademoi- selle de Kersabiec and MM. Maynard and Guibourg had only time to take re fuge in a place of concealment previous- ly prepared by forming a cell in the wall behind the fireplace, which was covered by the iron plate which formed the back of the chimney. The house was to all appearance de- serted; but the information given by Deutz was so clear and precise that no doubt existed of the presence of the Duchess within its walls. A number of masons and some soldiers of the sapeurs et pompiers were, therefore, summoned, and the work of demolition was com- menced. A fire was lighted in the chim- ney behind which was the cell in which the four persons were squeezed together, the space being barely enough to allow them to stand side by side. A small hole was provided in the chimney plate, at which each in turn applying the mouth, took air. But the plate soon became in- tensely heated by the fire lighted by the soldiers in the chimney and the cell was converted into a furnace Mademoiselle Kersabiec, unable long- er to suffer the torture to which she was exposed, was at length forced by her ag- ony to utter a cry. M. Guibourg there- upon struck with his foot the plate, which is stated to have become nearly red- hot, andthe party surrendered themselves. The mother of the legitimate heir to the throne of the greatest kingdom of the European Continent, pale, and almost expiring advanced to General Dermon- court, saying, General, I deliver myself to your loyalty. Madame, replied the General, you are under the safeguard of French Honor. THE LOOM OF LIFE. I STOOD within a busy room Where many carpet-weavers were, And each did ply a lofty loom, With ceaseless and with noisy stir; Warp and roller, spool and reel It was a curious scene to view, While slow revolved each groaning wheel, And fast the clashing shuttles flew. Unnumbered threads of brilliant dyes, From beam to beam all closely draxvn Seemed dipt in hues of sunset skies, Or steeped in tints of rosy dawn.

H. W. Parker Parker, H. W. The Loom of Life 41-43

1S47.] The Loom of Life. 41 fine, Deutz was introduced by Duguigny into a house where he had a long con- ference with the Duchess. He soon af- ter succeeded in obtaining an appoint- ment with her for a second interview which was fixed for the 6th of November. On this day he had agreed to betray his mistress, but at the last hour his re- solution gave way and he desired to re- tract. Instead of the Duchess he offer- ed to deliver up Marshal Bourmont with whom, also, he had had an interview. IBut M. Thiers declined this, saying that he had no wish to take a prisoner whom he would be compelled to shoot. Deutz, still recoiling with remorse from the odi. ous part he had undertaken, now offered to deliver up the correspondence of the Duchess. It was too late, however. He had advanced too far to retreat and was compelled to fulfill his engagement. He at length proceeded at the hour ap- pointed and was admitted to her Royal Highness, with whom he had a long in- terview, during which there were no bounds to the expression of his gratitude, and he withdrew, leaving his mistress more deeply than ever impressed with his fidelity and devotion. This was the more singular, because, as it afterwards appear- ed, he tried, during the interview, by cer- tain equivocal expressions to awaken her suspicions. He had scarcely withdrawn, before the house, surrounded by soldiers, was forci- bly entered by the agents of the police, pistol in hand. The Duchess, Mademoi- selle de Kersabiec and MM. Maynard and Guibourg had only time to take re fuge in a place of concealment previous- ly prepared by forming a cell in the wall behind the fireplace, which was covered by the iron plate which formed the back of the chimney. The house was to all appearance de- serted; but the information given by Deutz was so clear and precise that no doubt existed of the presence of the Duchess within its walls. A number of masons and some soldiers of the sapeurs et pompiers were, therefore, summoned, and the work of demolition was com- menced. A fire was lighted in the chim- ney behind which was the cell in which the four persons were squeezed together, the space being barely enough to allow them to stand side by side. A small hole was provided in the chimney plate, at which each in turn applying the mouth, took air. But the plate soon became in- tensely heated by the fire lighted by the soldiers in the chimney and the cell was converted into a furnace Mademoiselle Kersabiec, unable long- er to suffer the torture to which she was exposed, was at length forced by her ag- ony to utter a cry. M. Guibourg there- upon struck with his foot the plate, which is stated to have become nearly red- hot, andthe party surrendered themselves. The mother of the legitimate heir to the throne of the greatest kingdom of the European Continent, pale, and almost expiring advanced to General Dermon- court, saying, General, I deliver myself to your loyalty. Madame, replied the General, you are under the safeguard of French Honor. THE LOOM OF LIFE. I STOOD within a busy room Where many carpet-weavers were, And each did ply a lofty loom, With ceaseless and with noisy stir; Warp and roller, spool and reel It was a curious scene to view, While slow revolved each groaning wheel, And fast the clashing shuttles flew. Unnumbered threads of brilliant dyes, From beam to beam all closely draxvn Seemed dipt in hues of sunset skies, Or steeped in tints of rosy dawn. 42 The Loom of Life. [Jan., As if a thousand rainbows bright Had been unraveled, ray by ray, And each prismatic beam of light Was woven in the fabric gay. Quickquick the clicking shuttles flew, And slowly up the web was rolled, Sprinkled with purple, red and blue, And strewed with stars of yellow gold; The quaint device came forth so true, It seemed a work of magic power, As if by force of Nature grew Each imaged leaf and figured flower! I sat within a silentroom, While evening shadows deepened round, And thought that life was like a loom With many-colored tissues wound, Our souls the warp, and thought a thread That since our being first began, Backward and forth has ever sped, Shot by the busy weaverman! And all events of changing years That lend their colors to our life, Though oft their memory disappears Amid our pleasures and our strife, Are added fibres to the warp, And here and there, they will be seen, Dyed deep in joy or sorrows sharp For we are all that we haie been! The loves and hopes of youthful hours, Though buried in oblivion deep, Like hidden threads in woven flowers Upon the web will start from sleep. And one loved face we sometimes find Pictured there with memories rife, A part of that mysterious mind Which forms the endless warp of life Still hour by hour the tissue grows, (MEMORY is its well-known name,) Stained bright with joys or dark with woes, The pattern never twice the same! For its confused and mingled gleams Display so little care or plan, In heedless sport the shuttle seems Thrown by the maddened weaverman! And if our conscious waking thought Weaves out so few and worthless ends, Much more a tangled woof is wrought When dream with dream commingling blends; The toilsome scenes of weary days, By night lived oer, at morn we see Made monstrous in a thousand ways, Like fabled shapes on tapestry! 1847.] Fe8lus. 43 And as the weavers varied braid When turned, a double wonder shows, The lights all changed to sombre shade, While what was dim then warmly glows; So that which now we think most bright, And all we deem most dark and cold, Will seem inverted to our sight, When we our inner life behold! For thought ends not,it reaches on Through every change of world or clime, While of itself will ever run The restless flying shuttletime! And when the deep-imprinted soul Shall burst the chambers of the tomb, Eternity will forth unroll The work of this our wondrous loom! H. W. PARKER. FE STUS.* Tins book has come to us, wafted on a perfect gale of puffery. Did anybody ever see the like? People of the most opposite sentiments and charactersCal- vinists, Unitarians, Evangelicals, Ration- alists and Universalists, nurslings and veterans of literature, sage poets and shrewd criticsall agree in representing it as a very eclecticism of poetry, philo- sophy, morality and orthodoxy. Com- pared to the rest of contemporary litera- ture, Festus, it seems, is an oasis in a desertan Eden in a wilderness; and all that is profound, and original, and tender, and touching, and chaste, and voluptuous, is concentrated into it. A most remark- able and magnificent production ! says one. Contains poetry enough to set up fifty poets ! says another. The very inmost life of a sincere and energetic mind ! says a third. A glory and per- fection in the midst of comparative sterili- ty ! says a fourth. Truly, the grand universal reconciliation has at last come about; as the Devil and the Deity have met together under our authors banner, of course there is to be no further strife between their followers. Had Shak- speare, during his lifetime, received half the praise which has already fallen to this man, he would probably have diedor done worseof too much glory. Since the publication of Festus, the author is reported to have gone crazy. Our only wonder is, that anybody should have been so crazy as to think him sane. The genius of humbug has obviously taken criticism by the nose, and can now give success to anything that comes along in books clothing. Nothing can be offered so false, or foul, or flimsy, but some huge bellows stands ready to blow it into notoriety. Surely, at this rate, puffery must crack its cheeks pretty soon. Doubtless, however, this is all as it should be; and we are by no means dis- posed to complain. It was but just, that Wordsworths mild light should shine quietly in its place, until Robert Mont- gomerys will-o-the-wisp had danced round the earth, and finally danced into it. So long as men need religious in- struction, a theological quack or dandy, like Burchard or Maffit, will, of course, make pew-rents much higher than a modest, unambitious, Christian sage; were it otherwise, perhaps the pulpit might as well be dispensed with. The world would have no use for books of any kind, if it were already in a condition to distinguish and choose the good. There would be nothing for angels to do for us, could we recognize them when they come. Real worth suffices unto itself, as virtue gives herself light through darkness for to wade. No man deserves popularity unless he be content to do without it; and we show a poor appreciation of merit, when we regret the liabilities which en- ter into the condition of its growth. He alone is fit to be a stay for others, who is * Festus, a Poem; by Philip James Bailey, William Pickering, 1845. Barrister-at-law. Second edition. London:

Festus 43-61

1847.] Fe8lus. 43 And as the weavers varied braid When turned, a double wonder shows, The lights all changed to sombre shade, While what was dim then warmly glows; So that which now we think most bright, And all we deem most dark and cold, Will seem inverted to our sight, When we our inner life behold! For thought ends not,it reaches on Through every change of world or clime, While of itself will ever run The restless flying shuttletime! And when the deep-imprinted soul Shall burst the chambers of the tomb, Eternity will forth unroll The work of this our wondrous loom! H. W. PARKER. FE STUS.* Tins book has come to us, wafted on a perfect gale of puffery. Did anybody ever see the like? People of the most opposite sentiments and charactersCal- vinists, Unitarians, Evangelicals, Ration- alists and Universalists, nurslings and veterans of literature, sage poets and shrewd criticsall agree in representing it as a very eclecticism of poetry, philo- sophy, morality and orthodoxy. Com- pared to the rest of contemporary litera- ture, Festus, it seems, is an oasis in a desertan Eden in a wilderness; and all that is profound, and original, and tender, and touching, and chaste, and voluptuous, is concentrated into it. A most remark- able and magnificent production ! says one. Contains poetry enough to set up fifty poets ! says another. The very inmost life of a sincere and energetic mind ! says a third. A glory and per- fection in the midst of comparative sterili- ty ! says a fourth. Truly, the grand universal reconciliation has at last come about; as the Devil and the Deity have met together under our authors banner, of course there is to be no further strife between their followers. Had Shak- speare, during his lifetime, received half the praise which has already fallen to this man, he would probably have diedor done worseof too much glory. Since the publication of Festus, the author is reported to have gone crazy. Our only wonder is, that anybody should have been so crazy as to think him sane. The genius of humbug has obviously taken criticism by the nose, and can now give success to anything that comes along in books clothing. Nothing can be offered so false, or foul, or flimsy, but some huge bellows stands ready to blow it into notoriety. Surely, at this rate, puffery must crack its cheeks pretty soon. Doubtless, however, this is all as it should be; and we are by no means dis- posed to complain. It was but just, that Wordsworths mild light should shine quietly in its place, until Robert Mont- gomerys will-o-the-wisp had danced round the earth, and finally danced into it. So long as men need religious in- struction, a theological quack or dandy, like Burchard or Maffit, will, of course, make pew-rents much higher than a modest, unambitious, Christian sage; were it otherwise, perhaps the pulpit might as well be dispensed with. The world would have no use for books of any kind, if it were already in a condition to distinguish and choose the good. There would be nothing for angels to do for us, could we recognize them when they come. Real worth suffices unto itself, as virtue gives herself light through darkness for to wade. No man deserves popularity unless he be content to do without it; and we show a poor appreciation of merit, when we regret the liabilities which en- ter into the condition of its growth. He alone is fit to be a stay for others, who is * Festus, a Poem; by Philip James Bailey, William Pickering, 1845. Barrister-at-law. Second edition. London: 44 Fe8tu8. fJan., himself stayed upon truth; if a man be so stayed, popular censure will not shake him; if he be not, popular applause will rather blow him down than bolster him up. Assuredly, he who makes popularity the test of truth, knows not, and deserves not to know, what truth is. Human society may be aptly enough compared to a pyramid; the number of individuals being greatest at the baso, and constantly diminishing as we ascend. The higher the degree, the fewer there be that reach it; the noblest gifts cannot gain the summit without great labor, nor the greatest labor without noble gifts. L~esting its broad base on the earth, the structure tapers up until it pierces the skies; so that whatever influences come from Heaven diffuse themselves from the apex downwards, ever widening as they descend, and reaching the bottom only by passing through all above. The eye is in the head, and it is only through the eye that the body can be filled with light. Thus, whatever enters at the si~mmit comes in time to pervade the whole; but this order cannot well be reversed. With some such presentiment as this in their minds, authors were once foolish enough to write for the wise and good, that is, the fit and the few; they aimed to reach mankind by beginning at the apex and gradually working down to the base. But since every man has become just as good as his neighbor, and a great deal better, this foolish method has been aban- doned; authors now begin at the base and work the other way. The reading democracy seem to have a sort of instinct that the natural course of wisdom is from the earth upwards, not from the heavens downwards; that truth passes through the base to the apex of the pyramid, not through the apex to the base. In the literary priesthood, therefore, as in the political, men must obviously be chosen and ordained from below, rather than from above; unless we suppose the pyra- mid inverted and poised on its apex, so that henceforth men are to begin at the top, and be promoted downwards. Of course it is those who need, not those who have had, most instruction, that are best qualified to select and commission instructors; for we must not so far sin against the wisdom of the age, as to pre- sume there can be any better test and measure of truth than the voice of the majority. But the practical result of this new order is, that the worst and weakest books poll the most votes; the filthier or emptier a book is, the greater the number that can appreciate it; the lower it flies, the better its chance of getting whirled or sucked into the current of popular ap- plause. The very ground of an authors success is, that he does not overshoot the reading democracy, and that, instead of aiming to make them wiser and better, he tries to persuade them they are already wise and good enough; for quackery always proceeds by appealing to the rea- son of its audience against the authority that challenges this faith. None are so easy to be duped as those who require their judgment to be convinced, and as- sume to see for themselves before they trust; that is, whose trnst is altogether in themselves. But this is not all. Not only is the lowest book sure to hit the greatest number of readers, but it takes the greatest number of books to satisfy the lowest reader. Thus we have a double incentive to the making of bad books; reward is in a sort of geometrical ratio to worthlessness. Truth, plain and unattractive at first, always improves on acquaintance;, the more one sees her, the more one wishes to see her; ever grow- ing beautiful in proportion as she grows familiar, she of course rather precludes than provokes the desire of novelty and change; makes us prefer returning where we know she may be found, to venturing into untried regions in quest of her. But folly and falsehood always exhaust their attractions at a single interview, and the more theytickle the sooner they tire; one never wishes to see them twice in the same form, but is evermore chasing after ~he new forms in which they are ever- more presenting themselves. Thus, the worse books a man reads, the more of them he wants; as it takes many objects to satisfy a mans lust, but only one to satisfy his love. Accordingly, the pre- sent age surpasses all others, both in the demand for new books, and in the supply of printed shams. From occasional showers, literature has become a continual freshet, which is so far from furthering vegetation, that it is even threatening to wash away the soil. But our design is, not so much to cen- sure the existing state of things, as to account for it. That such a book as Festus shouldjurnp into a reputation which Paradise Lost has even yet hardly grown into, is truly a most significant phenomenon; one which we shall be apt to regard as ominous or auspicious, ac 1847.] Festu8. 45 cording to our faith in human progress. Doubtless it results, in part, from the democratic principle of reversing the old order, and putting the base, or broadest layer, of society uppermost; that is, of submitting the gravest matters to the judgment of those who are least capable of understanding them; and who, if they were competent to decide who or what is best adapted to instruct them, obviously would not need to be instructed at all. How far publishers are con~emed in originating and maintaining the present order, is not for us to say. One can hardly help seeing that their interest lies most in mediating between such as want nothing but puffs for their labor, and such as want nothing but shams for their money; and they probably would not be publishers, if they were ambitious of mar- tyrdom in any cause but that of self- interest. Besides, when readers turn democrats, it is to be expected that writers will turn demagogues; and publishers are in duty bound to furnish both parties with every practicable facility for the process of mutual gulling. Far be it from us, therefore, to blame publishers for the course they take. Doubtless, they are as worthy a class of cormorants as any other; and are perfectly right in humbugging those who will consent to patronize them on no other conditions. If, then, acting as mediators between vanity and gullibility, they do give the shadows to both sides, and take the sub- stance to themselves ; if they dispense notoriety to authors and nothing to read- ers, and pocket the results of the process, surely no one ought to blame them; tis their vocation. But enough of prologue. Festus is certainly a most marvel- ous book; nearly as marvelous as Gene- ral Tom Thumb, or the Kentucky giant; and perhaps all had better read it, just to see what strange things a great genius can produce, and an enlightened public can appreciate. Like other monsters, the book is altogether original; nothing else like it ever was, or, we trust, ever will be produced. In this we must be understood to speak of the book as a whole; for where the whole is so ex- cruciatingly original, of course many of the parts can afford to be borrowed. The author obviously undertook to give a dramatic development of a certain theory. We think he has succeeded to admira- tion. As is the soul of the work, so is the body; we know not whether to ad- mire it more for the principle or for the details. The whole work, in spirit and in form, is rickety, disjointed, crazy~ enough to suit the most fastidious epicure of lawlessness and deformity. To all those who take darkness for depth, and rudeness for strength; whose brains have got enriched with transcendental fury, and whose minds are big with vagueness and vacuity, it cannot be otherwise than a most delectable repast; in its meaning- less jargon they will often find most ad- mirable expressions of their own thoughts. Like most philosophical poems, as they are called, Festus is neither good science nor good poetry, but an indescri- bable medley, which, so far as we know, has never been appropriately named. The book contains neither prose nor verse neither fact nor imagination; is made up neither of persons nor of propositions; in- stead of life-like characters and passions, we have a long, tedious masquerade of abstract ideas; and, generally, the only hint vouchsafed of a change of speakers, is in the names prefixed to the speeches. Lucifer, it is true, preaches some very strange doctrine; but not stranger than the hero, Festus. They seem, indeed, but duplicates of the same ideatwin apostles, giving a biform development of the same theory; and, for aught wq can see, the discourses of both might as well have come from the same person. On the whole, they are a little the oddest man and devil we have ever encountered; and it is somewhat doubtful which shows more witthe devil in attacking such a man, or the man in yielding to such a devil. Doubtless, however, both are right and true in their kind; for they are alto- gether unlike anything else the human mind ever found or fancied. Lucifer, to be sure, is somewhat given to pouting against both God and man; nevertheless he is, at bottom, a real friend of both; and is, indeed, the only true days-man betwixt them. The author is evidently a philanthro- pist, and belongs to that class of reformers who are going to do anything that ought to be done, and prevent everything that ought to be prevented, by love. Love, with him, has obviously settled into a fixed idea; it is the only idea he has; and he has not more than half of that if, in deed, he had the whole, it would not be his only idea. Like others of his class, he seems to regard God as a mere philan- thropist; religions as mere humanity ; and the idea of retribution, divine or human, as too absurd to need refutation. Man, 46 Festus. [Jan., he would argue, is too noble a being to be punished, and God is too philanthropic a being to punish him, here or hereafter. The viler and wickeder he becomes, the better opportunity he presents for the ex- hibition of the Divine philanthropy; and it is for this purpose that the devil has been commissioned to seduce and deprave him. Our author would recognize nothing as true, or beautiful, or good, for which love is not the best expression; power, wisdom, justice, honor, righteousness, ho- linessall these he would degrade into empty synonyms of love. Man, whatever he may be or do, is but the object of love; is to be taught, governed, disciplined, developed, by love; and the fierce wars which we read of between Michael and Satan, were but lovers quarrels after all, destined to end in a most loving match and lasting honeymoon. All just authority on earth and in heaven resolves itself into lovu, and enforces itself through love. Love, indeed, is the only absolute thing in the universe; whatever does not finally run up into this, and cannot be realized in and through this, had better not be, and, on the whole, is not. He knows no law nor gospel but love; will sanction no feeling towards God, or man, or devil, but love; will seek no heaven, and worship no divinity, but love. He finds nothing in nature but symbols of Jove: the wind, the rain, and the sun- shine, plague, pestilence, and famine, the lightning, the tempest, and the earth- quakeall, all are but expressions of love. He will allow no attribute to God but love, no engine to government but love, no arm to authority but love. All crimes against heaven and humanity are but occasions of love; all chastisements and corrections are but exhibitions of love; life, light and divinity are to be loved into us; death, darkness and deviltry are to be loved out of us. That the book teaches, or rather, does nothing but teach, this shallow, conceited, despicable morality a morality which could only spring up from the ashes of all manly thought and passion, and which goes to desiccate the soul of every just and noble and generous sentiment ;that the book teaches this arrogant and impudent moralitythe off- spring of weak heads and foul heartsis, doubtless, enough of itself to account for most of the applause it has received. Now, we profess to have some regard for the law of love ; but when love is thus degraded into mere philanthropy pushed to the exclusion of the more truly religious sentiments, such as fear, awe, reverence; in short, when, for the God of love is substituted a mere deification of love, we must be excused from it alto- gether. True, we are told, God is bye; but then we are also told, God is a con- suming fire ; that is, to imperfect beings. He is an object of fear as well as love and, we may add, of fear in proportion as they are imperfect. On this point, there- fore, we will venture to suggest there is such a thing as an union of love and feara thing which our author, in com- mon with many others who have grown wise beyond what is written, probably cannot understand. To love without fear, or to fear without love, is, indeed, com- paratively easy; but then either of these, and especially the former, is considerably worse than nothing. For when one gets to loving without fear, he is apt to pre- sume he has the perfect love which cast- eth out fear; forgetting that, according to this, there must be some fear for love to cast out, and that none but a perfect love has a right to cast it out; so that his love becomes proud, conceited, irrev- erentis, indeed, no love at all, but only a sort of appetite. Thus do all such super- celestial aspirations generally end in rather subterranean attainments. Scorning so base a sentiment as fear, and reaching at once to thenobler sentiment of love, we only miss them both. The truth is, we have to begin with the humbler virtues before we can reach, and in order to reach, the higher. Our feelings cannot leap from earth to heaven at one bound; they have to climb up over many steps before they get there, and in order to get there; and it is to be feared they will hardly get there at all, if they scorn the degrees by which it is appointed for them to ascend. If. therefore, we can rise to so high a feel- ing as fear, we may account it a special gift of grace; and when we find our- selves free from fear, we may be assured we are below it. But is not love the ful- filling of the law? Yes; and so is the flower the perfecting of the plant; but, as nature now is, and will probably continue to be, we have to accept of several things before we can get the flower, and even cultivate them in order to get it; and what kind of floriculture is that which prizes the flower so much as to dispense with the root, the stalk and the leaves? In like manner, assuredly, all love that is worth the name, begins with fear, and grows out of it; is, in some sort, con- ceived and born of fear, and ripens up 1847.] Pest us. 47 into that reverence which evermore walks softly and fearfully, is meek, and modest, and reserved, as feeling unworthy to approach its object, yet hungering and thirsting to be near him. Accordingly, in a book written some centuries ago, we read of a wisdom which begins with fear. This wisdom our au- thor seems to have renounced. Probably he started above it; started with the per- fect love which casteth out fear. He seems, indeed, to entertain a good degree of contempt for those who are so bigoted as to begin with fear; and expressly tells us, Nor bates the book one tittle of the truth To smooth its way to favor with the fearful. Accordingly the book is, without excep- tion, the most irreverent thing we have ever seen. Instead of putting his shoes from off his feet when he comes to holy ground, he rather puts on an additional pair. He wears his loftiest looks when in the awfulest Presence; and gives us the gratifying information, that Men have a claim on God; and none who hath A heart of kindness, reverence and love, But dare look God in the face and ask His smile. Following out this principle, he every- where practices a familiarity with sacred things which is really the grossest form of irreverence; a familiarity which is far worse than the most violent antipathy, because it fondles and caresses but to desecrate and degrade. His manner to- wards such things is, emphatically, hail, fellows, well met! He evidently belongs to that class of worshipers whose motto is, let us go boldly to the throne of graci~ ; and who do go boldly, as if their Maker were their equal. Nay, well-bred gentlemen treat their equals with a far more distant and ceremonious respect than these worshipers do their Maker. We may, indeed, say this manner pro- ceeds from love; but it is only that kind of love which prompts to the violation of its object. Aversion to our Maker is apt to be at least distant and reserved, and is therefore far less offensive, evinces much less ignorance even, than the confidence which implies no distrust of ourselves. And yet this author has the coolness to assure us, All that is said of Deity, is said In love and reverence. Why, he hasnt reverenee enough to feel his want of it; is so totally empty of it as to think himself brimful of it. He is, in short, so far from having reverence, that he even knows not what it is! Now, nothing is so petrifying to the religious sensibilities as this moving amongst sacred things without corre- sponding emotions; the more we inspect and handle such things without confess- ing their sacredness, the more do we be- come hardened against them; and when we get so fond of them as to hug and kiss all the sanctity off them, our love has obviously fallen into dotage, or some- thing worse. It is often unsafe for us to see, until we are prepared to adore; many things ought to be hidden from the eye until the heart is made ready for them; for fools do but wax in folly by gazing at what angels fear to look on. According- ly certain truths seem to have been veiled from the understanding, on purpose that they might first make a lodgment in the heart. They come as mysteriestruths enveloped in awful obscurityto affect us through finer senses, deeper avenues than the understanding knows of; to inspire us, in ways past our finding out, with certain sentiments; so that the mind has to be- come humble, and reverent, and submis- sive, in order to know them. They thus begin at the heartthe centre of our be- ingand build outwards; while, if they began at the surfacethe understanding to build inwards, they would only ob- struct and foreclose the ground they were building on; block up their very access and passage to the heart. Indeed, the mind is made apprehensive of them only by this moral or religious preparation; without this, all the knowledge it gets of them only puffeth up ; and wo be to the hand that shall dare to strip them of their holy mysteriousnessdissect and anato- mize them to the understandingbefore we have learnt to revere them; for after we have learnt to revere them, we shall hardly wish to see them dissected and anatomized. When they have wrought their appropriate effect in subduing, chas- tening, and humbling us, then the under- standing acting subordinately, may also act safely. But until they have done this, the understanding, acting independently, acts but to err; for Providence, ever wiser and kinder to us than we can be to our- selves, will have us act by faith, not by knowledge, and has so ordered things that we see but to stumble, and the better our sight the more we stumble, unless 48 Fe8tu8. [Jan., our path be strewn with light from heaven. We have sor~ietimes almost doubted whether Milton did not overstep the bounds of strict propriety, in making so free as he did with holy names and per- sons: in this respect, however, Milton is modesty itself compared to the author of Festus. That our author may not have been aware of his irreverence, and so not have intended it, is really no ex- cuse for him. We have known men who sincerely thought themselves perfect; but their sincerity, in our judgment, only made against them; for nothing but the most overweening conceit of themselves could ever have made them sincere in such a conviction. Men may sincerely think themselves very religious, when they have no religion at all; but, if they had any right feelings or principles in regard to themselves, they would not, in face of the admonitions and assurances given them, fall into such a piece of pre- sumption. It is by preferring the voice that speaks within them, to the voice that speaks from above, that they get thus de- ceived and betrayed. It is one of the lies which they are all the guiltier for being duped by. Nevertheless, Festus comes to us a sacred poem. Men, it seems, whose hon- esty we dislike to question, whose judg- ment we wish to respect, have been much impressed with its sacred, Christian character. XVhen we compared our first impression of the work with their statements respecting it, we knew not what to think, and were forced to con- clude that either we or they had eaten of the insane root that takes the reason prisoner. Again we set about the poem, hoping and trying to correct our impression; but it was of no use; all our efforts to correct only went to con- firm it. We have spared no pains to make our impression right, and we are satisfied it is right; at all events, if it be wrong, it is, we fear, incorrigible. Eu- logy after eulogy has been written upon the poem, but no voice, so far as we know, has been raised against it. Such being the case, we shall offer no apology for canvassing its claims, somewhat se- verely and at length, both as a work of art, and as a code of morals. The thing may, it is true, be above, or below, or beside our criticism; nevertheless, xve shall criticise it, or criticise at it. We may not, indeed, be able to kill it, but, if it be made of penetrable stuff, we shall hope at least to bore some holes into it. Perhaps the only effect of all the wounds we can give will be to sting it into greater activity. Well, be it so; for we feel assured that the more there be to get drunk on it now, the more there will be to curse it when they get sober again; and one of natures methods for convinc- ing men they are fools, that is, for mak- ing them wise, is, by betraying them into follies. Of course nothing so effectually teaches children to keep out of the fire as the getting well burnt. Most poets, when handling sacred themes, scrupulously avoid transcending the written Word. Oppressed, perhaps, with a kind of superstitious awe, they do not venture on any superscriptural announcements. They seem to think that, in writing on such subjects, reve- rence, modesty and reserve are entitled to a pretty prominent place; that even the principles of art and of good taste require that these elements be not alto- gether excluded ; that, in short, the Muses do not belong to that class of be- ings who rush in where angels fear to tread. But the author of Festus submits to no such slavery of the mind. From the freedom with which he makes original disclosures, one would think he had been specially authorized to oomplete the Revelation begun by the prophets and evangelists of old. Probably he draws from the same source with them; is their compeer, not their pupil; and, his authority being co-ordinate with theirs, of course he owes them no partic- ular deference ; if he transcends their statements, it may be their fault, not his. We know not how else to account for such disclosures as the following. The Angel of Earth is represented as remon- strating against the threatened destruc- tion of his world, on the ground of its being the altar on which was made the great sacrifice for sin. Ignorant, it seems, of what is going on in other parts of creation, he thinks the earth has been especially favored and hallowed in this event. The language in which he is answered will, of itself, sufficiently indi- cate the source of the answer. Think not I lived and died for earth alone. My life is ever suffering for love. In judging and redeeming worlds is spent Mine everlasting being. In another place he informs us, that Who spurn at this worlds pleasures lie to God; 1847.] Festus. 49 And show they are not worthy of the next. The nearest point wherein we come to- wards God, Is lovingmaking loveand being hap- py. Probably the prophets and apostles of old were either ignorant of these facts, or did not see fit to announce them. To be sure, the author works no miracles to accredit his revelations, unless the recep- tion his hook has met with be a miracle; but it is to be hoped men have now got sufficiently enlightened to recognize the truth without any such endorsement. Of course Heaven would not reveal any- thing that should transcend the reason of a transcendentalist. Assuredly, such a man needs no miracles, for he will not be caught accepting a revelation on any other than internal evidence; that is, its conformity to his reason.~, From the specimens we have given, it will be seen at once, that our author is a pretty bold thinker and speaker, espe- cially for one so young. The book abounds in revelations which no one can fail to recognize as highly important, if true. Indeed, nothing strikes one oft- ener or harder, while reading it, than the anthors surprising familiarity with the Divine counsels. But, how much soever one may marvel at the contents of the book, he is by no means to doubt their truth. Of course such a modest youth would not venture thus to develope Christianity out of the chrysalis into the butterfly on his own responsibility. Ac- cordingly he has taken care to inform us all about the source and occasion of his disclosures. He spake inspired; night and day thought came unhelped, un- sought, like blood to his heart: God was with him; and bade old Time unclasp his heart to the youth, and teach the book of ages. And yet the course of study he went through was of the soul- rack. Strange he should have racked his soul so terribly for thoughts which came unhelped and undesired. Perhaps, however, his labor was in prying open his soul to let the divine affiatus blow through. Again, speaking of himself, he tells us, Tis no task for suns To shine; he knew himself a bard ordained, More than inspired, inspirited of God. Thus it appears, the book and all its contents came through the author, not from him; he was but an electrical rod, to draw down the lightuings of heaven VOL. v.NO. r. 4 upon the sons of men; and this book is the result of his drawings down. Surely no one has ever pretended to a higher mission, or brought better credentials. Coming with such authority he was doubtless justifiable in finishing old dis- pensations or making new ones. Let not his youth, theref?re, be urged as en- titling him to impunity, or to clemency. The appropriate virtue of youth is mod- esty, and if he be old enough to abjure this, he is old enough to be treated sim- ply as he deserves. In a passage of which we know not whether the poetry be more beautiful or the egotism more disgusting, the author says that he him- self, Like other bards, was born of beauty, And with a natural fitness to draw down All tones and shades of beauty to his soul, Even as the rainbow-tinted shell, which lies Miles deep at bottom of the sea, hath all Colors of skies, an~flowers, and gems, and plumes, And all by nature which doth reproduce Like loveliness in seeming opposites. And in another place he says, He wrote the book, not in contempt of rule, And not in hate, but in the self-made rule That there was none to him, but to himself He was his sole rule, and had right to be. All this looks as if the author knew what he had done, and why he had done it; and, at all events, did not mean to plead youth or ignorance in extenuation of faults; and if, as he assures us, Everything urged against it proves its truth And faithfulness to nature, surely he and his admirers will rather thank than blame us for censuring it. His effrontery, in thus avowing what we had supposed everthing calling itself man- hood would be ashamed to confess, is cer- tainly deserving of wonder, if not of ap- plause. Buttis part of his creed,that hell is more bearable than nothingness: and he seems to think that scorn of everything the past has looked upon as wise and good, is the surest way to win the favor of the present. Perhaps he is right in this, though we confess ourselves forced to regard it as rather an equivocal com- pliment to the present. The poem, we are informed in the out- set, is a sort of abstract, and fifth essence of human life, or, in the authors own words, a sketch of world-life ; especial- 50 Festus. [Jan., ly the life of youth, its powers, aims, deeds, failings; the manifold and mani- fest foibles, follies, trials, sufferings of a young, hot, unschooled heart that has had its own way in life. Of course, if the heart had not had its own way in life, the delineation would not be a sketch of world-life, as it is, since the hearts of the young are always left to their own instincts and impulses, without external gui(lance or restraint. Again the author says, All along it is the heart of man Emblemed, created and creative mind. Nevertheless, our author does not, like other bards, draw man dressed In manners, customs, forms, appear- ances, Laws, places, times, and countless acci- dents Of peace and polity ; * * It is a statued mind ~nd naked heart Which is struck out. Here, then, we have the human mind stripped of everything adventitious, and presented without, concealment or disfig- urement, in all its native, essential, uni- versal elements and attributes. We may he assured, then, that here is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth ; that the author has pierced through the accidents of local and indi- vidual nature, to what is central and uni- versal. If, therefore, we find anything here which seems to contradict our ob- ~ervation, it is because we have not gone far enough into things; because we have stopped at or about the surface, while our author has gone to the centre and core. Nay, that he differs from all who have written before him, and even contradicts them, is itself a kind of proof that he is right; for is it not a fact that others have given us merely some of the clothes and skin of humanity? and must he not per- force contradict them, who grasps and nnfolds the heart? Thus we may know this representation is true in proportion as it differs from all others that we have seen. The more our author contradicts common experience, the more evidence we have of his superior insight. Festus himself is, it seems, the repre- sentative of all mankind; an impersona- tion of the whole human race, concen- trating and embodying all that belongs to man as man, and excluding all he has as a member of any particular nation, society, or family, The mortal is the model of all men. The hero is the world-man in whose heart One passion stands for all, the most in- dulged. Of course, therefore, the hero is as pe- culiar, as sni-generis, as the book itself; we have never found anything at all re- sembling him. Hitherto it has been our fortune, or misfortune, to see iione but men of particular times and places; the man of all times and places, or of no time nor place, we have never been so lucky as to meet with save in bad books: in short, we have known men of various national and individual peculiarities; but the model, the prototype of all men,. the one who was all without being any of them, we have not seen, or had not until we read Festus. So, also, of Lucifer; he has nothing in common with any of the devils hitherto discovered; he is a touch, or rather, several touches above all that heathenism has imagined, or Christianity revealed. We, in our sim- plicity, had always supposed Satan the enemy of God and man, ever laboring to defeat the one and destroy the othdr; proud, rebellious, unteachable, and un- governable; a liar and deceiver, seducing men away from truth and right to their own destruction. But this is all a mis- take. The devil, it seems, is but Gods shadow: There is but one great right and good, and ill And wrong are shades thereof, not sub- stances, so that God is all that the devil seems. In other words, Satan turns out to be only a most religious and veracious personage in disguise; the most obedient servant of God and the most untiring friend of man; incurring Gods wrath that he may the better work out his will, and en- ticing men into sin that he may the bet- ter effect t.heir salvation; ever breaking the word of promise to the ear, but keep- ing it to the hope; always uttering the profoundest truths, which seem lies, in- deed, but only because they are so very profound that we cannot see their truth. To be sure, he seems the enemy of God and man, striving to defeat the one and destroy the other; but this is because he ksiows the shortest road to perfect holi- ness and happiness lies through the op- posite extremes of wickedness and mise- ry: so that, if men would reach heaven, they must not turn about, but drive faster ahead; and, instead of forsaking the 1847.] IFestus. 51 devil, try to outstrip him in the way he is going. Our author and the devil have ascertained that, When creatures stray Farthest from God, then warmest towards them burns His love, even as the sun beams hotliest on The earth when distant most ; and that death is but the meeting to- gether of destruction and salvation, so that when death is threatened to the guil- ty, the meaning is, they shall he destroy- ed into salvation. Now, we would not pretend to doubt the truth of this repre- sentation; but we wonder our author should thus let out the secret of the devils good intentions toward us, lest by so doing he might defeat them. The devil obviously can succeed in his benevolent purposes, only on condition that we be kept ignorant of them. He is, indeed, a sort of holy, beneficent traitor, who does evil only that good may come; who has to seem our enemy, in order to be our friend; whose business it is to smuggle good into us under the disguise of evil: to seduce us into righteousness, and be- tray us into heaven. To acquaint us, therefore, with his designs, is certainly the surest way to thwart them; it is to be feared we shall hardly consent to go along with him, after we have learnt to what a meeting of extremes he is leading us. Assuredly, if men choose darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil, they will be apt to back out of the darkness, when told what a flood of light they are approaching. Strange our au- thor did not think of this, and conclude it best to leave the revelation of such things where the Scriptures have left it. But perhaps he thinks the time has now come for the mysteries to be opened. For the present, however, we are chiefly concerned with the book as a work of art. The beginning of the poem seems to have been suggested by a passage in the book of Job: Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came also among them. The scene opens in heaven, with a hymn from the Seraphim and Cherubim to the Creator, which is followed by Lucifer in a long, loud burst of praise, ending in a prayer for liberty to tempt a certain youth among the sons of men. Of course his request, urged with so much zeal and de- votion, is immediately granted; where- upon proclamation is made, that the des- tined victim of his benevolent enmity, as one of the elect, is Hallowed to the ends of Heaven, That though he plunged his soul in sin like a sword In water, it shall nowise cling to him. Next comes an announcement to the heavenly host, that the world is to end with the heros life; at which announce- ment the angel of earth, who, it seems, has not pried so deeply into the Divine counsels as our author, is greatly dis- tressed; but Lucifer, aware that the end of the present world is to be but the be- ginning of a better, is as greatly delight- ed. The world shall perish as a worm Upon destructions path; the universe Evanish like a ghost before the sun, Yea, like a doubt before the truth of God, Yet nothing more than death shall perish. And is the whole universe, then, no- thing but death? But this, we presume, is one of the profound inconsistencies which the author boasts of, probably as evincing his competency to make new revelations. Perhaps, however, while opening the old mysteries, he thought best to supply their place with new ones; and this is one of the substitutes. The preliminaries to the temptation being all adjusted in the first scene, the second brings us pat upon the hero himself. Festus, who, though hitherto untempted, we should think had just emerged from a debauch, where he has reveled himself into satiety and disgust, comes before us musing upon the vanity of earthly pleasures, and the meanness of human life. Though blest through child- hood With all the sweet and sacred ties of life, The prayerful love of parents, pride of friends, Prosperity, and health, and ease, the aids Of learning, social converse with the good And gifted; hopeful, generous, earnest, rich In common with high spirits, loving truth And wisdom for their own divinest selves ; still, even in youth, he finds he can enjoy Nought which has not the honied sting of sin; That wanton whetting of the soul, which, while It gives a finer, keener edge for pleasure, Wastes more and dulls the sooner : 52 Festu 8. [Jan., and since his heart has got dizzy with its drunken dance, he is resolved, that the voluptuous vanities of life shall Enchain, enchant, and cheat his soul no more. * * * What of ~~ll things here is worth a thought? How mean, how miserable every care! And then, the ceaseless, changeless, hope- less round Of weariness, and heartlessness and wo, And vice and vanity Such are his melancholy reflections on this occasion. Presently, however, he glides into a very pious, philanthropic mood; (who knows not that a life of de- bauchery is the shortest road to true phi- lanthropy?) the lusts of the flesh give place to the lusts of the mind; he waxes vastly ambitious of moral and intellectual power; longs to he the sun-mind of creation, that he may warm the world to love, and worship, and hright life. Rather an inauspicious state of mind, one would think, for the tempter to find him in; nevertheless, Lucifer is a brave fel- low and resolves to attack him. How Festus Lshould have got so sick of the pleasures of sin without being tempted before, the author does not inform us; in this case he seems the tempter rather than the tempted. The devil, however, has kept an eye upon him, waiting till he should become temptable before ven- turing upon him. Lucifer had heard his prayer, and seen The secret longings, unsaid thoughts, Which prey upon his heart, like night fires on A heath ; and, knowing his high, proud heart, To test its worth, and show he held it brave, he comes to him, not in any attractive or deceptive disguise, but as the soul of hell and evil, To proffer him the earth; to set Him on a thronethe throne of will un- bound To crown his life with liberty and joy, And make him free and mighty even as himself. * * * * * Pleasure, and love, and unimagined beauty All, all that is delicious, brilliant, great, Of worldly things, Lucifer offers him; and, knowing the worm of sin has eaten out his heart so that he cannot enjoy them, vows to re- new it in him ; to make it The bosom favorite of every beauty, Even as a rosebud ; so that he shall Render happy By naming who may love him. But this is not half that Lucifer will do for him; All secrets he shall ken, all mysteries construe At nothing marvel; all the veins which stretch Unsearchable by human eyes, of lore Most precious, most profound, to his shall bare And open lie like dust. Still the bait, big as it is, does not take; perhaps it is rather too big for Festus to swallow. He has entire faith, to be sure, in all Lucifer says; but appears some- what coy or sullen, and denies his suit, though, perhaps, only to make him sue the harder. There is, it seems, but one thing for which Festus will sell himself to Lucifer; and that is the assurance of immortality: To know he has a deathless soul, he would lose it. This assurance Lucifer for some time declines giving him, but, after much wrangling and some white-lying, finally gives it by calling up the spirit of his deceased lady-love; whereupon Festus strikes a bargain with him. Festus, it is true, has a pretty strong faith in immor- tality all the while, but he wants some reasons for his faith, and gets quite des- perate in quest of them. Why Lucifer so obstinately withholds those reasons from him, and tries to divert him from his quest of them, is not revealed. Perhaps this is one of the cases where, as the author tells us, the lines have under- meanings ; something esoteric and ac- cessible only to the initiated. However, Lucifer yields at last, when he sees there is no other way to catch him; so that it is not so much a triumph of Lucifer over Festus, as of Festus over Lucifer. Pos- sibly Lucifer keeps back this assurance from policy, lest too light winning might make the prize light ; for its only effect on Festus, so far as we can see, is, to puff him up with pride of immortality, and renew his appetite for worldly plea- sures. No sooner is Festus assured of a future life, than he ascertains by the light of his 1847.] Festus. 53 own reason, and in spite of Lucifers ar- guments to the contrary, that it is to be a happy one. Here follows a pretty fierce encounter of wit and logic in regard to future retribution. Whether Lucifer ad- vocates the doctrine of such a retribution in order to tempt his antagonist into looseness of life, or to confirm him in an opposite opinion, is left in doubt. At all ovents, Festus finds philosophy and phi- lanthropy so much against the doctrine, that not even the devil himself can per- suade him to accept it. He has ascer- tained, it seems, that sin is not of the spirit, but of the flesh which blindeth spirit ; and that, being of the flesh, it must necessarily perish with the flesh. Besides, to admit that men are to be pun- ished hereafter, is to admit that they de- serve to be punished; and he loves them too well to admit that. With philosophy and philauthropy thus on his side, he of course floors the devil. Though he no- where catches Lucifer in a lie, he appears to take for granted that he is rather given to fibbing, and that, in his arguing for a future punishment, the wish is father to the thought. This doctrine seems to be one of the stated means whereby Lu- cifer seduces men into sin; for he of course wishes to get them into sin as deeply as possible, on the ground that, the greater the sin, the greater the salva- tion; a thing which, as we have already seen, it is Lucifers vocation to promote to the utmost of his ability. In all this, the author so totally re: verses all the ordinary grounds and mo- tives of human action, that we are not quite sure we have caught his true mean- ing. We are so used to seeing things by day-light, that we cannot see them so well in the dark. However, next follows a pretty fine love-scrape, wherein our he- ro revels in the most voluptuous images and anticipations, protesting to the fair object, that in vain he Strives to love aught of earth or heaven but her; She is his first, last, only love nor shall Another ever tempt his heart. In this state of mind he is visited with a most supernatural insight, with the ken of Angels, so that neither sky, nor night, nor earth hinders him from seeing quite through the forms of things into their essence, and even through the mysteries of life, death and immortality; all of which, by the way, is the work of love and Lucifer. This wild and whirlwind touch of pas- sion Which, though it hardly lit upon the lip, With breathless swiftness sucked his soul out of sight So that he lost it, and all thought of it, seems to have detached his affections somewhat from his foe-friend. Their next meeting, which takes place in Any- where, begins with a downright blowup: however, after some pretty fierce scold- ing, and threatening, and fire-spitting, they get reconciled and start off on their enterprise, the one to fulfill his promises, the other to reap the harvest of their ful- fillment. Passing by the market-place of a country town, where men are busy at their callings, the two get deeply engag- ed about the greatness and littleness of human life, when Lucifer takes occasion to urge upon his pupil the carpe-dicin principle, advising him to enjoy the pres- ent, mindless of the past and future, on the ground that nothing but what is, is ; until they fall in with a funeral pro- cession following the remains of one who, it seems, has died of a broken heart, be- cause Festus had deserted her. Festus joins in mourningfor her, and, finding her much lovelier in death than she was alive, he very sagely concludes, that, after all, living is but a foolish habit, and means to break himself of it soon. At thc close of the obsequies, the two have a deal of exquisite fine fun, in practic- ing religious quackeries upon the crowd. Putting on the style of a mad ranter, Lucifer harangues the people in a kind of sanctified buffoonery which reminds us powerfully of what we have some- times heard at camp-meetings and revi- vals. This is followed by an extempore prayer from Festus, as long and dull as ever came from the lips of a puritan preacher; at the close of which Lucifer gives out a hymn, then pronounces a ben- ediction, and the two pass on highly de- lighted with the trick they have been playing. As Lucifers first business is to minister to his pupils passion for knowledge, the two set out on a voyage of discovery, and take a very rapid aeri- al trip round the world, studying Geogra- phy as they pass. Returning from this tour they go to a village feast, for the purpose, apparently, of studying human nature. Here they meet all sorts of peo- ple, if not more, and, what with joking, singing, dancing, card-playing, and much profound talk on various subjects, scien- tific, religious, and political, have as mer 54 Festus. [Jan., ry a time as need be. After avisit to the centre of the earth, in the fire-crypts of the world,where they do.not stay long, because such deep researches awaken high aspirations, and make them long for light,they encounter in their travels, a ruined temple, once sacred to the stin; when Festus, feeling the exposition of worship upon him, and knowing that the truly holy soul, which bath received the unattainable, can hallow hell, turns aside to indulge in religious exercises. He elects himself priest and makes a sacred offering to God, well assured, that one whom God has hallowed by choosing him, lacks not consecration at best hands. In these proceedings Lu- cifer takes no part, except to furnish fire, wherewith to kindle tne sacrifice. For their next lesson they resort to a huge metropolis, and cultivate an acquaintance with city life. This is followed by a short trip to the Planet Venus, where, among other spirits, Festus finds the holy Muse, with whorh he waxes amazingly poetical, and the deceased Angela, his first and only love, whose presence throws him into the ecstacy of passion. Thus Festus circulates about the uni- verse, rolling and rioting, and carousing in all the luxuries of love, knowled,,,e, worship, and dominion. Not a promise has Lucifer made to him, but is fulfilled, and more than fulfilled He is an universal favorite; Old men admire him deeply for his beauty, Young women for his genius and strict virtue, And young men for his modesty and wis- dom; All turn to him, wheneer he speaks, full- faced, Like planets to the sun, or owls to a rush- light. He is, as we should say, death among ladies; perfectly irresistible; all whom he approaches fall before him, and he be- fore them. As susceptible as he is cap- tivating, he finds every lady he meets the purest, sweetest, loveliest creature he has ever seen, and makes as many broken hearts as he finds beautiful faces. His love is always of that deep, divine sort which lasts only while the object is pres- ent, and which waxes deeper and diviner the closer he gets to her; so redundant is his generosity of heart, that he cannot choose but embrace every beauty he meets; and no sooner does he embrace one than she melts in his arms, and thus leaves them free to clasp another; so that the whole book is stuffed with the very epicurism of love. On the whole, Festus is rather the most versatile, tu- multuous, and ravishing lover we shall anywhere find. After solving all the mysteries, pocketing all the secrets, and sipping all the delights of creation; after visiting heaven and stealing thence some fine jewelry for his lady-love ; after van- ous short excursions, one through space, one to Everywhere, one to Hell, one to Nowhere, one to a ladys drawing-room, besides sundry other pk ces too nuiner- ous to mention, extracting and concen- trating the essence of them all; and fi- nally, after a series of most ecstatic gal- lantries with one of Lucifers best, divin- est ladies ;after all this, and a great deal more, our hero mounts the throne of the world, and gives his law to the nations, which law is, that they shall all do just precisely as they have a mind to. No sooner has he grasped the reins of uni- versal empire, than death falls upon his subjects, and, last upon himself; and they all migrate forthwith to the skies. Here follows a general mixing up of all things, heaven, earth, and hell, angels, men and devils; but the love of heaven proves too much for the sin of both the other places, and the absorption of the lat- ter, with all its contents, into the former, constitutes the catastrophe of the drama. Such is a brief outline of this stupen- dous poem. As the book gives a birds- eye view of all things and more too, so we have aimed to give a birds-eye view of the book. If this abstract does not astonish the reader, we know of nothing short of the book itself that will. But is there not some occult meaning in all this? Do the persons and events of the drama stand simply for themselves, or are they meant to body forth some gener- al truth? Doubtless the meaning is oc- cult,so very occult, we fear, that no one, not even the author himself, ~an find out what it is ; for the author takes care to inform us that the book is very deep, the meaning always dwellin~ in the word in secret sanctity. We have brought to the work all the patience and perseverance we are master of, and yet are by no means sure we have even caught a glimpse of its interior signifi- cance. Though the author has devoted a whole scene to the special interl)reta- tion of his book, the utmost we can ar- rive at are conjectures respecting its meaning. Probably this results, in part, 1847.] Festus. 55 from the fact, that the religion of the book, if it have any, is pretty much the re- verse of all that the world has been used to regard as such. As nearly, however, as we can guess, Festus represents the human mind, and Lucifer the principle of evil, guiding and impelling the human mind to the acquisi- tion of knowledge. here the doctrine obviously is, that man comes at truth only by the mediation and ministration of evil; and hence, as all truth has a saving and regenerating efficacy, the devil, though seemingly the enemy of man, is really his best friend, and, though seemingly the antagonist of God, is really his prime minister. The human mind gets inspired (whether of heaven or hell is uncertain) with a raging thirst for knowledge and, goaded on by this thirst, sells itself to evillike Goethes Faust to Mephisto- philesfor the means and sources of grat- ification. The trips which Festus takes to various parts of the universe, at the leading and instigation of Lucifer, are the excursions of the human mind, under temptation in quest of truth. Thus, the devil conducts the soul to the knowledge of God: evil to the knowledge of good. The women, whom Festus falls so despe- rately in love with from time to time, re- present Beauty, ever changing her form, yet ever the same in essence; and the heros passion for them, represents the minds instinctive love of the beautiful, in whatever form it appears. Our authors doctrine is, that Some souls lose all things but the love of beauty, And by that love they are redeemable; For, in love and beauty they acknowledge good, And good is God. Accordingly it is to this principlelove of the beautifulthat Lucifer directs his main exertions. Perhaps we ought to re- mark, by the way, that, in our authors view, truth and beauty are the same thing seen through the different media of reason and affection; now the object of thought, uoxv of love. Hence when Festus, insti- gated by a presentiment of immortality, waxes clamorous for assurance of a fu- ture life, and demands that a spirit be raised for him, Lucifer denies his request, and even disclaims the power to grant it. When, however, he finds that the heros anxiety comes from his intense passion for the beautiful, projecting itself beyond ~he present life, and burning for the per- petual enjoyment of its object, he imme- diately owns his deceptions and meets the heros demand by calling up the departed Angela, who, it seems, is the first form in which beauty had appeared to him, and stolen his heart. Thus Lucifer cunning- ly waits till he has engaged the heros heart in the work, before opening to him the sources of knowledge, aware, no doubt, that the head will not continue to work unless the heart work with it; that the mind will not keep up its interest in truth as truth, unless interested in it as beauty at the same time; that, in short, whatever would permanently engage the thoughts, must first engage the passions. The universal favor which Festus enjoys, especially among the women, probably signifies the popularity naturally conse- quent upon mental and moral power; that is, the tendency of human nature to hero-worship. In the heros roving about miscellaneously through Anywhere, Ev- erywhere, Elsewhere and Nowhere, stop- ping on his way at all the intermediate placesnow exploring the centre of the earth, that is, descending into himself now exploring the heights of heaven that is, ascending up to Godwe have the twofold influence of truth and beauty, acting at once as antagonists and as auxiliaries to each otherknowledge ev- ermore promptin~ to love, and love te knowledgethrough which the devil is enabled to keep the soul busy, in working out its own salvation. The crowning of Festus king of all nations and people, of course prefigures the passage of know- ledge into powerthe future subjection of all things to the law of mental and moral might; when the human mind, having conquered and subdued the world, has no further use for it, and, tossing into the jaws of destruction, starts off in quest of other worlds to conquer. Thus, the minds innate, indestructible love of truth, beauty, and power, is the means by which Satan gets it under his control. But, though the human niind pursues these objects as evil, they necessarily be- come good in its possession; for evil is but the shadow of good, and of course the mind has to grasp the substance in order to retain the shadow. I-however, as the mind is selfish and sinful by nature, truth and beauty are at first acceptable to it only in the form of pleasure; it seeks them for its own sake, but keeps them for theirs; using them only as means of self- gratification, it comes to love them as ends, and to forget self in view of them; nay, it 56 Festus. [Jan., even braves, or ratherembraces hell to com- pass them; and thus the extreme of self- assertion passes naturally into the opposite extreme of self-renunciation. This selfish, sinful passion of the mind for truth and beauty; this loving them only for the plea- sure it may have of them, until the passion is finally driven to a complete annulling of self, is probably shadowed forth in the heros ecstatic gallantries with his last lady-love, when he appears willing to commit all sin and incur all suffering, provided that, by doing so, he may become one with the object of his passion. This willingness to do and suffer all evil, for the sake of an union with truth and beauty, is, of course, the height of dis- interestedness; and thus do the extremes of sinfulness and holiness, of perdition and salvation, meet together. Such, as nearly as we can gather, is the deep significance of this deeply sig- nificant production. The one idea, how- ever, (if it be proper to call it an idea,) which rides paramount over the whole book, and imparts to it whatever of unity it possesses, is that of love triumphing in, through, and over every other princi- ple. It is this principle which suffers evil to run riot through creation; which kindled the fires of hell and plunged the devil into them; which now lets, or rather sends him out on errands of salvation to man; and which acts alike within ~and upon the soul, at once prompting and pun- ishing, preventing and forgiving, sin. The angels rebelled from love; the devil tempts from love; and men sin from love. Love, in short, s a kind of spiritual gravi- tation acting towards and from the Centre and Soul of the imiverse over all created intelligence; so that the faster and farther they run from that Centre, the sooner they reach death, the point from which they can only be drawn back into it. As this principle attains its highest development in the highest persons, so Gods love to- wards his creature reaches its culmina- tion when the creature, preferring suffer- ing to submission, braves and defies his Maker on the ground that it is better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. In this way is the creature brought To know Gods love is more than all his sin, And prove unto himself that nought but God Can satisfy the soul He maketh great. Surely, nfter this, no one will accuse the book of unoriginality. It has originality enough to have damned Shakspeare fifty times. Such being the plan of the work, our next concern is with the execution. The reader will please observe, that we have no quarrel with the authors plan; we do not pretend to criticise it, but only to give a statement of it. As an artist (and it is in this character that we have now to deal with him) he had a right to propose whatever plan he saw fit; his execution, however, is subject to the judgment of others. The book, be it remembered, comes to us as a poem; and not only so, but as a sacred poem. By a poem we of course mean a work of art; that is, a consistent, harmonious, organic whole. Now, we shall maintain that the book does not fulfill the conditions of such a work; that it has nothing of the nature of a poem except the form; that it is not entitled to any place whatever, not even the lowest, among works of art. The rank of artist, we are aware, is one which many very wise and good men have striven to reach, but have not been able; the falling short of it, there- fore, ought not of itself to deprive the as- pirant of a kind and even commendatory criticism. The truth is, works of art, in poetry, that is, poems, are not nearly so plenty as many people suppose; they are a very high and different order of pro- duction; and many things have been pro- duced, which, though not good enough to be admitted into this order, are, never- theless, very good; and their authors have deserved, and have received, well of man- kind for producing them. Assuredly, therefore, our author ought not to l~e blamed merely for failing to give us a work of art; he might have given us much wholesome instruction or harmless pleasure in a far humbler form. An au- thor is not to be censured, or denied a place in the Temple of Fame, because he has not the genius of Homer or Shak- speare. But what we do blame our au- thor for is, that, without the ability to pro- duce a work of art, he should have un- dertaken to originate a new religion that, without the genius of a Homer or a Shakspeare, he should have presumed to accomplish what Homer and Shakspeare had too much modesty to attempt. With little or none of the modesty of genius, he has ventured on a subject where this mo- desty is peculiarly indispensable to the work, even as a work of art, to say no- thing of its pretensions as a reli,,ious work. In a sacred poem, one would 1847.] Feslu3. 57 really think a recognition of sacredness were the last element to be omitted. The sentiment of awe is the most essential constituent of such a poem, simply as a poem; it enters into the very idea of treat- ing a sacred subject, we do not say mo- rally, hut poetically. But our author, as we have already seen, has such a per- fect love of holy things, that he carries no more awe amongst them than a child amongst his playthings. To treat divine and human persons, as he does, with equal freedom and familiarity, is, ob- viously, to mistreat them both; it sup- poses an equality between them which does not exist; in a word, it is at strife with the harmony, and therefore at strife with the poetry, of things. Perhaps our authors reverence is so transcendental an emotion that it does not condescend to express itself in form; indeed, he some- where tell us, True faith nor biddeth nor abideth form. His religion may, it is true, have risen above form; if so, then all we have to say is, it is too high to be poetical; it may, in- deed, be something better than poetry, but it is not poetry, and never will be until it stoops to a formal expression. But the book is not only without the moral elements of a poem on a sacred subject, but is without the literary ele- ments of a poem on any subject. To this latter point we shall now address our- selves. We will try the work, not by any external standard, not by the examples or the authority of others, but by itself. The author claims to be, and claims the right to be, a law unto himself. By this he probably means, that his work is organic; that, as such, its laws are innate (for this enters into the very idea of an organic work); that, in short, the work does not conform, and ought not to conform, to any external rules, but contains within itself the reason why it is so, and not otherwise. We will not dispute the authors right, as an artist, to be a law unto himself; nor will we prescribe his tribunal, but meet him at the tribunal of his own choosing. Doubtless all true works of art are or- ganic, and as such do contain their laws within themselves. The question, then, is, not whether Festus conforms to the examples of other artists, but whether it conforms to the principles of organic life. Caliban, for example, though altogether unlike any other character ever known or conceived, is, nevertheless, a character; andthat is enough to establish the authors claim as an artist. Assuredly Festus has a right to be tried by its own innate laws, provided it have any. If, however, the law of the work be innate, as a living, creative, organizing principle, it will, of course, be found to pervade and inform the whole structure, bringing all the parts into harmony and consistency, making them true to themselves, and to each other; in a word, making them all homo- geneous and interdependent. By the dramatic form of his work, the author of course promised a development of character, an embodiment of life. In the preface, moreover, he promised that the hero should represent mankind should be an impersonation of human- ity itself, especially of youth. Here we expected to find what is most permanent and universal in human nature, gathered up into a form of individual life, and thus brought home to our sympathies and per- ceptions as men ;a concentration of hu- manity in whom we could all see more or less of ourselves, and of what is most in- ward and essential in ourselves. Again, the first scene led us to expect, in Luci- fer, the evil spirit of the universe imper- sonated, as the source of bad impulses and bad influences to mena character in whom we might recognize something of the old enemy we have so often met and struggled against, seldom with much success, often with none at all. In the intercourse between these two persons we hoped to get some further knowledge, or at least an instructive reflection of what we already knew, respecting the origin, progress, consequence and remedy of moral evil: innocence eTlsnared by cun- ning, conscience overborne by tempta- tion, sin entering the soul in the disguise of happiness, but leading on, under Pro- vidence, to suffering, and suffering, through grace, to repentance, and re- pentance, to the peaceable fruits of right- eousness. Such, we said, were our ex- pectations; rather, such would have been our expectations, had we not known that great promises are apt to end in small performances. But, had we cherished all the hopes our author seemed anxious to inspire, not one of them would have been realized, or would have begun to be realized. The hero, it seems to us, is in no wise an im- personation of youth, but rather a mere personification of youthful caprice and affectation. To our mind, there is n~ more of character in him than in a tri- angle, or an octagon. We cannot think, 58 Festus. [Jan., we will almost defy any body to think, of him as a personal existence. Instead of embodying the elements of humanity, the author simply generalizes from himself, and that too, not from what is central and permanent, but from what is most super- ficial and transient, in himself. He shows no grasp or perception of universal truth, but only mistakes and substitutes his in- dividual impressions for it. Festus does not represent humanity; he does not re- present even the author; he does not, properly speakin~, represent anything; he is merely the authors mouthpiece, vent- ing divers whims, and notions, and crotch- ets, which have usurped the surface of the authors mind; things not growing up from his nature, or involving his individ- uality, but superinduced upon him by particular circumstances; and of which all we can say is, he believes them, or thinks he does. In short, Festus is no he at all, but only it; a mere name under which the author gives out various crude and inconsistent theories which he does not himself understand, hut utters by rote, and will probably cast off as soon as he comes to understand them. The whole delineation of Festus appears the work of one trying to fancy situations which he cannot enter into, and passions which he cannot reproduce, and of which he knows not the laws. Youth is the period when the mind is peculiarly open to impressions and influences from without, and when the character is peculiarly apt to be moulded, modified, developed by circum- stances. The same is the case, indeed, though in a less degree, at all the subse- quent periods of life. Such is the nature and condition of humanity itself. But there is no growth, no progress, no devel- opment, in Festus. As he goes in, so he comes out; ends no better or worse than he begins. Though under temptation throughout the book, he remains unde- prayed by it; subject to the most power- ful of influences, still he is uninfluenced. Nothing, indeed, but a walking bundle of notions could possibly go through what he does without experiencing an entire revolution of mind and character. To be sure, he utters different things from time to time, but we can easily see he utters them all from the same mindas a vessel varies its contents, not its capaci- ty; is sad, merry, severe and silly by turns, without any assignable cause or consequence. Though constantly thrown amidst scenes and objects that are adapt- ed, had he any character, to give him the deepest impressions, and impart an entire new cast and coloring to his thoughts and feelings; still he takes no impression, but keeps recurring to the same old topics; thinks, feels, speaks, and acts precisely as at first; undergoes, indeed, no perceptible change whatever, except a change of place and of time. Or rather, he changes just about as much as the author may be supposed to have changed while delineat- ing him; is no more developed or influ- enced by the scenes and objects he en- counters, than the author was by fancy- ing them. Even when most interested in the things he has seen, he talks about them, not as if he were thinking of them, but as if he were thinking of himself, and trying what fine things he could say, and how finely he could say them. He is al- ways expressing a longing for death which no man could feel, and expressing it in situations where no man could affect it. He is represented all along as a des- perate lover, and yet, whendeepest in love, with the object before him, he speaks, not in the passion-prompted style of a lover to his mistress, but in the vanity-prompt- ed style of an author to his audience. Though set forth as an impassioned geni- us, still, in his most impassioned moments, he falls into those very incoherencies of thought, and, what is worse, into that contemptible admiration and ostentation of his feelings, which it is the nature of strong passion to preclude. When he is most deeply moved, instead of expressing his emotions, he goes to analyzing them, and talking about them; and this is just what a man would not do in such a state of mind. Everywhere, indeed, he pre- sents the singular inconsistency of a mind most incontroversive when most recep- tive; that is, of a mind most occupied with itself when most absorbed in out- ward things. For example, when he stops at the ruined temple to worship his Maker, he goes straight to talking about his souls being holy since it has received the unattainable, and about his not lack- ing consecration at best hands since God has hallowed by choosing him. Thus, under an impulse to praise his Maker, he falls to praising himself; glorifies, so to speak, his ability and inclination to glori- fy God; is most conscious of his own holiness when most impressed with the holiness of the Being he is about to wor- ship. Assuredly no person, when reli- giously prompted, would or could think and speak thus; indeed, these are the very things which a person, in such a 1847.] Fesius. 59 state of mind, would not and could not speak or think of. That a man should thus be deeply impressed with beautiful objects and with the beauty of his emo- tions at the same time, is of course a perfect contradiction; it is as if one should be thinking most of himself when most forgottin,,, himself in external things. The truth is, the author is here giving out certain notions of his own touching the state, fate, and rights of every indi- vidual man simply as man; notions which, if carried out, would preclude the very actions they are represented as prompt- ing, but which the author is so bent on inculcating, that he thrusts them in pre- cisely where they are most out of place. He has a certain transcendental theory, according to which, God has made all things holy, by making them; and all men are full of the unattainable who have fallen in love with a beautiful woman, or had certain sensations so very exquisite as to seem a special visiting from heaven; and every man may be a priest and a church unto himself, and may consider himself divinely called and consecrated to the priestly office as often and as long as he feels inclined to exercise it. Thus, had we time and space we could easily show that the delineation of Festus vio- lates all the laws of character and passion, and exemplifies all the vices of a con- ceited and opinionated author; that, in short, the whole thing is falsefalse to truth, false to nature, false to itself, false to everything it purports to be. The representation of Lucifer is, if pos- sible, still worse than that of Festus. The former is as untrue to the laws of action, as the latter is to the laws of pas- sion. In the first place, Lucifer goes to heaven for a license, and then visits earth for an opportunity, to tempt one whom he knows to be sick of the joys of sense ; whose heart has been eaten out by the worm of sin ; and who has become heart-deadened, so that Gods love seems lost upon him. Though coming to Festus to blight his innocence and crush his hopes, he finds and expects to find him already stained with guilt, and bereft of hope, and abusing the world be- cause he has sinned away the capacity to enjoy it. But, thongh he comes to Festus as a tempter, he throws off all disguise, and presents himself as the naked soul of bell and evil. Now, we cannot put these two ideas together; the mind will not recognize them as compati- ble. To say temptation comes in such a shape, is to say it is no temptation at all. A,,ain, while professedly laboring to de- prave Festus, Lucifer keeps introducing him to objects and persons whose influ- ence he knows will be to elevate and purify him; indeed, the tendency of his whole proceedings is, to make Festus wiser and better. Such, we say, is their tendency, not their result, though such would be their result, if Festus had any character; as it is, there is no result in the case. All along, indeed, Lucifer presents the strange absurdity of a devil pretending to act against God and for himself, yet doing what he knows will be for God and against himself. It is as if Satan had tempted Eve by telling her she should surely die; as if we should set examples of virtue before people to make them vicious, or put them under good in- struction to keep them ignorant, or threat- en them with punishment to involve them in crime. The representation thus vio- lates all the principles of action knoxvn to us; we cannot conceive of a beings act- ing thus on such grounds and with such aims; the thing not only contradicts rea- son, experience and Revelation, but con~ tradicts and nullifies itself. Here, too, the anther has manifestly adopted and repeated certain theories, without under- standing them; theories that are mutually exclusive, irreconcilable; or, if they be reconcilable, he has not developed, nor, we will venture to say, conceived, any principle that will reconcile them. Per- haps he goes on the principle of freely saying whatever he thinks to be true, be- lieving, of course, that all truth must be consistent with itself. Lucifer, indeed, is just as much the authors mouth-piece as Festus; and the author is so wrapped up in his own im- pressions, that he keeps substituting them for objective realities. The result is, that Lucifer, though the master of Festus, proves but a sort of occasion to him, and speaks and acts but to call him up and draw him out. For example, Lucifer denies to Festus a future life, that he may give Festus an opportunity to prove it; that is, the author denies a future life to himself, that he may give himself an op- portunity to prove it. Again, Lucifer, that is, the author, advocates the doctrine of future punishment, that he may present an occasion for Festus, that is, for him- self, to refute it; like a man playing chess with himself, and moving on one side that he may have a chance to move on the other. It is part of our authors 60 Festus. [Jan., creed, that every man makes his own hell; in other words, that there is no hell for a man, except the one within him. As Lucifer comes from hell, the author probably intends him merely as a projec- tion, so to speak, of the heros own mind; that is, an outward presentation to him of the evil passions and propensities with- in him. Of course, therefore, Lucifer is not the source of bad impulses to Festus, but the substance of those impulses them- selves, realized to him objectively. View- ed dramatically, Lucifer appears as an agent without any will; a sort of con- scious, self-determining instrument; mov- ing, or, rather, moved, and knowing he is moved, by necessity and volition at the same time; doing things at once because he wills to do them, and because he can- not help doing them; using means which he knows will defeat, and means shall defeat, the ends for which he uses them; a deceiver and betrayer, yet scrupulous to keep all his promises, and realize all the hopes he awakens; a good enemy, a foe-friend. We speak of him in contradictions, because we know no other forms of speech at all applicable to him, or descriptive of him. This may, indeed, be a true account of the devil; but, if ever so true, it is one which the human mind is not constituted to understand. Of course we know not what spheres of ex- istence a transcendentalist may have ac- cess to, but Lucifer reverses all the laws of existence known to us; he is not mere- ly supernatural, but strictly anti-natural, according to all the ideas we have of na- ture; our thoughts will no more flow in such a channel, than water will burn, or fire freeze. All the details of the repre- sentation are so extremely and so equally absurd, that the reader scarcely thinks of any particular absurdity among them; he is so completely transported out of the regions of truth, that he forgets its ab- sence; there is not enough of the true scattered in with the false, to remind him of the distinction between them. Similar remarks might be made of oth- er delineations in the book. They have no dramatic, no poetic, no objective real- ity to our minds. The three females, for example, whom Festus successively makes love to, do not affect us as char- acter~ at all; they have no distinctive traits, no individuality, but are mere rep- etitions of the same thing under differ- ent names. Though represented as deeply in love with Festus, they do not speak or act as if they were in love with anything but the passion of love. In- stead of being occupied with the object of their sentiments, as they would be if they had them, they are occupied with the sentiments themselves; are always trying how many and what fine things they can say, not of the man that moves them, but of the emotions he has awakened in them. The object that in- terests them provokes them, not, indeed, to express, but only to glorjfy, the interest they take in him. The result is, they everywhere display just that Vanity of sentiment which proves their hollowness; are always talking about their feelings precisely as no one would or could talk about them, who had them. Thus, in the passions attributed to them, they keep violating the first instincts and laws of passions. Besides, though represented as speaking from the occasion, their speeches seem all arranged beforehand for any or every occasion that may arise, and rehearsed from memory. There are no personalities in their talk; when un- der the deepest personal impressions, they converse in just that style of gene- ralities which it is the sure effect of per- sonal impressions to prevent; that is, there is no you and I in their conversa- tion; it is all a human mind, and a hu- man mind. In short, everything they say appears to come, not from them, but from the author, and from the author try- ing to represent passions which he can- not feel, but of which he has the most elegant and ecstatic fancies. Hence the disgusting transcendental rhapsodies they are perpetually falling intQ in praise of love; rhapsodies that are enough to sick- en the heart of any one whose heart is not either buried up beneath the sensu- ous irritabilities, or just gone with a sort of sentimental consumption. Perhaps the author meant them as an example, not of what woman is, but of what he thought she should be. Heaven defend us from all imitators of the example! Too many, it must be confessed, have followed it, before it was given them; if, now that they have it, it do not shame them out of the imitation, they may as well be given up sure enough. The truth is, this book is no embodi- ment of life and character at all, but merely a set of personified notions and theories. The author obviously has no dramatic, no representative power whatever; he cannot make the elements of life stand together, cannot make them coalesce into objective reality; nay, he 1847.] To lonia. 61 cannot, properly speaking, see anything but his own impressions; so that, instead of producing or representing things, set- ting them out for the mind to contemplate like a fact or work of nature, he aces nothing but throw off, or let off, his im- pressions. Accordingly, the so-called persons of his so-called drama are in no wise characters, creations, but mere ut- terances, mere voices which have, and can have, no reality to our minds save while they are sounding. Festus and Lucifer, for example, do not affect us as persons, as objects; on the contrary they seem, nay, they are hut two series of floating and, perhaps, self-generated im- pressions thrown off from the authors mind pretty much at random, (for he was inspired to throw them off,) like so many incoherent, inconsistent dreams. Of course, therefore, the two do not impress each other at all; for it requires an ob- ject to make or take an impression; and it is not to be expected that mere impres- sionr should impress one another. And for the same reason they make no im- pression upon us; for the human mind is made to be impressed by things, not by impressions; a string or stream of im- pressions may flow through it till dooms- day, and leave no result whatever, save a diseased craving for their continuance. Hence, though many pcople are loud in their praises of Festus, no one, so far as we know, ever speaks or thinks of any such thing as character in connection with it. They come from the reading vastly pleased, indeed, but cannot for the life of them tell what it is that has pleas- ed them; there is nothing in the book that abides in their minds, and cleaves to their thoughts; nothing they can recur to, or give an account of; all they re- member about it is, the delightful impres- sions they had while reading it; and when they cast about to produce some of these delightful impressions, they cannot find them, simply because they were not and could not be at all impressed by them. The public mind has been fed, or ra- ther, starved with such delightful impres- sions too long already. Authors, or people calling themselves authors, have thrown off their impressions, until we have a perfect glut of them; we consider them good for nothing; nay, worse than nothing; a nuisance: instead of paying for them, we would rather pay some- thing to get rid of them; for their only effect is to fill the mind with unrest; to starve it into spasms and convulsions, which some people are foolish enough to miscall a hungering and thirsting after knowledge. Assuredly, the only way for an author to impress us is, not by blow- ing his impressions in our faces, but by setting before us the things that impress him. Such, indeed, is the very idea, the nature, the essence of art. In other words, art is essentially objectixe; the mind is objectively employed in produ- cing it; objectively employed in studying it; and this intense subjectiveness, this constant employing of the mind about its own impressions, which is so character- istic of the times, and of which Festus is the crowning example, is the very re- verse, the perfect negation of art, and is alike vitiating to the mind, the morals, and the manners of the people. [To be continued in our next .No.] TO IGNIA. YE Lands and immemorial Isles, that wear The name of Ion, who, with bosom made Of laurel boughs, the Sun-gods temple swept Ye golden climes to poesy and love Forever dear amid the wastes of Eld, Where, in her lonely retrospective flight, Bright-haired Muemosyne delights to pause, By matchless shapes of loveliness beguiled! Within your bounds, the plastic hand of Art First made the mountains marble entrails teem With images of beauty, lining all Your sea-washed strand with fair columnar cities, Built high of glossiest, sun-enameled stone. Forever oer your myrtle-shaded vales, Reclined on summer clouds, did Aphrodite

To Ionia 61-63

1847.] To lonia. 61 cannot, properly speaking, see anything but his own impressions; so that, instead of producing or representing things, set- ting them out for the mind to contemplate like a fact or work of nature, he aces nothing but throw off, or let off, his im- pressions. Accordingly, the so-called persons of his so-called drama are in no wise characters, creations, but mere ut- terances, mere voices which have, and can have, no reality to our minds save while they are sounding. Festus and Lucifer, for example, do not affect us as persons, as objects; on the contrary they seem, nay, they are hut two series of floating and, perhaps, self-generated im- pressions thrown off from the authors mind pretty much at random, (for he was inspired to throw them off,) like so many incoherent, inconsistent dreams. Of course, therefore, the two do not impress each other at all; for it requires an ob- ject to make or take an impression; and it is not to be expected that mere impres- sionr should impress one another. And for the same reason they make no im- pression upon us; for the human mind is made to be impressed by things, not by impressions; a string or stream of im- pressions may flow through it till dooms- day, and leave no result whatever, save a diseased craving for their continuance. Hence, though many pcople are loud in their praises of Festus, no one, so far as we know, ever speaks or thinks of any such thing as character in connection with it. They come from the reading vastly pleased, indeed, but cannot for the life of them tell what it is that has pleas- ed them; there is nothing in the book that abides in their minds, and cleaves to their thoughts; nothing they can recur to, or give an account of; all they re- member about it is, the delightful impres- sions they had while reading it; and when they cast about to produce some of these delightful impressions, they cannot find them, simply because they were not and could not be at all impressed by them. The public mind has been fed, or ra- ther, starved with such delightful impres- sions too long already. Authors, or people calling themselves authors, have thrown off their impressions, until we have a perfect glut of them; we consider them good for nothing; nay, worse than nothing; a nuisance: instead of paying for them, we would rather pay some- thing to get rid of them; for their only effect is to fill the mind with unrest; to starve it into spasms and convulsions, which some people are foolish enough to miscall a hungering and thirsting after knowledge. Assuredly, the only way for an author to impress us is, not by blow- ing his impressions in our faces, but by setting before us the things that impress him. Such, indeed, is the very idea, the nature, the essence of art. In other words, art is essentially objectixe; the mind is objectively employed in produ- cing it; objectively employed in studying it; and this intense subjectiveness, this constant employing of the mind about its own impressions, which is so character- istic of the times, and of which Festus is the crowning example, is the very re- verse, the perfect negation of art, and is alike vitiating to the mind, the morals, and the manners of the people. [To be continued in our next .No.] TO IGNIA. YE Lands and immemorial Isles, that wear The name of Ion, who, with bosom made Of laurel boughs, the Sun-gods temple swept Ye golden climes to poesy and love Forever dear amid the wastes of Eld, Where, in her lonely retrospective flight, Bright-haired Muemosyne delights to pause, By matchless shapes of loveliness beguiled! Within your bounds, the plastic hand of Art First made the mountains marble entrails teem With images of beauty, lining all Your sea-washed strand with fair columnar cities, Built high of glossiest, sun-enameled stone. Forever oer your myrtle-shaded vales, Reclined on summer clouds, did Aphrodite 62 To lonia. [Jan., And golden Eros lean, kindling the air With passions rosy glow. In all the earth Beside, did visible Nature never wear Robes so resplendent. Through the luminous folds Of your transparent atmosphere appeared Unequaled prospects to enchant the eye; Marmorean cities rising oer the verge Of halcyon seas, and promontories crowned With tombs heroical, or glistening shrines; And breezy mountains swathed with silver clouds, The watch-towers blue of broad-eyed Jove, whence ho The limitless low-lying earth surveyed, The towns of mortal men, their fights and toils. Oft from your shores the fisherman descried, The smoke of conflagration climbing slow, In graceful spires, far up the summer air, From some beleaguered city of the Isles; And white-robed argosies from wealthy Tyre, Rising and falling on the sparkling waves, Voyaging, with orient merchandise, to towns Whose turrets glittered in the western beam. Within your cities, villages, and fields, Abode a graceful populace, with rites And manners beautiful as oer adorned The imagined landscape of a poets dream; The captive maid descending with her urn To shady spring or cistern scooped from stone, And flowing with cool water to the brim; The royal virgin seated still and far Within a recess of the kingly dome Plying, with busy hand, her d~dal loom; The wandering minstrel slumbering fast at noon By fountain~side or stream, or harping loud In palace, ball, and crowded market-place; The frequent song of Hymen, saffron-robed, Resounding through the torch-lit street, what time The star of Love, thrice-welcome Hesper, rose Above some immemorial mountains brow; The youthful vintagers, by moonlight pale, Bearing the grapes in osier talarisks,* While on his lute some beardless minstrel played The lay of Linus, regal boy, of all The sons of men most musical, whose bloom Was scorched and withered by the solar beam; The rustic temple hidden deep in groves, And pleasant solitudes, beneath whose dome The village youth their glowing p~ans sang; And over all the dark blue heavens sublime, Where from their sky pavilions brightest shone The ancient stars and constellations, hymned By eldest bards, the sworded Titan named Orion, with the starry sisterhoods, Hyads and Pleiades, in clusters bright. Cradled amid your kindly influences, The soft lonian fancy wantoned wild In warm voluptuous dreams of loveliness, Pouring its inspirations in a tongue Inimitablehonied dialect Protean, flexible, all-various, The Greek word for baskets. 1847.] Hon. Rufus G~Izoate. 63 Whose voweled cadences could flow as smooth As amber streams, or raise and modulate Ther intonations to the oceans deep Sonorous surges chafing with the strand. Indelible and burning lines, its words Upon the scroll of blind Meonides Survive, and with their fluent numbers shame The harsher languages of later days. Nor in the Carians* golden chronicle, Though not in metrical device set forth, Sound they less sweet Alas ! the glorious tribe, Over whose chiseled lips they wont to roll In honied song and fiery eloquence, Has vanished. Hushed the lyres of Ibycus, Bacchylides, and Sappho starry-eyed, And that delicious lute the Teian played Within the halls of king Polycrates, While round him, bound with leafed and roseal wreaths, Mid fountain spray and snowy columns, danced Jonias raven-tressed voluptuous girls. Minstrel of beauty, love and vinous joy, Thy festal spirit yet survives on earth, Clad in a garment of enduring verse, The asbestine robe of all-immortal Song! HON. RUFUS CHOATE. To give a strict analysis of a mind so complex, various, and richly gifted, as that of Mr. Choate, we feel to be a difficult and delicate task; and it is also one which we have little time and few materials to perform with advantage. What is peculiar in his genius and character is provokingly elusive; and though an unmistakable individuality characterizes all his productions as a lawyer, orator, and statesman, it is an individuality so modified by the singu- lar flexibility of his intellect, that it can be more easily felt thaii analyzed. We propose to give a few dates illustrating his biography; to allude to some of his masterly expositions of national policy as a statesman; and to touch slightly that rare combination in his character of the poet and the man of affairs, by which the graces of fancy and the energies of im- passioned imagination lend beauty and power to the operations of his large and practical understanding. Mr. Choate was born in Ipswich, Mass., on the first day of October, 1799. He entered Dartmouth College in 1815, and was distinguished there for that stern devotion to study, and that love of classi cal literature, which have accompanied him through all the distractions of politi- cal and professional life. Shortly after graduating he was chosen a tutor in col- lege; but, selecting law for his profession, he entered the Law School at Cmmbridge, and afterwards completed his studies in the office of Judge Cummins, of Salem. He also studied a year in the office of Mr. XVirt, Attorney General of the U. S. He commenced the practice of his pro- fession in the town of Danvers, in 1824. But a considerable portion of the period between his first entry into his profes- sion and his final removal to Boston, in 1834, was passed in Salem. He early distinguished himself as an advocate. His legal arguments, replete with know- ledge; conducted with admirable skill; evincing uncommon felicity and power in the analysis and application of evi- dence; blazing with the blended fires of imagination and sensibility; and delivered with a rapidity and animation of man- ner which swept along the minds of his hearers on the torrent of his elo- quence, made him one of the most suc- cessful advocates at the Essex bar. In 1825 he was elected a representative to Herodotus, a native of Halicarmmassus in Caria. Lowell, Mass.

Hon. Rufus Choate 63-72

1847.] Hon. Rufus G~Izoate. 63 Whose voweled cadences could flow as smooth As amber streams, or raise and modulate Ther intonations to the oceans deep Sonorous surges chafing with the strand. Indelible and burning lines, its words Upon the scroll of blind Meonides Survive, and with their fluent numbers shame The harsher languages of later days. Nor in the Carians* golden chronicle, Though not in metrical device set forth, Sound they less sweet Alas ! the glorious tribe, Over whose chiseled lips they wont to roll In honied song and fiery eloquence, Has vanished. Hushed the lyres of Ibycus, Bacchylides, and Sappho starry-eyed, And that delicious lute the Teian played Within the halls of king Polycrates, While round him, bound with leafed and roseal wreaths, Mid fountain spray and snowy columns, danced Jonias raven-tressed voluptuous girls. Minstrel of beauty, love and vinous joy, Thy festal spirit yet survives on earth, Clad in a garment of enduring verse, The asbestine robe of all-immortal Song! HON. RUFUS CHOATE. To give a strict analysis of a mind so complex, various, and richly gifted, as that of Mr. Choate, we feel to be a difficult and delicate task; and it is also one which we have little time and few materials to perform with advantage. What is peculiar in his genius and character is provokingly elusive; and though an unmistakable individuality characterizes all his productions as a lawyer, orator, and statesman, it is an individuality so modified by the singu- lar flexibility of his intellect, that it can be more easily felt thaii analyzed. We propose to give a few dates illustrating his biography; to allude to some of his masterly expositions of national policy as a statesman; and to touch slightly that rare combination in his character of the poet and the man of affairs, by which the graces of fancy and the energies of im- passioned imagination lend beauty and power to the operations of his large and practical understanding. Mr. Choate was born in Ipswich, Mass., on the first day of October, 1799. He entered Dartmouth College in 1815, and was distinguished there for that stern devotion to study, and that love of classi cal literature, which have accompanied him through all the distractions of politi- cal and professional life. Shortly after graduating he was chosen a tutor in col- lege; but, selecting law for his profession, he entered the Law School at Cmmbridge, and afterwards completed his studies in the office of Judge Cummins, of Salem. He also studied a year in the office of Mr. XVirt, Attorney General of the U. S. He commenced the practice of his pro- fession in the town of Danvers, in 1824. But a considerable portion of the period between his first entry into his profes- sion and his final removal to Boston, in 1834, was passed in Salem. He early distinguished himself as an advocate. His legal arguments, replete with know- ledge; conducted with admirable skill; evincing uncommon felicity and power in the analysis and application of evi- dence; blazing with the blended fires of imagination and sensibility; and delivered with a rapidity and animation of man- ner which swept along the minds of his hearers on the torrent of his elo- quence, made him one of the most suc- cessful advocates at the Essex bar. In 1825 he was elected a representative to Herodotus, a native of Halicarmmassus in Caria. Lowell, Mass. 64 ion. Rufus Choate. [Jan., the Massachusetts Legislature; and in 1827 was in the Senate. He took a prominent part in the debates, and the energy and sagacity which he display- ed gave him a wide reputation. In 1832 he was elected Member of Con- gress from the Essex district. He de- clined a re-election, and in 1834 re- moved to Boston, to devote himself to his profession. He~soon took a posi- tion among the me~t eminent lawyers at the Suffolk Bar; and for seven years his legal servic s were in continual request. In 1841, on the retirement of Mr. Webster from the Senate, he was elected to fill hip place by a large ma- jority of the Massachusetts Legislature an honor which Massachusetts bestows on none but men of signal ability and integrity. Since Mr. Choate resigned his seat in the Senate, he has been more exclusively devoted to his profes- sion than at any previous period of his life. The only public office he. now holds is that of Regent of the Smith- sonian Institute. To his efforts the country is principally indebted for the pro- mising form which that institution has now assumed. Mr. Choates powers as a statesman are to be estimated chiefly by his course while a member of the United States Senate, especially, by his speeches on the Tariff, the Oregon Question, and the Annexation of Texas. These we consider among the ablest which were delivered during the agitation of those inflammable questions. Beneath an occasional wildness of style, there can easily be discerned the movement of a sagacious and penetrating intellect, well trained in dialectical science; ca- pable of handling the most intricate questions arising under the Law of Na- tions and Constitutional law, keen to perceive the practical workings of sys- tems of national policy; possessed of all the knowledge relating to the topics under discussion; fertile in arguments and illustrations, and directing large stores of information and eloquence to practical objects. In his speech, March 14, 1842, on the power and duty of Congress to continue the policy of protecting American labor, he presents a lucid and admirable argument to prove that Congress has the Constitutional power, so to provide for the collection of the necessary revenues of Govern- ment, as to afford reasonable and adequate protection to the whole labor of the coun try, agricultural, navigating, mechanical, and manufacturing, and ought to afford that protection; and in the course of the argument he gives a review of the opin- ions current on the subject, about the period of the adoption of the Constitu- tion. This displays an extensive ac- quaintance with the political history of the time, the result of original research. In this speech he declares the origin of the objection to the protective policy, based on the assumption of its unconsti- tutionality, to have arisen in a subtle and sectional metaphysics; and adds, in a short paragraph, well worthy to be pondered by all who are exposed to the fallacies springing up in the hot contests of party, that it is one of the bad habits of politics, which grow up under written systems and limited systems of government, to denounce what we think impolitic and oppressive legislation as unconstitutional legislation. The lan- guage is at first rhetorically and meta- phorically used; excited feeling, produc- ing inaccurate thought, contributes to give it currency; classes of states and parties inweave it into their vocabulary, and it grows into an article of faith. The best and most characteristic of his speeches on the Tariff, however, is that delivered in the Senate on the 12th and 16th of April, 1844. It shows a most intimate acquaintance with the history of our legislation on the question; the sub- ject is taken up in its principles and de- tails, and exhibited in new lightsit glows with enthusiasm for the honor, glory, and advancement of the nation; and its illustrations, allusions, and ar- guments, have the raciness of individual peculiarity. The philosophy of the man- ufacturing system is given with great clearness in respect to principles, and at the same time is presented to the eye and heart in a series of vivid pictures. The problem, he says, which the law- giver should propose to himself, is this How can I procure that amount of revenue which an economical adminis- tration of government demands, in such manner as most impartially and most completely to develope and foster the uni- versal industrial capacities of the coun- try, of whose vast material interests I am honored with the charge ? We should like to quote the whole of that passage, in which he enforces the im- portance of manufactures, on the ground that they give the laborer the choice be- tween many occupations, and do not abso 1847.] Hon. Rufus Choate. 65 lutely confine him to one or two. In a country, he says, of few occupations, employments go down by an arbitrary, hereditary, coercive designation, without regard to peculiarities of individual character. But a diversified, advanced, and refined mechanical and manufactur- ing industi~y, co-operating with those other numerous employments of civiliza- tion which always surround it, offers the widest choice, detects the slightest shade of individuality; quickens into existence and trains to perfectioa the largest con- ceivable amount and utmost possible va- riety of national mind. He proceeds to illustrate this idea by supposing a family of five sons, who, in some communities, would all be compelled to follow one occupation, as fishermen, or farmers, or servants. He then sketches the history of four of these sons, in a community where the diversified employments of civilization give scope to the ruling pas- sion of each. The allusion to the fifth boy is as honorable to the statesman as the poet. In the flashing eye, beneath the pale and beaming brow of that pther one, you detect the solitary first thoughts of genius. There are the sea-shore of storm or calm, the waning moon, the stripes of summer evening cloud, tradi- tions, and all the food of the soul, for him. And so all the boys are provided for. Every fragment of mind is gather- ed up. The hazel rod, with unfailing potency, points out, separates, and gives to sight every grain of gold in the water and in the sand. Every taste, every faculty, every peculiarity of mental pow- er, finds its task, does it, and is made the better for it. We should like to refer, at some length, to Mr. Choates speech on the bill to provide further remedial justice in the courts of the United States, delivered in the Senate, May, 1842. It is one of the most ingenious, learned and vehement of his speeches; is replete with logical passionrapid, animated, high-toned at one moment transfixing an objection with one of those radiant shafts which speed from the mind only in periods of excited reasoning, at another overthrow- ing an antagonist proposition by a se- ries of quick, trampling interrogatories, by which argument is gifted almost with muscular power. rphere is one passage, illustrating the idea that the condition of national existence is to be under the ob- ligations of the law of nations, from which we quote a characteristic sentence VOL. X.~iO. I. 6 or two: You may cease to be a nation; you may break the golden unseen band of the constellation in which we move along, and shoot apart, separate, wander- ing stars, into the infinite abyss; you may throw down the radiant ensign, and descend from the everlasting and glitter- ing summits of your freedom and your power; but while you exist as now you do, the only nation of our system known to the other nations, you are under, you must obey, and you may claim upon the common code of all civilized and Chris- tian commonwealths. The closing passage of the speech is even more passionately imaginative: The aspect, he says, which our Unit- ed America turns upon foreign nations, the aspect which our Constitution de- signs she shall turn upon them, the guard- ian of our honor, the guardian of our peace, is, after all, her grandest and her fairest aspect. We have a right to be proud when we look on that. Happy and free empress mother of States them- selves free! unagitated by the passions, unmoved by the dissensions, of any one of them, she watches the rights and fame of all ; and reposing, secure and serene, among the mountain summits of her freedom, she holds in one hand the fair olive branch of peace, and in the other the thunderbolt of reluctant and rightful war. There may she sit forever; the stars of union upon her brow, the rock of independence beneath her feet! This image has the splendor and energy of one of Burkes, with a slight touch, per- haps, of Mr. Jefferson Brick. The shock it may give to the finer filaments of taste, is owing to the ridicule which has been cast on the sentiment of national exag- geration, through the nonsense and bom- bast of fifth-rate declaimers. In this connection ~ve may as well allude to Mr. Choates sympathy with those general feelings of patriotism, as they are felt, not by tasteful students, but by great bodies of people. Though one of the first classical scholars in New England, and a diligent student of the great pro- ductions of English genius and taste, he is still exceedingly open to impressions from the common mind and heart, and has none of that daintiness, which, in the man of letters, contemptuously tosses aside all sentiment, expression, and im- agery which Mr. Prettyman and Miss Betty may choose to consider vulgar and ungenteel. The greatest English states- men have always addressed these coin- 66 Hon. Rufus Choate. mon sentiments of large classes of the peoplehave often spoken in their speech- es as Dibdin wrote in his songsand have been indebted for a great deal of their influence to passages, which wrin- kle with scorn the lips of elegant schol- ars and contributors to the Reviews. The speech delivered by Mr. Choate on March 21, 1844, on the Oregon Ques- tion, in reply to Mr. Buchanan, is dotted all over with splendid sentences: the general course of the argument is well sustained and happily enforced; and there is a joyous spring in the style, even in its occasional inflation, which seems to indicate that most, of it was produced extempore, without any more preparation than the facts and arguments demanded. It is an exceedingly spirited and brilliant speech, but has the inequalities of merit common to purely extemporaneous pro- ductions, in which argument is diversi- fied by personal matters of reply and re- tort. The tone of most of the speech is that of excited conversation, with the customary exaggeration both of passion and wit, common in colloquial disputes. The invective, provoked by a remark that the American people cherish a feeling of deep-rooted hatred to Great Britain, is perhaps the intensest passage in the pro- duction. No, sir, he indignantly ob- serves, we are above all this. Let the Highland clansman, half naked, half civ- ilized, half blinded by the peat-smoke of his cavern, have his hereditary enemy and his hereditary enmity, and keep the keen, deep, and precious hatred, set on fire of hell, alive if he can ; let the North American Indian have his, and hand it down from father to son, by Heaven knows what symbols of alligators, and rattle-snakes, aM war-clubs smeared with vermillion and entwined with scar- let; let such a country as Poland, cloven to the earth, the armed heel on the radiant forehead, her body dead, her soul incapable to dielet her remember the wrongs of days long past; let the lost and wandering tribes of Israel remember theirsthe manliness and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon this to them: but shall America, young, free, and prosperous, just setting out on the highway of heaven, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just be- gins to move in, glittering like the morn- ing star, full of life and joyshall she be supposed to be polluting and corroding her noble ~nd happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp-act, and tea-tax, and the firing of the Leopard on the Chesapeake, in time of peace? No, sir; no, sir; a thousand times no! * * * * * We are born to happier feelings. We look on England as we look on France. We look on them from our new world, not unrenowned, yet a new world still; and the blood mounts to our cheeks, our eyes swim, our voices are stifled with the consciousness of so much glory; their trophies will not let us sleep, but there is no hatred at allno hatred; all for honor, nothing for hate! We have, we can have, no barbarian memory of wrongs, for which brave men have mnde the last expiation to the brave. We have not by us the great speech of Mr. Choate, on the annexation of Texas, but we remember being impressed at the time with its strength and felicity; and the position taken in it regarding the consequences of the measure, have been realized almost to the letter. He was one of the most ardent oppe- nents of annexation, and both in the Senate and in addresses to the people, made his resistance felt. In what we havd said regarding his other speeches, we have not, of course, done justice to their merit as arguments, or stated the wide variety of topics and principles they discussed. We have merely, in our quo- tations, given prominence to a few sen- tences, which illustrate the essential so- lidity and correctness of his views of national policy, amid all the exaggeration and ornament of their expression. It is one of his peculiarities, and a very strik- ing one, that he combines a conserva- tive intellect, with a radical sensibility; and those irregular impulses of fancy and passion, which usually push men into the adoption of reckless, desperate and destructive l)rinciples of legislation, he employs in the service of the calmest, most comprehensive, and most practical political wisdom, rooted deep in reason and experience. His fire seems to be of that kind which sweeps, in a devouring flame, to blast and desolate what is es- tablished and accredited; but it really is that fieree heat, which infuses energy and breathing life into maxims and prin- ciples, which are in danger of becoming ineffective, from their usual disconnection with the sensibility and imagination. He is a kind of Mirabean-Peele. In what we have now to say in regard to Mr. Choates mind and character, we shall have to consider him chiefly as a lawyer and advocate, and only incident- ion. Rufits Choate. ally as a statesman. His greatest tri- umphs have been at the bar; and to un- fold from any central principle the character of that genius by which he of- ten works such wondersto give any- thing like the philosophy of bis influence is a task full of difficulty. We desire to present a portrait, which shall suggest to the reader the character and qualities of the man, but we feel able to do it but imperfectly. Mr. Choates mind is eminently large, acute, flexible, vigorous, versatile, en- riched with the most various acquire- ments, and displaying in its exercise, a rare union of understanding and imagina- tion, shrewdness and sensibility, tact and lire, lie is one of the most sagacious, as well as one of the most brilliant and impassioned, of orators. An unwearied lire seems to burn in the very centre of his nature, penetrating every fiiculty, flaming out in almost every expression; yet his intellect preserves its clearness of view, amid his most fervid declama- tion, and he is never himself whirled along in that rush of pa~sion, which hur- ries away the minds of all who come within its influence. With the keenest sensitiveness to impressions, ho is distin- guished as much for his power of self- control as his power bf self-excitation; and his emotions, like well-trained troops, are impetuous by rule. In this sine 0- lar combination of qualities, the puzzle of his character seems to lie; and it brings us at once to the prominent characteristic of his mindhis swift sympathy with any given events and persons, by force of imagination; facts and principles are not with him abstract data for an abstract conclusion; but he instinctively grasps them in the concrete, and realizes them to his own mind as living things. The most careless glance at his productions, will reveal this ten- dency of his intellect to the most super- ficial reader. Whatever may be the subject or object of his speech, he endows it with personal life. Thus he speaks of the system of American manufactures, as a refined, complicated, sensitive in- dustry. He ever impersonates the country, and sections of the country, whenever he alludes to them. They ap- pear always to rise up to his mind with a personal existence. Thus New York, with him, is not simply a city distin- guished for commercial energy, but a city which, with one hand grasps the golden harvests of the West, and with the other, like Venice, espouses the ever- lasting sea. Massachusetts, he says, will ever be true to the Constitution. She sat among the most affectionate at its cradle; she will follow, the saddest of the procession of sorrow, its hearse. Again he observes, that after we came out of the war of 1812, the baptism of fire and blood was on our brow, and its influence on our spirit and legislation. The most inanimate things start into life beneath his touch. We recollect that he once objected to the reception of an illiterate constables return of service, bristling all over with the word havi on the ground that it was bad. The judge remarked that though inelegant and ungrammatical in its structure, the paper still seemed to be good in a legal sense. It may be so, your honor, replied Mr. Choate, but it must be con- fessed, he has greatly overworked the participle a humorous imagination worthy of old Dr. Fuller. Again, in referring to the misgovernmentand weak- ness of the Confederation, he remarks that, when at last the Constitution was given to the longing sight of the people, they threw themselves upon it like a famished host on miraculous bread. But, perhaps, the finest specimens of his imaoinative powers, are those little minor touches, which are occasionally inserted in the throng and impatient pressure of his fanciful illustrations, and to a critical eye, are more pleasing than his most splendid and flaring images. They evince that an acuteness and intense clearness of mind ever accompanies, if it be not the result of, his most vehement excitement. This is an important point of separation between the orator and the mere fanciful declaimer. From this power of intense and vital eonception, comes the force of Mr. Choates eloquence, and also its seeming exaggeration. A vivid insight into one particular fact or truth, and a statement of it in corresponding warmth of lan- guage, practically draws it out of its natural relations, and converts the less into the greater reason. This is the ad- vantage which the great advocate holds over the merely learned and logical law- yer. He can make the little have the effect of the great by his power of im- pressing it upon the mind; and it requires a corresponding intensity of conception on the part of his opponent, to restore the intrinsically more important fact to its rightful precedence. Force in the 1847.1 67 68 ITon. Rufu8 Choate. [Jan., orator often compensates for deficiencies in the evidence. When this force, this power of giving prominence to facts and principles which are really of secondary importance, is wielded by one who con- trols the restless faculties of imagination and sensibility, hy which it is performed, the effect is proportionably increased. The dramatic poet is all the more power- ful in delineating character, when he in- tensely sympathizes with the passions he creates, without being blinded and borne away on their impetuous flood. A pro- minent characteristic of genius, says John Foster, is the power of lighting its own fire. Mr. Choate possesses this power to a remarkable degree. The object of Mr. Choate, in the dis- cussion of a question, and the object of every great orator, is not primarily to con- vince the intellect or please the fancy, but to influence the will. He attempts to storm the citadel of the mind. His arguments, consequently, do not address the understanding alone, nor his passion the sensibility alone, but fact, argument, fancy and passion, are fused together in one glowing mass, and boldly directed at the very springs of action and volition. Though, for the purposes of classification, we speak of the mind as a collection of sentiments and faculties, we should never forget that it is still not an aggregation but a unit, and that its unity is its lead- ing and vital characteristic amidst all the variety of its manifestation. Though this fact is commonly overlooked by the lo- gician, the great reasoner, no less than the great orator, keeps it constantly in view, when his object is to pioduce a practical effect upon the will of his audience. There is little force in abstract princi- ples, but immense power in living ideas. It is the commonest of truisms that men do not necessarily act from the barren common-places to which their under- standings may yield assent. Many of Queen Elizabeths most peaceable sub- jects were Roman Catholics, who be- lieved they would be justified in being her assassins. Many of the bishops who assisted in driving James the Second from his throne, were champions of the divine right of kings, and believers in the doctrine of non-resistance totheir authority. The orator, therefore, instinctively appreciat- ing the difference between notions which are civilly assented to by the intellect, and operative ideas which produce cor- esponding action, addresses the whole ature of his audience, and moves as well as convinces. Mr. Choate possess- es this power in a large measure; and it is especially seen in his legal arguments. His object is ever to produce effects. This fiery and fusing imagination lies at the centre of Mr. Choates large and flexible nature, and constitutes, in fact, the real characteristic of his eloquence, and is the chief source of his power. But the most obvious characteristic of his mind is fancy; and certainly it is one of exhaustless opulence and almost un- bounded range. For every idea, event, or action, which comes into his mind, he has a fancy to suggest something which bears to it a seeming likeness. His an- alogical power, indeed, both of under- standing and fancy, is immense, and it is difficult in the rush of his eloquence al- ways to distinguish real from apparent analogies analogies in the nature of things, from analogies in the appearances of things. The latter class are profuse- ly scattered over his various speeches, and lend to his style a character of gor- geous, but often ungraceful ornament. His productions should be viewed with reference to the fact, that they were in- tended to be spoken, and spoken by the orator himself. To a cool taste, the print- ed orations, disconnected from the ex- citement under which they were deliver- ed, and the purpose they were intended to serve, would seem occasionally turgid in style and meretricious in ornament. Even in this respect, his ornament is not of that kind which makes the speeches of Counselor Phillips a continual shock to taste, nor that style of elaborated frenzy and careful tawdriness which stiffens the diction of Sheridans speeches; but there is behind all a force and fire hurrying the mind onwards, without allowing it to stop for criticism. His most exaggerated images seem forced from him in moments of excitement, and are all infused with the life of the occasion. His eloquence, fierce, rapid and bold, conscious of pow- er, and feeling a kind of wild delight in its exercise, dares everything, forces the minds of the hearers into appropriate moods, and at times accomplishes its ob- ject by main strength. He fires the whole mass of his facts, arguments and images, until they blaze, and the grotesque flashes of flame which sometimes im- patiently dart from the main body, are hardly noticed as incongruous. It would be easy to adduce specimens of his fierce and exaggerated fancies comparisons clutched in moments of raised passion, 1847] lion. Rufus Choate. 69 and made to harmonize with the thought or feeling of the moment. In an argu- ment before a Committee of the Massa- chusetts Legislature, on the petition for a new railroad from Salem to Boston, he drew a very vivid picture of the different towns the present road did not pass through, and referred especially to Dan- vers, which is only two or three miles from Salem. Her people, he said, were just near enough to hear the whistle of the locomotive, and gaze at the sparks of that flying giant; yet for all practical purposes, they might as well stand under the sky at midnight, gazing at a tirmament of falling meteors. Mr. Choates fancy usually accompa- nies, and sometimes almost blends with, the exercise of his imagination, but it is still to be distinguished from its nobler companion. By imagination he apparently exaggerates a thing, through the intensity with which he conceives it; by fancy, he really magnifies it by comparison with larger objects. From the manner in which these two powers of his play into each others hands, and also from his fre- quent practice of overtopping an imagi- nation with a fanciful decoration, the charge of exaggeration against his elo- quence has its foundation. The phrase clothed upon, which is often applied to the operations of imagination, is more properly applicable to those of fancy; and in Mr. Choates productions, the shining garment of comparison which he has placed upon his vital thought, may easily be disconnected from it, and leave the original idea, grasped and mo- dified by imagination, in its own intense and living beauty. Even if the fancy, as is sometimes the case with him, grows out of the imagination, it can be severed from it without striking at the life of its parentas we can lop the luxuriant fo- liage from a tree without injuring its vi- tal root and trunk. The truth is, that, in respect to ornament, fancy is more ef- fective than imagination, because it is more readily apprehended; and Mr. Choates real poetic power has generally suffered most from the praises of such as have been captivated by his swoln com- parisons and flaring illustrations. Mr. Choate has a peculiar kindof mirth in his composition, and also that readi- ness which commonly accompanies lu- dicrous perception; but his wit is rather witty fancy, and his humor, humorous imagination. He has a kind of playful sympathy with the ludicrous side of things, which is often exceedingly feli- citous in its expression. Such is his grotesque image, in his speech on the Oregon Question, of the Legislature put- ting its head out of the window, and in a voice audible all over the world, speaking to the negotiators of the pending treaty, bidding them God-speed, but insinuating that if they did not give up the whole subject in dispute, it would be settled by main strength. But perhaps his best passage in this way, is his picture of a New England Summer, introduced in his second speech on the Tariff, to illustrate the idea that irregularity is not ruin. Take the New England climate, in summer; you would think the world was coming to an end. Certain recent heresies on that subject may have had a natural origin there. Cold to-day; hot to.mor- row; mercury at SO~ in the morning, with wind at south-west; and in three hours more a sea-turn, wind at east, a thick fog from the very bottom of the ocean, and a fall of forty degrees of Fahrenheit; now so dry as to kill all the beans in New Hamp- shire; then floods carrying off the bridges of the Penobscot and Connecticut; snow in Portsmouth, in July; and the next day a man and a yoke of oxen killed by light- ning in Rhode Island. You would think the world was twenty times coming to an end! But I dont know how it is: we go along; the early and the latter rain falls, each in its season; seed.time and harvest do not fail; the sixty days of hot, corn weather, are pretty sure to be mea- sured out to us. The Indian Summer, with its bland south-west, and mitigated sun- shine, brings all up; and on the twenty- fifth of November, or thereabouts, being Thursday, three millions of grateful peo pie, in meeting-houses, or around the fami- ly board, give thanks for a year of health plenty, and happiness. The reader of Mr. Choates speeches, will readily call to mind many sentences, in which the serious and the ludicrous shake hands as cordially, and with as little detriment to each other, as in the pre- ceding extract. This peculiar sportiveness, which Mr. Choate can command at pleasure, is an element in the general impression con- veyed by his genius, and it makes the character complete. Will, understand- ing, imagination, passion, fancy, humor, subtlety in the perception of distinctions, subtlety in the perception of resem- blances, sympathy with the ideal, and sympathy with the familiar; these, both in their separate exercise, and their sub- tle interpenetration, are resources which 70 lion. lZi~fas Choate. he commands and blends at xviii. In the play and interchange of imagination and humor, in an union of the high with the common, there is established in his mind a kind of fellowship with the things he describes, and the persons he addresses. Through this he contrives, in his legal arguments, to lift the familiar into the ideal, by the strength of his conception of both; and when his materials are at all tractable, he can achieve the task without suggesting the ludicrous. When they are not, he does it by pure force and de- termination. He discerns, instinctively, the unconscious poetry in characters nod actions, which are prosaic to the com- mon eye; and he does not, perhaps, so often superadd as evolve. his argu- ments have often the artistical effect of a romantic poem, even when they are most firmly based in law and evidence. His client is the hero of the narrative; and spectators, if not juries, always desire that the hero of Mr. Choates epic argu- ment may not come to an end by edge of penny cord and vile reproach. The immense fertility of his mind, in possi- bilities and plausibilities, enables him to account for every action, on other princi- ples than those which are obvious; and the warm blood never glows and rushes through his sentences with more inten- sity, than when he is giving to the secondary the prominence and life of the primitive. There. is a constant ap- peal, in his arguments, to generous sen- timent-.--an implied assumption that men will always act honestly and without prejudicethat a jury will as heartily pronounce in favor of his client, as the reader of a romance in favor of perse- cuted virtue. And, for the time, the orator himself is earnest and sincere. iBy force of sympathy, he has identified himself with his client, and realized every- thing to his own mind. He pleads as if his own character or life was at stake. Ideas, suppositions, possibilities, drawn into his own imagination, are vitalized into realities, and he sees them as living thingssees them as Dante saw Fan- nata rise from his glowing tombas Shakspeare saw Cordelia bending over Lear. And while thus giving breathing life to character and events, he does not overlook a single particle of evidence, or neglect to urge a single point of law, which bears upon the case. A legal ar- gument, as conceived and delivered by Mr. Choate, has the merit of combining an in- fluence upon the will and understanding, with an artistical effect upon the imagina [Jan., tion. He makes no parade of logic; the skeleton is not always forcing itself through the flesh, as in the arguments of men of dryer brains and less skill; yet he ranges his case with consummate art around its great leading points,to which he binds, in the strictest sequence, and with a masterly power of concentration, every fact and every arbument. His fancy leads him into few or no discursions, but plays like heat-lightning along the lines of his argument, while his imagination, inter- penetrating and working with his logic, at once condenses and creates. It is needless to say that his arguments cannot be reported. In a newspaper, they have the effect of champagne in decanters, or Herodotus in Beloes ver- sion. It would be impossible to convey an idea of this power of Mr. Choate, by sin- gle passages, as it is something which animates, unites, and vivifles the whole argument. It is imagination, not a se- ries of imaginations, which produces the result. Sentences cut apart from the main body of one of his productions, can only suggest his manner through the process of caricature. Thus, we recol- lect that an honest master-mason, in one of his arguments, rose to the dignity of a builder and beautifier of cities. In an- other, he represented the skipper of a merchant vessel, who had been prosecuted by his crew for not giving them enough to eat, as being busily studying some law-book, while passing the island of St. Helena, to find out his duty in case the vessel was short of provisions. Such, said Mr. Choate, ~ were his meditations, as the invisible currents of the ocean bore him by the grave of Napoleon. A witness once testified, in reference to one of his clients, that he had called upon him on Friday evening, found him crying, and on asking him what was the matter, received in answer, Im afraid Ive run against a snag. This was rendered by Mr. Choate somewhat in this way: Such were his feelings, and such his actions, down to that fatal Friday night, when, at ten oclock, in that flood of tears, his hope went out like a candle. rhihese instances convey an idea of the process by which Mr. Choate makes strange combinations out of common things, but a little more accurate than an intentional parody of his manner. A pleasant friend of Mr. Choate, tells an ingenious fib of him, with regard to an action for damages, the turning point of which was the value of a haruess, hired 1847.] at a livery-stable, and broken to pieces. Holding up in his hand a parl~ of the har- ness, Mr. Choate said, To be sure, gen- tlemen, this harness hasnt upon it all that gloss and glitter which takes the eye of the vulgar crowd; but I put it to you, as intelligent jurors, acquainted with the ordinary affairs of life, whether it isnt a good, safe, sound, substantial second- hand harness 1 We may as well add here, hy the way, another little anecdote of a different kind. A friend of mine, speaking to him of Macreadys art in acting, said that a per- son once heard a man crying murder, for two hours iii successien, in the room under his own, at a hotel. On inquiry, he found it was Mr. Macready practicing on the word, to get the right agonized tone. If a man, said Choate, should cry murder for two hours, under my win- dow, I would commit it I The style of Mr. Choate is the style of an orator, not of an author. It will hard- ly bear a minute criticism, founded on ge- neral principles of taste, but must be judged with reference to the character of the speaker and the object of his speech. The tone of his diction is pitched on too high a key for written composition. The same splendid oration which thrilled a popular assembly, or influenced the ver- dict of a jury, would lose a very impor- tant portion of its charm when subjected to the calm, cold judgment of the read- er. Besides, it must be admitted that Mr. Choates immense wealth of lan- guage, and opulence of fancy, urges him into redundance of expression, and some- times overloads his style with shining words. This is principally seen in his use df adjectives. He will pour out in ene breath ~flve or six of them, sometimes because he has not time to choose the most expressive one, sometimes from the desire to point out all the qualities of the thing defined. It has been said of him, that he drives a substantive and six. He is often exceedingly felicitous in this accumulation of epithets, and really con- denses where he seems to expand. Thus he once spoke ef the Greek mind, as subtle, mysterious, plastic, apprehen- sive, comprehensive, available a page of disquisition in one short sentence. But commonly, we think, it tends to weaken his diction, especially when it is disconnected from his peculiar manner of speaking. It is the vice of a fertile in- tellect, always in haste, and trusting to its own wealth to supply at the moment the words which are wanted. Perhaps lion. Rufus Choale. 71 this peculiarity has been unconsciously caught from a study of the later writings of Burke, especially those on the French Revolution. Burke often drives a sub- stantive and six, but he has his reins upon them all, and each performs a ser- vice to which the others would be inade- quate. His epithets do not clog his style, however they may modify the rapidity of its movement. They are selected by his mind; Mr. Choates seem to occur to his mind. Mr. Choates printed speeches are strewn all over with verbal felicities, and they well repay an attentive perusal. But, iii point of style, they are imperfect, and give the reader a painful sense of great riches negligently used. They are not perfect exponents of his mind and ca- pacity. But they still are all alive with the energy of his nature, and in some of the greater requisites of style exceed many productions which are more perfect in its minor excellences. If subjected to a rigid revision by the orator himself, they would deserve a proud phLce among the most brilliant forensic productions. As it is, they contain passages of great and peculiar beauty, and, as arguments on the questions to which they refer, are exceedingly able. We cannot conclude these hurried ob- servations on some of the characteristics of Mr. Choate, without expressing the hope that his large, fertile and available intellect, so rich in experience and schol- arship, may be directea, at some period, to the production of a work, in which his genius and acquirements may be fairly expressed. Everything which he has performed, heretofore, has been done on the spur of the occasion, and to serve some particular object connected with his party or his profession. His printed speeches are indications rather than em- bodiments of his capacity. He is capa- ble of producing a work which will give his name that literary prominence to which his great powers seem to point. In the prime of life, and in the vigor of his genius, having achieved early the highest political and professional objects ef a ma~nly ambition, we trust that his splendid intellect will not pass away, without leaving behind something which shall embody its energies, and reflect honor upon the literature of his country. The victories of his profession are only fsr the day a~d the occasion; but those which are .won in the field of letter; may live long after Rome in Tiber melts, and the wide arch Of the ranged empire falls. 72 iS/tort Chapters on Exotic and Novel Metres. [Jan., SHORT CHAPTERS ON EXOTIC AND NOVEL METRES. CHAPTER II.~ CLASSICAL DRAMATIC METRES. The metre most opposed in character to the Hexameter is the Iambic Trimeter. The one bounds and rushes along; the other steps a stately pace. ~saxc~~. one of its favorite words, most aptly express- es its movement. There are so me curious points about this Trimeter, as contrasted with our ideas of versification and euphony. It must end, as every one knows, (every one in New York, that is; in New Eng. land they have a special dispensation for all matters connected with quantity,) with an Iambus. Now, such words as seq.& ~ and o~Op~ seem to us very queer lambs. Yet these are perfectly legiti. mate, the combinations ,q., Op~, and many similar ones being, in Greek dramatic versification, permissive, as it is tech- nically termed; i. e. they permit the vowel preceding them to be shortened. But gd~ could not end a line. This seems odd to us who can hardly fancy a syllable beginning with thin or cm, while we have many words beginning with em; and what increases the sin u- Ian the Greeks themselves g ty is, that have words beginning with o~.& , but none with p. or Again, we have an Iambic Trimeter in Englishjust the same number of feet and syllables, but altogether a different metre from the Greek, owing to the dif- ference on clesura. In the Greek Tnime- ire the main ciesura must occur in the third or fourth foot: XOer& g p~sv ~ r~iXougiv f ~ico~cv mrfbov t~ oha~ov bi/3cacov I In the English after the third foot: Up with the jocund lark: J too long we take our rest, While yet the cheerful morn f out from the blushing east Is ushering in the day to light the muse along.Drayton. Guest says that the most familiar one of this metre is the concluding line of the Spensenian stanza. This is not strictly correct. There is a difThrence, slight but sensible, between the measure of the Poly-olbion and the final Spense- nan line. In the former, the accent is thrown on the long syllables of the irst, third, fourth and siith feet: Of Albions famous isle the w6nders whilst I write. And it makes no difference whether there is a ciesura between the second and third feet, or even whether the second syllable of the second foot is weak or strong. In the latter the tendency is to accent the fourth syllable of the line more than the second, and to Iviake a cmsura alter the second foot: If ancient tales be true, nor wrong these holy men. There were some queer misprints in the former chapter. On p. 483, 1st cot., lines 29,30, for sauselude, read sazuselrsde. (This is important, as the whole force of the passage depends on it.) P. 483, 1st cot., 1. 52, for fact, read feet. P. 484, 2d cot., 1. 18, after look, insert far. P. 484, 2d col., 1.32., fkr perfecet~, read ~eoperl~r. P. 484, 2d col.., for ~Ivr~pr, read The centleman who wrote ilydrotaphia was named 1*oume, not Brown. f These combinations occur even iii the later Epic poets. Nothing seems more natu- wal to us than that Daplznis should be a trochee: we should never think of pronouncing it Dl-fnis. Yet in that painfully sweet piece of versitication, the Lamen4 which closes the first Idyll, we find Kce~ ?4yI, q-~v f3c~~-eav vocci L~iJ4vsv, & XX& IxIu fhom ~c~xcQ~.o~ m4a~zev 87c~ A& t~v,~ & WC 6r d.v UXons.~

Carl Benson Benson, Carl Some Chapters on Exotic and Novel Metres 72-73

72 iS/tort Chapters on Exotic and Novel Metres. [Jan., SHORT CHAPTERS ON EXOTIC AND NOVEL METRES. CHAPTER II.~ CLASSICAL DRAMATIC METRES. The metre most opposed in character to the Hexameter is the Iambic Trimeter. The one bounds and rushes along; the other steps a stately pace. ~saxc~~. one of its favorite words, most aptly express- es its movement. There are so me curious points about this Trimeter, as contrasted with our ideas of versification and euphony. It must end, as every one knows, (every one in New York, that is; in New Eng. land they have a special dispensation for all matters connected with quantity,) with an Iambus. Now, such words as seq.& ~ and o~Op~ seem to us very queer lambs. Yet these are perfectly legiti. mate, the combinations ,q., Op~, and many similar ones being, in Greek dramatic versification, permissive, as it is tech- nically termed; i. e. they permit the vowel preceding them to be shortened. But gd~ could not end a line. This seems odd to us who can hardly fancy a syllable beginning with thin or cm, while we have many words beginning with em; and what increases the sin u- Ian the Greeks themselves g ty is, that have words beginning with o~.& , but none with p. or Again, we have an Iambic Trimeter in Englishjust the same number of feet and syllables, but altogether a different metre from the Greek, owing to the dif- ference on clesura. In the Greek Tnime- ire the main ciesura must occur in the third or fourth foot: XOer& g p~sv ~ r~iXougiv f ~ico~cv mrfbov t~ oha~ov bi/3cacov I In the English after the third foot: Up with the jocund lark: J too long we take our rest, While yet the cheerful morn f out from the blushing east Is ushering in the day to light the muse along.Drayton. Guest says that the most familiar one of this metre is the concluding line of the Spensenian stanza. This is not strictly correct. There is a difThrence, slight but sensible, between the measure of the Poly-olbion and the final Spense- nan line. In the former, the accent is thrown on the long syllables of the irst, third, fourth and siith feet: Of Albions famous isle the w6nders whilst I write. And it makes no difference whether there is a ciesura between the second and third feet, or even whether the second syllable of the second foot is weak or strong. In the latter the tendency is to accent the fourth syllable of the line more than the second, and to Iviake a cmsura alter the second foot: If ancient tales be true, nor wrong these holy men. There were some queer misprints in the former chapter. On p. 483, 1st cot., lines 29,30, for sauselude, read sazuselrsde. (This is important, as the whole force of the passage depends on it.) P. 483, 1st cot., 1. 52, for fact, read feet. P. 484, 2d cot., 1. 18, after look, insert far. P. 484, 2d col., 1.32., fkr perfecet~, read ~eoperl~r. P. 484, 2d col.., for ~Ivr~pr, read The centleman who wrote ilydrotaphia was named 1*oume, not Brown. f These combinations occur even iii the later Epic poets. Nothing seems more natu- wal to us than that Daplznis should be a trochee: we should never think of pronouncing it Dl-fnis. Yet in that painfully sweet piece of versitication, the Lamen4 which closes the first Idyll, we find Kce~ ?4yI, q-~v f3c~~-eav vocci L~iJ4vsv, & XX& IxIu fhom ~c~xcQ~.o~ m4a~zev 87c~ A& t~v,~ & WC 6r d.v UXons.~ 1847.] The Ljfe and Opinions of Philip Yorick, Esq. 73 There are indeed many exceptions, but 1 think this general difference of character ~vill be found to prevail. English Jam~ bic Trimeters may he written on the Greek principle: it has been done once or twice in Punch. They read very like ordinary blan ~j verse with two su- perfluous syllables!~~~.such lines as you would expect to find in Beaumont and Fletcher: And looking back upon our long exist- ences, We only see a vista of dull tragedies. The long line of the Aristophanic Par- abasis, with a very little coaxing, makes two good lines of a not very uncommon English stanza. All that is requisite is, to expand the spondees into anap~ests, and even this is not invariably necessary. O~3x ~qr & v6ic~ croO~ro qrov~c~ 3ic~q-~j~ /36w, & XX& vo~4 v Kw~co ~sJc~dxczXgo~v livcu X~~-cI~~AV Pg/tv cL~7r& v~-c,,v. It was not his pride that made him do this, He says, but the consideration, That the Muse of Comedy certainly is The most whimsical thing in creation. Several of the Comic and even some of the Tragic Greek metres are ordinary English song.rhythms. Thus T~v~XXc~ ~r isqrc~ x~c~4if y c~i ~u, xcO.Xiv& ze~, and Ypc6uic~ Oi~J4rc,~v; oqrq-cLq-I rcL7XEX?ics, correspond exactly to A captain bold of Halifax. But with us they are gen- erally connected with vulgar associa- tions. The case is very different with Trochaic Tetrameter. This is equally majestic in Greek, Latin* and English. It was first used by Frere, he that wrote half the Needy Knife-grinder, and gave Byron the hint of Don Juan in his Whistlecraft. Aytoun once lranslate4 a book of Homer into it. But it was first made familiar by Tennyson in his Locks- ley Hall, from which it is unnecessary to give any illustrations, as every lover of true poetry must be well acquainted with that poem. CARL BENSON. THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF PHILIP YORICK, ESQ., WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. PART I. BOOK 1. CHAPTER I. AUTHORS PREFACE. It any person desires to know, upon taking up this memoir, what there may be in the name and fame of Philip Yorick, Esq., a person of whom the read- ing public are as yet ignorant, to justify, or even excuse, the publication of his autobiography, he will find the best answer in the work itself. If he meets with any the least entertainment there, he is answered; but if he be too busy, or too indolent, or too wise; or if the ra- pidity and variety of his lettered occupa- tion restricts him to glancing over title- pages and heads of chapters, like any Editor or Reviewer; this is to inform him in brief, that Mr. Yoricks motives to the composition of his own Life and Opinions, were of so complicated and subtle a mixture, made up of so many little fag impulses and additional rea- sons; collected out of such a sink and tailors hell of experiences; brought to a consistence by so many philanthropical leadings and transcendental conceits; that what with all the analytical power he is master of, added to a ten years in- quiry into the nature and operation of complex motives, he can no more easily * Yet singularly enough the Augustan poets did not use it. The best Latin specimen of long Trochaics is the Pervigilium Veneris, (erroneously attributed to Catullus,) which may be found among a choice medley of Erotics at the end of Burmans Petronius Arbiter.

Philip Yorick Yorick, Philip The Life and Opinions of Philip Yorick, Esq 73-84

1847.] The Ljfe and Opinions of Philip Yorick, Esq. 73 There are indeed many exceptions, but 1 think this general difference of character ~vill be found to prevail. English Jam~ bic Trimeters may he written on the Greek principle: it has been done once or twice in Punch. They read very like ordinary blan ~j verse with two su- perfluous syllables!~~~.such lines as you would expect to find in Beaumont and Fletcher: And looking back upon our long exist- ences, We only see a vista of dull tragedies. The long line of the Aristophanic Par- abasis, with a very little coaxing, makes two good lines of a not very uncommon English stanza. All that is requisite is, to expand the spondees into anap~ests, and even this is not invariably necessary. O~3x ~qr & v6ic~ croO~ro qrov~c~ 3ic~q-~j~ /36w, & XX& vo~4 v Kw~co ~sJc~dxczXgo~v livcu X~~-cI~~AV Pg/tv cL~7r& v~-c,,v. It was not his pride that made him do this, He says, but the consideration, That the Muse of Comedy certainly is The most whimsical thing in creation. Several of the Comic and even some of the Tragic Greek metres are ordinary English song.rhythms. Thus T~v~XXc~ ~r isqrc~ x~c~4if y c~i ~u, xcO.Xiv& ze~, and Ypc6uic~ Oi~J4rc,~v; oqrq-cLq-I rcL7XEX?ics, correspond exactly to A captain bold of Halifax. But with us they are gen- erally connected with vulgar associa- tions. The case is very different with Trochaic Tetrameter. This is equally majestic in Greek, Latin* and English. It was first used by Frere, he that wrote half the Needy Knife-grinder, and gave Byron the hint of Don Juan in his Whistlecraft. Aytoun once lranslate4 a book of Homer into it. But it was first made familiar by Tennyson in his Locks- ley Hall, from which it is unnecessary to give any illustrations, as every lover of true poetry must be well acquainted with that poem. CARL BENSON. THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF PHILIP YORICK, ESQ., WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. PART I. BOOK 1. CHAPTER I. AUTHORS PREFACE. It any person desires to know, upon taking up this memoir, what there may be in the name and fame of Philip Yorick, Esq., a person of whom the read- ing public are as yet ignorant, to justify, or even excuse, the publication of his autobiography, he will find the best answer in the work itself. If he meets with any the least entertainment there, he is answered; but if he be too busy, or too indolent, or too wise; or if the ra- pidity and variety of his lettered occupa- tion restricts him to glancing over title- pages and heads of chapters, like any Editor or Reviewer; this is to inform him in brief, that Mr. Yoricks motives to the composition of his own Life and Opinions, were of so complicated and subtle a mixture, made up of so many little fag impulses and additional rea- sons; collected out of such a sink and tailors hell of experiences; brought to a consistence by so many philanthropical leadings and transcendental conceits; that what with all the analytical power he is master of, added to a ten years in- quiry into the nature and operation of complex motives, he can no more easily * Yet singularly enough the Augustan poets did not use it. The best Latin specimen of long Trochaics is the Pervigilium Veneris, (erroneously attributed to Catullus,) which may be found among a choice medley of Erotics at the end of Burmans Petronius Arbiter. 74 The Lffe and Opinion8 [Jan., tell why he wrote this memoir, than why he put his right foot into the stirrup yesterday, instead of the left; which every child knows should have gone first. Perhaps you did it for your own pleasure. No, sir, for yours. You are very kind. Not at all, good reader; and so we might go on bowing and complimenting. But hark ye, my man of motives, for whose pleasure did you put the antithet- ical flowers into that shining discourse of youra, so much ~ppIauded by the Misses A------, and the Messieurs B. CHAPTER II. ADDITIONAL PREFATORY. Your first chapter, which is also your last, was a ridiculously short one. Say you so? What mean you by short or long? All things, my dear sir, are comparative; if a thing is ridiculous- ly short, yet complete in itself, and able in its function, as I affirm my preface to be, who shall gainsay it? Did not my preface do what every respectable pre- face ought to do? Did it not make all the apology that can be made for what fbI- lows, iiamely, for the production of the work? Be the preface as short as it will, the work itself is like to he long enough if this fit holds. But to busi- ness. The judicious reader pondering the name of this autobiographer, may sus- pect it for an assumed one, behind which some person of consequence chooses to veil himself. Mr. Yorick is perfectly willing he should think so, or the con- trary, as it befalls. He feels himself to be, indeed, a person of very considerable consequence, like others of his friends; though he refrains from mentioning to whom. Of how much consequence he may become to the reader, is quite a (hf- ferent allisir, to be judged in the event. Not to he tedious, for a bad presage at the first, a word only of the plan and matter of work. First as to the plan. It is a matter of some moment to an author, that his reader he not too cun- ning for him, and penetrate his design. A dinner of unexpected courses, rising in (legrees of luxury to the very acme of gustatory pleasure, is a (linner to be praised; for of all thieves of enjoyment, anticipation is the shrewdest. Now, the surest way not to he robbed, is, perhaps, to carry no money about you; and the surest way of hiding your plan is to have no plan. Whether that is not an artless kind of art which begins with rousing expectation, is a question for the critics. Nevertheless, I solemnly declare, that all the secret scandals, and private histories of remarkable persons, mentioned in this memoir, are of a char- acter not in the least injurious to public morals nobody shall be abused, exeept- ing such as truly deserve it Idid I say? If the cap fits, put it on, and do what the lion tamer did with the lion. Exercising that keenness and admira- ble sense, which is natural to him, the juilicious reader, to whom I take this op- portunity of making my best bow observe; my cane, a little crook, em- blematical of the clergy, is in my left hand, somewhat raised and trailed; my hat, emblematical of dignity, is in the right ;with a gentle curve of the back, and an inclination of the head, signifying reverence, a half subtle, half courteous smile, uniting benignity with deference. My cloth, a gray surtout, (Napoleon wore one of the same piece,) einblemat- ing frugality and modesty; my shoes I never wear boots * * * hiatus; Mr. Yoricks reason against boots appeareth not *** my shoes, I say, signifying ho- nesty and industry. My hairs few and gray, the hairs of experience; my cam- ~lexion brown and sallow (an adust and fanciful complexion); my eyes, gray and uncertain (a subtle eye); my stature un- der the middle height; a spare and fra- gile body, but not without elasticity. Where did I leaveO! at that ad- mirable good sense, which is natural to you, judicious reader. As that wise bird, the country cou- sin of the swan, doth enter a door, so doth a servile and timid writer pass over the threshhold ofihis workwith a bow, I suppose. it is the fashion now, and always will be, to act according to ones nature ;who can help it? You may know a knave by his cringing, a fool by his precipitation, and a narcissus by a thread of his self contemplations run- ning through the tissue of his talk. Of Philip Yorick, Esq. CHAPTER III. FINAL PREFATOItY. Exercising his natural shrewdness, the same judicious reader who douhted the name, may suspect the events of this auto- biography; that they have been twisted, distorted, diminished, exaggerated; whole members suppressed, nay parts even, in- vented or appropriated for the sake of (lisguise; as is usual in memoirs of great men. Mr. Yorick cannot but admire the penetration of the reader, who suspects all Ihis; he only warns him against putting his finger on particular parts, as if to say, this is fact, or, that is fiction: here was matter suppressed, there some- thing added: he wishes him, for the iove he bears his own wisdom, not to go so deep. When I consider the pleasure I have received, saith an ingenious writer, from the perusal of the lives of cele- brated persons related by themselves, an agreeable emulation tingles in my veins, and warms me to the hope, that even I might achieve something as singular and authentic. Though I dared not venture against the veracious Sinbad, or the ingenuous Goethe, in the variety and elegance of my narration, I might at least approach them in the integrity and simplicity of my story. Not that I am able to adorn it with dreadful adventures, or subtle experiences; nor that I am equal to a history of my spiritual pro- gresses. For that species of narration I am forced to entertain a distant respect. They awaken in me nothing of that itch of imitation which is the spur of the au- thors mind. I am contented to wonder at the spiritual conjuror, who can roll his eyes backward upon himself, and fix them there. I am delighted with the courage and skill of that man, who can exhibit his own viscera without detri- ment to his body, or affront to our nos- trils. It is a pleasure to see all this, and study the physiology of it, as we inspect corpses, or pry into natural resultants, for science sake; but for the practice on ones self, I lack courage. I am, be- sides, a poor feather-brain, and cannot lix my attention long enough on any particular folly or vanity of my own, to extract wisdom out of it. The offence overcomes me. Nevertheless, I mean not to affront posterity with a deliberate chronicle of my life: how I was born; in such a place; at such a planetary conjunction; of such parents; with a mole on my cheek; a crook in my foot; a wart in my hand; a strawberry on my shoulder; with or without this or that organ, inem- her, limb; how I gradually grew fatter; suckled, eat, drank; did what young- lings do, cried, kicked, scrambled, crawled, driveled, bemauled my clothes, curried the cat, scorched the dog, teased the cook, plagued the maidsin fine, how I gradually assumed the parts and functions of a man; and what with the dame-school, grammar.school, academy, college, acquiring, by example and in- clinations, by impulse of nature and coinage of wit, those severalties which in the total we name educationa total, of which the half is vice and the half virtue. Why should I pass on to relate what happened to me in the specialties of the fourth septenniad, when I hung midway betwixt evil arid good, betwixt youth and manhood, joy and sorrow, ignorance and wisdom, through seven mad years? Shall I declare to you the number of my dinners, breakfast~, suppers, lunches, snacks, drinks, glasses, cupswith a like enumeration of all that appertains to Man the Beast, and an utter lorgetting of what is proper to Man the Angel? Wouldst have a list of my wardrobe; of the color, quality, make, condition, savor, fashion, durableness, place of origin, place of vendition, of my several shirts, hats, stockings, garters, coats, vests, cloaks, handkerchiefs, cravats, gloves, and galligaskins? How I rode a bay trotting-horse, with a silver gilt housing, at ha If-speed, to the Dl--- with a lady of fashion on my left hand, and a puppy of evil quality on my right? how the puppy of qualitys beast did play the fool, bolted, broke the puppy of qualitys neck; as many a brute has done since, and as many will continue todo, lest the earth be overstocked with fools? Why should a man dwell on such things? Because, sir, these are the univer- sals, and every man, woman, and child, will understand them. A word, sir, if you please: will your authorship an- swer one questionto wit, what do all men, women, and children, at all times 1847.] 75 76 The Life and Opinions [Jan., desire? To see a new thin~r Wrong, by Apollo! Half the time, they would as lief see an old one. Are you an- swered ? Curiosity is not the only passion of the soul; there are some others in it, of at least an equal potency. What say you to sympathy, my gay romancer? CHAPTER IV. OccUPATION. To be a dealer in plausibilities, is no part of my plan; therefore, am not I a politician. I lack instinct. My states- inanship is a thing of closet growth, merely hypochondriacal. What with a turbulent crowd of passions, follies, and impulses, over which reason holds but a feeble and usurped control, I have gov- erning enough, in conscience, to do at home. I am none of Platos natural- born sovereigns, with the regal Idea dominant in me; my desires will not be crushed by the refinedest theory of virtue. What is your occupation ? At present, sir, it is the writing of this history. What it may be to-morrow, Heaven shall decidephysic an(l a fee, perhaps; ~vho knows what may befall? What say you to a place in the cus- toms, or the care of a hospital ?- Good; let it come, I am ready for the worst. Should any man, hearing me disclaim this and the other occupation, disposition, trade, opinion as of a statesman, a poli- tician; a scholar, a pedant; a divine, a theologian; a ~vit, a joker; a genius, an enthusiast; a poet, a versifier; a mer- chant, a money-grub; a bookseller, a shark; a painter, a color-mux; a teacher, a pedagogue; a philosopher, a subtle speech~fier; a thinker, a dreamer; a lover of men, a lover of misery on the grand scale ;by Heaven! I should go near to insult him for a meddler, or to pity him for an innocent. I will be driven into no such corners; the world is my heritage; and shall I set up my rest in any doghole thereof, to draw property- lines and snarl over them? No party shall lug me, by the ears, into their nest. I am neither of the old school, nor of the new. Mayhap, then, you are of the psychoplastic many-sided, or, as we say, reutonic model; inclining to the bottom- less abyssmal-sceptical, of the all-too- far-seeing pyroscintillant, gnosticism; and therefore subcachinnatory, and not earnest. In short, you are transcen- dental. Twenty years ago, sir, in Eu- rope, the remark might have been of some moment; but as things are, you show not the bright si(le of discretion with hinting it. Know you not the folly is dead? By Heaven! if you persecute me in this fashion, I shall go near to tell you I am a man, and descended of honest parents. Come now, my questioner, tell me truly, are you a gentleman? I am; you do me wrong to doubt it. So do you me;but if I know the meaning of the phrase, a gentleman is a person to whom is conceded the right of doing and being what he will, so it be honorable. In that bound do I set up my claim. Tormented with this idle question, by such siml)letons as cannot shape to themselves the possibility ot existin,, without an occupation or opinion visible to the many, I refer my questioner to a dusty roil of parchment, the end whereof sticketh out from between my book- shelves and the wall. This parchment is to certify, by courtesy, that I am a man accomplished in all that is proper to the art-curative, and may take fees from a dead mans relations without danger of the law. This same courteous certification has served me these twenty years, for a foil against fools questions a fact which throws a new light over the institution of diplomas in general. That they are of modern invention, I make no doubt, from an anecdote which we have of Socrates, (to be found in Xenophon, or in Ficinus folio Plato, if you will be at the pains to look for it there.) When questioned as to his oc- cupation, the sage professed himself a midwife. Had (liplomas been in use, he would have carried one about with him, certifying to this l)rofession, for a saving of his valuable breath. A very celebrated modern,when press- ed upon this point of an occupation, used to profess himself a philosopher; hut that was in his youth, and there is reason to think he repented of it in his wiser days; considering more particularly the nature of the question and the effects of the answer. A fool measures his respect for you, by your wealth, your 1847.] Of Philip Yorick, .E8q. 77 place, and your occupation; a wise man by your character, says uncommon sense; for this same uncommon sense judges that character is the very spring and source of all kinds of wealth, places, and occupations, and that a man is to he ICSI)ected rather for the power of getting than the fact of having. Therefore would I not profess myself a philosopher in any company; for as philosophy em- braceth, as it were, the germs of all oc- cupations, hut showeth the fruit of none, the boast of it breedeth a suspicion of shallowness, and the reputation of un- fruitfulness. In a merely prudential aspect, the ad- mission is to be avoided. it a stick is reputed strong, all corners will he trying ~t over the knee. If a horse enters a company of mules, every rascal brute will be testing his generosity hy a kick at his aristocratical hide. If a philoso- pher comes among sturdy fools, he is in danger of calcitration and ejectment; saith Diogenes, who suffered severely in that cause a harsh an(l idle martyrdom. But for me, I am not so much as literally a lover of wisdom, were you to judge me hy the company I seek; which is chiefly that of children and simpletons, on whom wisdom is most part wasted. Your high intellectual characters ilis- compose my egoistical serenity. I have no pleasure in the conversation of learne(l men; they talk for their own fame and not for sympathy. I have other reasons for the avoidance of a wise reputation. My patients would but the more fear my skill, could I convince them of my theory. There is in most minds a natu- ral love of empiricism and an honest hatred of science. A scientific physician is a terror to the ignorant. If he has knowledge let him conceal it, and con- sult with Hanneman and the old nurse dame of the village. Even on this present occasion, had I any hobby-horsical science of my own, I should beware (begging my readers pardon) of exposing it, for the love I hear his company. The occupation of a surgeon and physician came upon me by a kind of accident. I got it by being office-keeper to a city practitioner. This was in the nineteenth and twentieth years of my life ; when, being left very much alone among books, and having a quick un- derstanding and a good memory, I soon acquired all that can be learned in that way. This accident brought the above- mentioned certificate, and should I choose, would even now yield me a comfortable living. To conclude this somewhat rambling account of myself; I am a dry old gentleman, turned of sixty, with a lean, leathery aspect, but hilarious of tem- per; sub-cynical, given to meditation; careless of things indifferent and not yet too wise to learn. My fortune is neither great nor small, but leaves me liberty to mix more talk with my pre- scriptions than is altogether discreet, and in this pleasant country leisure to finish a chapter of my life an d opinions when 1 am in the humor. CHAPTER V. THE FIR5T sEvEN YEARS. I have nothing to be proud of in my birth ; for if I remember aright, my mo- ther was an actress and a sinker of Parma, in Italy; and though lam willing enough to believe I have English blood in my veins, I put no implicit confidence in her assertion to that effect ; her way of life being such as to throw uncertainty over the whole matter. Howbeit she used me with what wisdom she had, and I was early reckoned a lad of promise; but for one singularity, which was no virtue; that I uttered my opinions of those about me with no regard of their quality, or ability to revenge my freedoms. This vice which wrought my mother much vexation and earned me several drubbings, 1 retain with its inconveni- ences even to this day. in my eighth year we removed toLon- don, where my mother acquired some reputation as a singer; and believing that her means would keep pace with my ability, she resolved to have me educated for a gentleman, but nature and fortune conspired to defeat her intention. I say she would have made a genteel person of me ; for she intended, Heaven and the Virgin permitting, to have left me a princely income, out of the gains of her popularity; beside endowing a hospital for distressed females of her own order, and founding a nunnery in America. I remember a violent controversy which sprang up between herself and her confes- sor, who was also my kind instructor, whether, when I came of age and set out upon my tr~fvels, I should go direct by sea 78 Tue Ljfe and Optnions [Jan., to Naples, and thence to Rome, to the feet of his Holiness; or whether, entering France by Calais, I should go first to Paris, and after completing my education there, pursue the overland route to Rome. The priest with much zeal contended the danger of French principles, and would have me at Rome without delay; my mother, on the contrary, urged the land route; scouting the possibility of a de- triment to my invincible virtue, and pic- turing to the good lather the improve- ment of my manners by a years residence in Paris; that his Holiness might mingle a little worldly favor with his benediction. Arguments ran high on both sides; for the priest was a choleric Irishman, and the lady a spirited Italian, with the ad- dition of her sons virtue at stake. The affair ended in mutual disgust and perfect estrangement, giving an unlucky turn to my own fortunes; for the priest had taken a liking to me, and was teaching me grammar an(l geometry, studies in which I had already made a promising a dvance. My mothers transient popularity, which turned rather upon her personal charms than on the goodness of her voice, fell soon into a decline, and finding all her golden expectations vanished, she began to moderate her ambition, and soon put me in charge with an old bachelor surgeon, Mr. Yorick by name, from whom I take my English appella- tive. My mother called me Philippo, her- self having ihe name Philippa. She was a Neri of the ancient house of that name; descended from the Neri who fled from Florence to Parma in the time of the great Dante. My ne~v master and guardian bade me call him papa, and adopted me under the name of Master Philip, adding that of Yorick, when he wished particu- larly to impress me with the fact of my new relation. My true history begins with the adoption of this name, in the seventh year of my age. My antece- dent recollections are hardly to be dis- tinguished from dreams. After my induction to the home and favor of Mr. Yorick, I saw but little of my mother, till her death, which happen- ed a few years after ; though I welt re- member our passionate grief at parting, and have by me a copy of verses, which I wrote soon after in memory of that occasion, very tender and fanciful, but over pathetic. Under my good patrons discipline the precocious moMure of my hrains dried up, and I wrote no more verses. The mansion of this voluntary father of mine stood in a recess of a narrow street in London, in a quarter of long pipes and fat tankards, of cocked hats and fiery faces, where cockneyism and chiseled noses had not as yet thrust themselves in. It had an air of comfort and venerable age; a stone front with tall windows; a toppling roof, a huge door, and a knocker of brass, with metal and noise enough in it for a tocsin or a bell of St. Pauls. This ancient piece of ar- chitecture stood between an alehouse and a Tory club-room, toward both of which my master stood in the light of a liatron and a presiding genius. Among the oc- casional visitants which the love of free companionship and wit had anciently drawn thither, my patron used to mention the names of Johnson of learned notoriety, and of the celebrated Burke, beside others of less note, any one of whom, in these days, would be esteemed a prodigy of wit and learning. As I remember it, the ale- house had sunk to the condition of a gin- shop, and the club-room to a stagnant society of old-school discontents. On the opposite street side stood a row of humble brick dwellings, teeming with de- cayed families of decent repute, and their single friends, who stayed with them a little while, and made them a recipio- catory present of six shillings at the end of the week. The rooms of the old mar~sion were high and gloomy, lined with soiled tapes- try paper, after the fashion of Louis Quatorze. These represented hunting scenes, and though darkened with the smoke of a century, impressed the eye with a sense of elegance. On the mantel- pieces of the parlors, were ranged a few pieces of rare India porcelain, and on the walls I remember dark pictures, in which the shadows triumphed over the lights, of strange unmentionable subjects, picked with learned curiosity out of some old picture mines of Florence, or handed through ten generations from the days of Hans Holbein, and the extinct art ot Eli- zabethan times. The rooms which I best remember, the witnesses of ten years of my life, were the two parlors in their antique trim ; a closet where I slept, from which a low latticed window looked out over a wil- derness of tiled and leaded roofs: Mr. Yoricks bedroom, whither I went each morning with his coffees to him in my 1847.] Of Philip Yorick, .Esq. hand, and a lesson of Virgil in my head, to be recited to his nighfcap, with the benefit of annotations from the learned auditor; and a library, by far the most remarkable, with which I shall conclude this enumeration. In this library Mr. Yorick passed the night, going to his chamber about the hour when the un- thinking world arise. This room of re- verie and dreams, owed its attraction for my master to the perpetual solitude and silence which reigned therein, (for it oc- cupied the highest part of the house,) and to an aroma of musty learning clif- fused from the shelves of its gothic al- coves. The room was of great breadth and height, finished throughout with (lark woods cast into the model of an antique chapel; and at night an iron lamp swung, or rather trembled, from the centre over the central table. The table itself might have moved the envy of a Della Cruscan; for its surface represented, in biown mo- saic, a head of St. Bernard, full of tearful unction, looking up toward the sky. On this, supported by its three lion feet carv- ed in oak, lay several illuminated mis- sals, and a number of choice folios with- out title pages, the relicts of libraries of the fifteenth century. The alcoves con- cealed a variety of rare books of sci- ence, treatises of alchemy, and of h6Pse- manship, memoirs of Burgundian dukes, romances and poems in the old tongues of France; beside all letters that might employ the leisure of a learned physi- cian, and a scholar of most Horatian taste. Here the old bachelor sat smok- ing among his folios, in a cloud of his own creating, like a very hermes trisme- gistus, tristissimus, pondering in his an- tique chair, from the high knobs of which, on either side, grim visnomies looked over his shoulders, seeming to whisper in his ears the still, removed voices of antiquity. Company else he had but little, save myself, the faces of old prints and pictures that hung around upon the triunal columns that divided the alcoves, and a certain living original 4vho shall presently be described. The persons whom he admitted to his earlier hours were of that order which melancholy men delight in ; pieces of oddity, marked always by some mono- mania, or egregious weaknessstudies for the satirist and the humanitarian. He delighted not in misery on the great scale like a modern progress man, or a bloody jacobin; nor yet did he the more indulge in the particular offices of humanity-, such as spring from the only true pity, the pity for individuals; his soul, con- ceiving all the possibilities of evils, yet indulging in none; internally a panora~ ma of wretchedness, a pnr0atorio of crime, feasted itself on contradictions and casuistries. To talk with wiseacres and bird-witted people, or with such as drove on a limping intellect before violent pas- sionsto involve a positive fool in an argumentto wind about and about it with a spider net of thin distinctions this was to him the very race and pith of enjoyment. A Sancho Pauza in the shape of an oily, bald-pated barber, who had been a Romnish priest; an old deaf housekeeper, crooked and cuist, but tidy, and not un- kind; a testy old gentleman ofaTory fa- mily fallen into decay; two or three the- ological maidens, delighting in argument, and forever, like quails in a cage, thrust- ing their skinny necks betwixt the will and the decree,this was the circle which he frequently assembled about his tea table, presiding over tbeir noise with his dull, gray eye, and slow moving gray locks; but the oily barber was indulged with night interviews and the library. CHAPTER VI. DtscLRstvE. I ~vould have the reader forewarned that I mean not often to indulge in the romantic vein. Tis not my forte. Char- acters and things impress me powerfully, movements and actions faintly; and as we are impressed, so we describe. It is easier for inc to see a passion with the souls eye, than to image the act which showed it. Touching this art of description, two things are, as I think, essential; first, that the thing described shall be for the sake of some other thing ;I mean to say, that a nose shall not be for its own sake drawn and colored, but for the sake of the face; and the face for the sake of the head, and the head for the sake of the mind that is in it. All that is ovcr and above this is mere foolery and stu- por. Of what interest to me is the pic- ture of a coin of an unknown king of an unknown era; a wretched, rusty idle The Life and Opinions thing; but when the legend is decipher- ed, that is another matter. What artist, out of bedlam, ever exhihited a gallery of limbs and noses, signifying nothing? Excellent drawing, sir, the color admira- ble, the execution delicate, but what does it all mean? 0, it is a childs gallery; children, where they see a nose, fancy the face that belongs to itthe dear in- nocents are well employed in these little fanciful gymnastics; when they grow older, they will have less leisure, per- haps. The other point is, that no more of a thing should be described (I had these opinions from my patron) than is suffi- cient to picture it. When we look at a landscape or a face, we only see the lights in it; the shadows affect the eye but faintly. So, when a bold painter deals with his subject skillfully, he throws the whole expression into the light parts where the eye rests, and leaves his shadows dark, pure, and floating. But here we have a gentleman of the quill, carrying his reader microscopically into the interstices and dark parts of everything, invisible always to the slight seeing eye; and in conclusion the whole is heavy and void of relief, like Shakspeares Lucrece, or Tom Hoods worser imitation thereof. if any one fancies himself to have a certain knack at description, let him con- sider the matter, as it stands between dwellers in the mountains and dwellers in the plains. Perhaps he will decline such nice consideration, and seek to con- tent us with Edmund Burkes opinion of the effect of words; to wit, that they operate, not singly, by calling up their ideas, or pictures, hut by I know not what kind of noisy influence, crowding upon the soul through the portals of mu- sic and fancy, and making there an agreeable turmoil, vulgarly named elo- quence and poetry. My own (which was also Mr. Yor- icks opinion) is different. To me, a word stands for a thing or an act; which makes rr~e a slow reader, and an un- ready writer. I cannot digest more than one-fifth of an old English play at a sit- ting; the words, instead of soothing and charming, like the murmur of a hrook~, or the sleepy melodies of a harp played on by the wind, excite each its image of a thing, a thought, a passion, or an ac- tion; and the whole train of fancies, al- lusions, passions, things and persons, moves on with extreme slowness, in an orderly measure, as though transacted be- fore ixiine eyes. CHAPTER VII. HOBBIES. An old-fashioned English bachelor of those times, lived on principles incom- prehensible to us the moderns. His mo(lerate property in the funds was a serviceable devil in a bottle to him, out of which he annually conjured fortune; it served his turn and left him at his ease. He believed in the Church and the Constitution ; and while these should re- main (which his good angel whispered they ~vould do for the next half century), he accounted himself secure. His real torment was lack of occupation. He was too irritable for an office, too indo- lent for the army, too liberal for holy or- ders; his sole friend was his hobby- horse. On hobby-horses and thetr properties, good treatises have been written, with which the reader is doubtless familiar, nor do I mean here to involve him in any threadbare matter; suffice it, that the subject is not exhausted; no, not by the folios of Slawkenbergius, or the whim-whams of my learned friend, the Author of the great work of National hobby-horses ;~ wherein he diluculent- ly showeth their kinds, and appointeth them their species and times. Why should I quote the opening passage of his dissertation of Utile, the great hobby discovered by the first settlers of this continent; bigger by far than mastodon or Gargantuas mare, and stronger by much. From the tail to the head of this monster, saith my learned friend, is no less a distance thaim from Maine to Vireinia. The breadth of her belly is as the breadth of the land between the Mississippi and the sea. Her tail is at least seventy and a half leagues in length; and where she goes it drags a road. She browimeth on the torests, and drinketh up the rivers. Merrimac sinks through her jaws, Ohio is afraid before her, and Connecticut flies in terror to his reeds. Her breath is a sulphurous smoke, and she sounds on her path like a cloud scat- tering thunders. She is proud, vain, all- devouring, wasteful, God-scorning, in so [Jan., 1847.] Of Philip Yorick, Esq. 81 league with hell. She throweth down the cities, and in a trice buildeth them up. She swalloweth the ground in her rage, and with her horn pierces through the rind of the earth. Her eyes are flames of fire; her step is over the mountains and over the seas. Though young, she is the terror of nations,and in the strength of her warlike age will bestride the world. Private hohbies of less note, but of equal curiosity, have I seen in private museums. None more curious than the new one lately foaled at Oxford, in Eng- land, out of a heap of old hooks by the heat of a dull furor, engendered by nega- tive Apollo, or the devil of antique ig- norance. Or that vulgar ass of a wooden Lie, called by I know not what name; horn in a misty, cold country north of France, out of a heap of painted angels, pieces of mineral, offal of the dissecting-room, and the dead flies mentioned in Scripture with not a few of the somnolent flowers of the dung-heaps of Germany; all mish- mashed, hashed, mixed, muddled, and quiddled, into a pseudo-theological com- post, sweetened with a sort of unction- syrup, squeezed out of the herb, false humility. Out of this heap sprang a specious animalto lick it into shape, there wa.~ a work for a subtilous tongue. By the side of this hopeful brute grew up a thing begotten of a cloud that hung over the south of France five centuries ago, (the same was seen by Democritus.) This cloud moved northward; spread- ing there into an invisible mist, and per- meating the soil of all Europe, it came up in a thousand little Rosicrusian ntIs; as silent and sulphurous, as the lim- pid stream that flows from the tip of the nose of Diabolus ipse, when he sits in his particular ice parlor. Once upon a time, a certain Botanist conjured all the rills into a single stream, and from his time the cloud again arising, his ghost played the part of Ixion to it, (as I have been told,) and thence sprang the animal you wot ofthe proudest, most mettlesome, most refined, most dark, most delicate tit that ever flung his jockey into the dirt. Of private hobbies, there is a plenty, hut the above described are the principal of public use. 0, reader, bestride them not, nor suffer them to bestride thee. At present I am chiefly interested in the five varieties of private hobbies. I insist there are but five; and that, too, for certain mystical reasons which shall ap- pear in a futqre treatise of mine, de nurneris sacris, et eorundem originibus/ Of the five kinds of private hobbies, to wit the northern European, orof friend- ship ; the southern European, or of sus- picions; the English proper, or of cash; the Arabian, or of phantasies; and the scholastic, or of notions; of these five Mr. Yorick adopted two, namely the scholastic, and the southern European, riding them alternately during his wak- ing hours, and I doubt not also in his sleep. His southern European heast steaded him chiefly in the morning. I remember it, a coal-black, cunning-faced pony, of the smallest and wickedest breed; as I learned, of a dam called Malice, by that fine pacing Arabian, Im- agination; and though not consequently of a pure blood, yet with all the proper- ties of the dam. The other, a slow-paced rattle-bone of a Rosinante, served at night among his folios, and though somewhat of a hard bitted jade, was the milder animal by much. But my patron was equally at his ease on either; I never knew his like in the saddle. CHAPTER VIII. IRREGULAR. 1 begin to perceive, by the character of my progress thus far, that this history is likely to turn out a very irregular piece. It is a fatality with me to write as I talk, and as the humorsits in this quarter or the other; be it a hot or a cold, a sweet, a sour, a bitter, a pungent, a testy, a snap- pish, a civil, a gross, a sentimental, a rhetorical, or a pious humornay, he it merely as wise a fit as ever seized on Socrates or King Lears fool ; and in the concatenation of events, who knows what extraordinary moods may fall upon a man ; especially if he be a bachelor turned of sixty, the very slave of whim, indeed a mere intellectual wanton in his * Forthcoming under the bibliopole auspices of the unexceptionable doll-pate, Sharp, and Sons to whom, we take this happy occasion to remark, the community are indebted for the late great advances in morals and faith. VOL. V.NO. I. 6 82 The Lffe and Opinion8 [Jan., brains, as I am, the mores the pity. Be the humor, I say, what it will, I mean to indulge it ; saving the respect I owe your Reverence, and yours most staid and lofty sir. Pray, sir, where did you buy that suit, it fits exceeding stiff I would thrash my tailor dared he send me such a buckram affair ; besides that the cut is foreign, the skirts narrow, the buttons brass, the thread coarse, and the stitching everywhere visible. Pray, sir, did not the tailor, with a plague, put off some second-hand German sack upon you? Send it back, as you love me, and buy a good old English broadcloth and make it up yourself,~if you cannot find a better hand to do it for you than this same Frankfort fellow, with his double facings and wide stitches. Be the humor, I say, what it will, I mean to indulge it. Was not I born of an actress, an Italian, a piece of passion- ate prettyness, a woman utterly a woman? and was not my father a sullen English youth, on his travels, with his Oxford tutor, and his beer-guzzling groom? By what law shall I be judged, measured, or limited ; in this or that pinfold, of this or that moralist, be he cleric or lay; I that came lawlessly and sourly into the world ? Who shall twit me with the virtue of my father, or the discretion of my mother? Born a Catholic, edu- cated a Protestant; indoctrinated by an irregular casuistry into the difficulties of all beliefs, and by no living mouth in- structed in the holy mysteries of any; * * * stuffed by heterogeneous reading in my youth with all manner of egotisms and philosophastric vanities; drawn now this way and now that by the idea strong- est for the day; what Church can claim me ? what priest can show title to my credence? None ! To my Maker only and his truth am I accountable. The holy water sanctified not my birth; the State cast me out of her bosom; society disowned me; to none of these, then, am I answerable; to none am I bound! 0 miserable liberty! 0 wretched freedom better had I never been born, than thus to hang about the door of favor, seizing upon a thankless fortune! Liberty! did I say? With this am 1 brought again into the stream of my nar- rative, remembering, not without a pity for myself, that in Mr. Yoricks mansion, my liberty was indeed chiefly of the spiritual sort, by no means outwardly apparent to others or to myself. By the effects of salutary hunger, solitude, and the whip, I began to conceive the possi- bility of a course of conduct strangely the reverse of what I had beeui indulged in; for as 1 had governed my mother by superior vehemence, my master now governed me by superior contempt; an in- explicable mystery to my childish pride. Why did I not resist? Why did I obey him with such a shameful alacrity? Why did I, who carried all points by flying into pretty little rages with mamma, strik- ing my face, and tearing my glossy curls, upon the least thwarting or contradic- tion, endure now the harshest slavery without a murmur or a sigh? My master ~as at that time beyond the middle age, and of an invincible set- tled temper. His constant intercourse with books, assisted by a good memory and a surprising talent of words, made him an inveterate though not a disagreea- ble talker; but no mortal ever remem- bered a word of what they heard him utter, in his diffuse and intricate way; though tis not extravagant to say, that a fair octavo would not contain his say- ings for the week. Whatever he felt, or heard, or meditated, it was his pleasure copiously to express, without regard of persons, time or place. A dissertation on colic obstructions fell as happily, and as moderately, and in as measured a manner, from his lips, at a dinner as at an autopsy; among his clerical friends, he pretended doubts of the authenticity of scripture, venturing time-worn argu- ments against miracles and the real pre- sence. To his housekeeper he unfolded the mystery of his law-suits, courteous- ly overpassing her somnolent slips of attention. Me he stuffed with a kind of wisdom gathered out of such rakish holy books as go soon out of print; by way of hardening my soul against the evil nature, and farther to purge and purify me, he poured interminable streams of casuistry through my ears, such as might have kept a Jesuit awake a century. To fortify and solace my spirits, he sat- urated my tender fancy with visions of the place of the damned; unfolding the polity of Hades, and painting with a horrid calmness the terrors of condemn- edsouls; for which good deeds, it may be, he is even now receiving his reward in kind. 1847.] Of Philip Yoriclc, Esq. 83 CHAPTER IX. TOUCHING EDUCATION. I am of opinion that education is a bringing or leading out of whatever fac- ulty may already be implanted in us by nature. I opine that all, and several, the kinds and degrees of ability are heaven- sent, or, as we say, given by nature. From my mothers nature, I received a taste, if not a genius, for the art-musical; from my fathers, as I think, a natural independency and freedom of mind. My good master, entertaining views of the subject of education very nearly the re- verse of mine, no sooner detected these traits in me, than he resolved to suppress them; and the more perfectly to accom- plish this, set himself diligently to edu- cating such of my parts as nature had left deficient. I was accordingly forbid- den whatever I asked for, an& kept from what I intended. I was forbidden to practice, or even to hear music; but because nature cursed me with a planti- grade walk, and a stammering elocution, I was put through a daily lesson of dancing and declamation, to my utter sorrow and confusion. There happened to live in our vicinity a barber; a fat, pleasant little round man, Mr. Flusky, of Irish birth and French education. In Mr. Fluskys company my good master took an especial delight, both for his natural and acquired parts, which were many and remarkable. This good man, though short of stature, had a singularly smooth and reverential ad- dress. He professed himself a royalist and a high churchman. My patron, too, held the same opinions, but from what different principles! To enter deeply into the real cause of the friendship between these persons, it is necessary to know or believe in a cer- tain principle of human nature, which I hold universally valid, that all friend- ships rest upon a similarity of aims, with a difference of principles. Observe, sir, how you are secretly bound to your fellow-traveler, by the knowledge that he is going to the same distant land with yourself; though his purpose, in going thither, be a matter of which you make no inquiry. He is younger than you, of a different complexion, stature, condi- tion; you never saw him before in your lifeyet, I question not, a secret regard, though in its degree almost insensibly small, is already sprung up between you. Or consider, my good madam, the unspeakable differences of nature and character, between yourself and your thrice-honored husband; yet so perfect your love for himso exquisite the sen- timent of your harmony! What is the reason of t? Plainly, your purposes, your aims, are alikeyour treasures lie in the same heavenor Paradise, wherever that may beJ know not where, for I was never married. The friendship between my patron- father and the barber, began on the first day of my induction to Yorick mansion, and continued unabated while I remained under the discipline of that venerable roof. It rested altogether upon a simi- larity of opinion, and a difference of sen- timent, in regard to my education. The barber would have me educated in one fashion; my patron, in another. Both agreed as to the end, but differed as to the means. it was a cold evening of November, when my mother, leading, or rather holding me by the hand, ascended the steps that led to the door of Mr. Yoricks house. While we stood shivering upon the platform, the wind howled dismally along the narrow street; the shutters of the opposite houses rattled and tugged at their fastenings, as if longing to join the general flight of light rubbish and city-dust, that swept invisible along upon the dry blast, felt only by the half-choked watchman turning on his round, or by us shivering supplicants, waiting the slow movements of the hu- morous old housekeeper, till it should please her to open the street-door. Plainly, it was a windy November night when my mother took me to Mr. Yor.- icks, and being neither of us suitably clothed, we suffered some inconvenience from the cold and dust. If the reader is curious to know why I spoiled that bit of a description, by stripping naked in such a rude fashion, he may know I did it for a pretence to let him into a secret of my literary his- tory, which shall now appear. The great Racine used to write out his trage- dies in plain prose before he versified them. When he had one fairly written out in this naked style, he would say, 84 The Briti8h History of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Now my tragedy is finished. His judg- ment made sure of the subject, before his fancy painted it out; as nature shapes a female body before the milliner adorns it. 1, on the contrary, having a natural horror of imitation, do the direct con- trary of that great example, for it first occurs to me to dress out a score of mag- nificent sentences to the due length of a chapter, and then, stripping away the ornaments, observe what there is left. These capita mortua make up the body of my works; the ornamental parts I leave to appear posthumously, or be suppressed, at the discretion of my heirs. Was not this, my dear madam, the method of your induction to the world? Were you not loaded with ornaments in your youth, with little regard to the substance? and are you not now a gross remainder, a mere residuum; your orna- ments rubbed off, and nothing left but the stuff nature gave at the outset? Or have you totally vanished into froth, and nothing solid ever there? [To be continued.] THE BRITISH HISTORY OF GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. IN TWELVE BOOKs. BY MRS. c. M. KIRKLAND. Tins curious old book, long received as true history, and defended as such by some writers even as late as the time of Henry VIII., is among the many made accessible to the common reader by the late system of universal reprint. We are not sure that we have an altogether friendly feeling toward these reprints, stripping as they do the soft delusive veil from time-honored chronicles, and forcing into open day, and subjecting to critical line and plummet, things which look best in twilightbidding The wild illusions fly Which fancy had conceived, Abetted by an anxious eye That longed to be deceived. It was a fond deception all, Such as in solitary hall Beguiles the musing eye, When, gazing on the sinking fire, Bulwark and battlement and spire In the red gulf we spy. But we love such illusions. We envy those who believed in the whole line of British kings, from king Brute down to Cadwallader, and doubted not that Lon- don was founded when Eli the priest gov- erned in Judea, and the ark of the coVe- nant fell into the hands of the Philistines. But the reprint tells us that the whole series of British monarchs, from Brutus downward, is a tissue of fables. Not only are we forbidden to credit the pretty story of Dianas sending Brutus to Britain after he had offered sacrifices at her deso- ,late altar, holding before it a conse crated vessel filled with wine and the blood of a white hart, but even the well- authenticated (for is not the city still there?) recital of the building of Bath by Bladud, (contemporary with the prophet Ehias,) who attempted to fly to the upper air with wings which he had himself con- structed by magical art, but unfortunately fell down upon the Temple of Apollo, in the city of Irinovantum, (now London,) and was dashed to pieces. The story of King Leir, too, though true beyond doubt, since we find it. in Shakspeare, is among those on which a shade of discredit is thrown bythese unpleasant meddlers with pleasant antiquity; and Merlin, honored as a magician by Sir Walter Scott and Mr. Tennysonnot to mention seers of lesser noteis thus set down for a vulgar conjurer, With his hair on end At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. But not to find further fault with Mes- sieurs the Translators, without whose help we, at least, could not have read with our bodily eyes the Chronicles, done into good Latin out of unintelligible ancient British, by Geoffrey of Monmouth, let us inquire something as to the identity of Geoffrey himself. He is said to have been a man profoundly versed in the history and an- tiquities of Britain, excellently skilled in the British tongue, and withal (consider- ing the time) an elegant writer both in verse and prose. He lived in the time of Henry I., and dedicates his Latin ver

Mrs. C. M. Kirkland Kirkland, C. M., Mrs. The British History of Geoffrey of Monmouth 84-87

84 The Briti8h History of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Now my tragedy is finished. His judg- ment made sure of the subject, before his fancy painted it out; as nature shapes a female body before the milliner adorns it. 1, on the contrary, having a natural horror of imitation, do the direct con- trary of that great example, for it first occurs to me to dress out a score of mag- nificent sentences to the due length of a chapter, and then, stripping away the ornaments, observe what there is left. These capita mortua make up the body of my works; the ornamental parts I leave to appear posthumously, or be suppressed, at the discretion of my heirs. Was not this, my dear madam, the method of your induction to the world? Were you not loaded with ornaments in your youth, with little regard to the substance? and are you not now a gross remainder, a mere residuum; your orna- ments rubbed off, and nothing left but the stuff nature gave at the outset? Or have you totally vanished into froth, and nothing solid ever there? [To be continued.] THE BRITISH HISTORY OF GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. IN TWELVE BOOKs. BY MRS. c. M. KIRKLAND. Tins curious old book, long received as true history, and defended as such by some writers even as late as the time of Henry VIII., is among the many made accessible to the common reader by the late system of universal reprint. We are not sure that we have an altogether friendly feeling toward these reprints, stripping as they do the soft delusive veil from time-honored chronicles, and forcing into open day, and subjecting to critical line and plummet, things which look best in twilightbidding The wild illusions fly Which fancy had conceived, Abetted by an anxious eye That longed to be deceived. It was a fond deception all, Such as in solitary hall Beguiles the musing eye, When, gazing on the sinking fire, Bulwark and battlement and spire In the red gulf we spy. But we love such illusions. We envy those who believed in the whole line of British kings, from king Brute down to Cadwallader, and doubted not that Lon- don was founded when Eli the priest gov- erned in Judea, and the ark of the coVe- nant fell into the hands of the Philistines. But the reprint tells us that the whole series of British monarchs, from Brutus downward, is a tissue of fables. Not only are we forbidden to credit the pretty story of Dianas sending Brutus to Britain after he had offered sacrifices at her deso- ,late altar, holding before it a conse crated vessel filled with wine and the blood of a white hart, but even the well- authenticated (for is not the city still there?) recital of the building of Bath by Bladud, (contemporary with the prophet Ehias,) who attempted to fly to the upper air with wings which he had himself con- structed by magical art, but unfortunately fell down upon the Temple of Apollo, in the city of Irinovantum, (now London,) and was dashed to pieces. The story of King Leir, too, though true beyond doubt, since we find it. in Shakspeare, is among those on which a shade of discredit is thrown bythese unpleasant meddlers with pleasant antiquity; and Merlin, honored as a magician by Sir Walter Scott and Mr. Tennysonnot to mention seers of lesser noteis thus set down for a vulgar conjurer, With his hair on end At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. But not to find further fault with Mes- sieurs the Translators, without whose help we, at least, could not have read with our bodily eyes the Chronicles, done into good Latin out of unintelligible ancient British, by Geoffrey of Monmouth, let us inquire something as to the identity of Geoffrey himself. He is said to have been a man profoundly versed in the history and an- tiquities of Britain, excellently skilled in the British tongue, and withal (consider- ing the time) an elegant writer both in verse and prose. He lived in the time of Henry I., and dedicates his Latin ver 1847.] The Briti8l& .tli8tory of Geoffrey of Monmoutlz. 85 sion to Robert, Earl of Gloucester, son of that monarch. The book was an ancient book, and a great curiosity, even at that day, and was brought by Walter Mapes from Armorica, where he found it, bear- ing marks of great antiquity. The fabu- lous stories said to abound in it are not to be ascribed to the first translator, who everywhere disclaims any attempt to do more than render the original in a homely style, never having made fine language his study, by collecting florid expres- sions from other authors; which dis- claimer we take to be a touch of satire in the old gentleman. He was first, Arch- deacon of Monmouth, and then Bishop of St. Asaph; and, by trying to hold, in addition to these two preferments, that of the Abbacy of Abingdon, he lost all. He is a very modest person, if we may judge by his prefatory letter to Robert of Glou- cester, in which he says: This work humbly sues for the favor of being so cor- rected by your advice, that it may not be thought to be the poor offspring of Geof- frey of Monmouth, but, when polished by your refined wit and judgment, the production of him who had Henry, the glorious King of England, for his fa- ther, & c. This history, though much esteemed as such in more credulous days, is in our sceptical time prized chiefly as having been, says the last editor, to our early dramatic poets what the ill-fated House of ~Edipus was to the tragic writers of an- cient Greece, viz., the source whence many of them drew their materials. In the very first chapter we find the proto- type of a passage in Draytons Poly-ol- bion: Britain, the best of islands, is situated in the western ocean, between France and Ireland. It produces every- thing that is useful to man, with a plenty that never fails. It abounds with all kinds of metals, and has plains of large extent, and hills fit for the finest tillage, the richness of whose soil affords variety of fruits, in their proper seasons. * * * It is also well watered with lakes and rivers, abounding with fish, & c., & c. A few pages further on we find the origin of one of Miltons allusions Severn swift, guilty of maidens death. Geoffrey tells us that Guendolnnaa jealous wife commanded Estrildis and her daughter Sabren, to be thrown into the river now called the Severn, and published an edict throughout all Britain, that the river should bear the damsels name, hoping by this to perpetuate the infamy of her husband. So the river is called to this day, in the British tongue, Sabren, ~which is, in anoiher language, Sabrina. And thus Milton enshrines the story in words of pearl and dropping amber: There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream; Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Lo- crine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit Of her enragdd step-dame, Guendolen, Commended her fair innocence to the flood, That stayd her flight with his cross- flowing course. The water-nymphs that in the bottom playd, Held up their pearlbdwrists and took her in; Bearing her straight to aged Nereus hall, & c., & c. In the eleventh and four following chapters, we have the story of Lear, though with considerable differences. Shakspeare is said, by Mr. Capell, to have taken his from a wretched play of his time, second-hand only from the chronicles; the essentials are, however, the same. The sixteenth chapter gives the catas- trophe of Ferrex and Porrex, used in Lord Buckhursts tragedy of Gorboduc. Porrex having slain his brother, is killed by his motherstabbed in bed, says the poet ; but the chronicle has it, torn to pieces, with the assistance of the queens women. Then we come to Cymbeline, or Kym- belinus, and his two sons, Guiderius and Arviragus; but no word of fairest Imogen or desperate Posthumus. Shak- speare is said to have got his story from a translation or imitation of Boccaccio. Not to be tedious in particularizing, we will only mention one instance more of a name made famous in later years, which finds something like a prototype in Geoffreys chronicle. The Lady Row- ena, daughter of Hengist, comes out The British flistory of Geoffrey of Monmouth. of her chamber to salute King Vortigern , * bearing a golden cu~ of winesaying, Laverd king wacht heil ! But far from possessing the purity of our Rowena, this proved a wicked one, poisoning her step-son Vortirner, without mercy; and resembling the fair dame of Ivanhoe in nothing but her name, her beauty, and her Saxon tongue. We have not a syllable of the Druids, but a story of Stonehenge, which states that Aurelius Ambrosius, the successor of Vortigern, thinking something ought to be done to perpetuate the memory of the patriots who had been slain on Salis- bury plain, (then Kaercaradoc,) applied to Merlin the prophet, who advised him to send to Ireland for the Giants dance, which was in Killaurus; saying, this dance was composed of immense stones, of a mystical value and medicinal vir- tues, brought from Africa by the giants of old. Merlin was employed to effect the transportation of this wonderful structure; an errand which he accom- plished by the use of certain engines, (not described, but we may suppose them similar to those since used in the removal of the obelisk of Luxor by the French,) after a bloody battle with the natives, who cared more for their ancient monu- ment than do the degenerate Orientals. This same Aurelius is described as magnificent in his presents, constant at his devotions, temperate in all respects, and above all things hating a lie. A description which sbows that the original author knew well what goes to the making of a hero. We are told accord- ingly, that there was none that durst encounter with him. An odd instance of generosity is given, with a hint of the politics of the time. Arthgallo, coming to the throne, endea- vored to depress the nobility, and ad- vance the baser sort of people. But the nobility deposed him, and made his bro- ther Elidure king in his stead, afterwards surnamed the pious, on account of his kinduess to the exiled king. After five years reign, Elidure, watching his op- portunity, secretly conveyed Arthgallo to hi~ own bed-chamber, at the same time giving out that he himself was very ill. The first nobility coming to visit him on this account, he gave orders that they should come into his chamber one by one, softly and without noise. In obedi- ence to this command they entered his house singly. But Elidure had given charge to his servants, who were placed ready for the purpose, to take each of them as they entered, and cut off their heads, unless they would again submit themselves to Arthgallo. This (gentle) method having succeeded, Elidure re- crowned his brother with his own hands, and for his extraordinary affection ob- tained the surname of the Pious. The story finishes appropriately with the assu- rance that Arthgallo made amends for his former maladministration, by depress- ing men of the baser sort, and advancing men of good birth. King Arthur figures as a hero, but with only a warlike interest about him. We hear no word of his Round Table, or of his knights of high emprize. Queen Guenever seasons not the page with her jealousies, but merely plays the woman by marrying a nephew when Arthur is long absent; and she is called Queen Ganhumara, so does not seem like an old acquaintance. Arthur tells wonderful stories of some lakes or ponds in Britain, and in particular, we learn, that our well- beloved Loch Lomond, which we have always thought of as mirroring the blue heavens most unpretendingly, is, in fact, a phenomenon, containing sixty islands, and receiving into its bosom sixty rivers, which empty themselves into the sea by no more than one mouth. There is also an equal number of rocks in the islands, and of eagles nests in those rocks. And a neighboring pond (Katrine perhaps), is exactly twenty feet square, and five feet deep, having in the four corners four different kinds of fishes, none of which ever stray into any other part of the pond. And these two are only speci- mens of the wonderful lakes and ponds treated of in this history. The speeches, whether of exhortation, defiance, complaint, or submission, are all given with Phitarchian accuracy, and the conclusion we draw from them is, that the eloquence of antiquity, though of a swelling and a flowery tone, was far less wordy than that of our own day. In Merlins prophecy we find many dark sayings, and among the rest, these: Women shall become serpents in their gait, and all their motions shall he full so [Jan., * The same of whom a poet (not Irish) said A painted vest King Vortigern had on, Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won. 1847.] Sketch of the Rise, Progress, and influence of the Useful Arts. 87 of pride. The frizzled shall put on vari- ous fleeces, and the outward habit denote the inward parts. Can this have any allusion to the swimming motion and the India shawls of the present time? The fact that London was founded by King Lud, will account for our cockney neighbors always saying My Lud, to their nobility. Many pieces of explana- tory history, equally valuable with this, may be picked out of this chronicle of old. We have only attempted the office of the Indicator. SKETCH OF THE RISE, PROGRESS, AND INFLUENCE OF THE USEFUL ARTS. IT would exceed our allotted space to attempt a full history of the origin and progress of the arts, as they gradually develope themselves in the remote ages of the world, or to trace in detail their progress from Egypt, the great mother of them all, their introduction into Phceni- cia and Greece, and to show how Rome the great mistress of the world, carried many of them to a very high degree of perfection, and through her great con- quests, engendered a taste for them, and spread them wherever her conquering eagle winged its flight, and her victorious legions gave laws to mankind. No doubt exists that textile manufac- tures were in the earliest ages carried to great perfection. Homer tells us, that patterns of the most splendid figures and of the finest tissues, were woven by queens and courtly dames. In the sixth book of the Iliad, Hector thus deplores the future lot anticipated for his sovereign spouse: Thy woes, Andromache, thy grief I dread, I see thee trembling, weeping captive led, In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes of which so large a part was thine. And again, when she received the fatal news of Hectors death, she was thus employed. Far in the close recesses of the dome, Pensive she plied the melancholy loom; A gloomy work eroployed her secret hours Confusedly gay, with intermingling flow- ers. Thec~critus, too, in his nineteenth Idyl, celebrates the skillof Helen thus: So Helens beauties bright encomiums claim, And beam forth honor on the Spartan name; What nymph can rival Helen at tlae loom, And make fair art like living nature J~.loom? The blended tints in sweet proportion joined, Express the soft ideas of her mind. Both Horace and Virgil have cele- brated the fine woolen cloths of Miletus, which were held in high esteem by the Roman ladies. But, as we have said, both sacred and profane history bear ample testimony to the rise and progress of the arts. The art of making woolen cloth was well known to the Romans, and many authors believe they were also ac- quainted with cotton, and manufactured it into many articles of clothing for their armies and people. Pliny informs us that Niceas of Me- gara first discovered the art of fulling woolen cloth, which up to his time had been made by the process of felting, probably derived from the Arabs, whose tents to this day are covered with that material. When the Romans first visited Gaul and Britain they found their inhabitants clothed with the skins of animals. The knowledge of the arts, such as then ex- isted in Europe, was confined to the nar- row limits of the Mediterranean. Within those limits civilization had greatly ad- vanced, while all Europe, beyond the Straits of Gibralter, remained in abject barbarism. It is not certain that any textile manu- factures were made in England before the sixth century, for though C~sar men- tions that the distant and less civilized Britons were clothed in the skins of ani- mals, and thus leaves an inference that some of them were otherwise clad, he nowhere states such a fact. We have no positive accounts of the manufacture of woolen cloths having taken place in Europe to any extent un- til the tenth century, when it commenced in Flanders; but it did net reach England

Sketch of the Rise, Progress, and Influence of the Useful Arts 87-96

1847.] Sketch of the Rise, Progress, and influence of the Useful Arts. 87 of pride. The frizzled shall put on vari- ous fleeces, and the outward habit denote the inward parts. Can this have any allusion to the swimming motion and the India shawls of the present time? The fact that London was founded by King Lud, will account for our cockney neighbors always saying My Lud, to their nobility. Many pieces of explana- tory history, equally valuable with this, may be picked out of this chronicle of old. We have only attempted the office of the Indicator. SKETCH OF THE RISE, PROGRESS, AND INFLUENCE OF THE USEFUL ARTS. IT would exceed our allotted space to attempt a full history of the origin and progress of the arts, as they gradually develope themselves in the remote ages of the world, or to trace in detail their progress from Egypt, the great mother of them all, their introduction into Phceni- cia and Greece, and to show how Rome the great mistress of the world, carried many of them to a very high degree of perfection, and through her great con- quests, engendered a taste for them, and spread them wherever her conquering eagle winged its flight, and her victorious legions gave laws to mankind. No doubt exists that textile manufac- tures were in the earliest ages carried to great perfection. Homer tells us, that patterns of the most splendid figures and of the finest tissues, were woven by queens and courtly dames. In the sixth book of the Iliad, Hector thus deplores the future lot anticipated for his sovereign spouse: Thy woes, Andromache, thy grief I dread, I see thee trembling, weeping captive led, In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes of which so large a part was thine. And again, when she received the fatal news of Hectors death, she was thus employed. Far in the close recesses of the dome, Pensive she plied the melancholy loom; A gloomy work eroployed her secret hours Confusedly gay, with intermingling flow- ers. Thec~critus, too, in his nineteenth Idyl, celebrates the skillof Helen thus: So Helens beauties bright encomiums claim, And beam forth honor on the Spartan name; What nymph can rival Helen at tlae loom, And make fair art like living nature J~.loom? The blended tints in sweet proportion joined, Express the soft ideas of her mind. Both Horace and Virgil have cele- brated the fine woolen cloths of Miletus, which were held in high esteem by the Roman ladies. But, as we have said, both sacred and profane history bear ample testimony to the rise and progress of the arts. The art of making woolen cloth was well known to the Romans, and many authors believe they were also ac- quainted with cotton, and manufactured it into many articles of clothing for their armies and people. Pliny informs us that Niceas of Me- gara first discovered the art of fulling woolen cloth, which up to his time had been made by the process of felting, probably derived from the Arabs, whose tents to this day are covered with that material. When the Romans first visited Gaul and Britain they found their inhabitants clothed with the skins of animals. The knowledge of the arts, such as then ex- isted in Europe, was confined to the nar- row limits of the Mediterranean. Within those limits civilization had greatly ad- vanced, while all Europe, beyond the Straits of Gibralter, remained in abject barbarism. It is not certain that any textile manu- factures were made in England before the sixth century, for though C~sar men- tions that the distant and less civilized Britons were clothed in the skins of ani- mals, and thus leaves an inference that some of them were otherwise clad, he nowhere states such a fact. We have no positive accounts of the manufacture of woolen cloths having taken place in Europe to any extent un- til the tenth century, when it commenced in Flanders; but it did net reach England 88 Sketch of the Rise, Progress, [Jan., till the twelfth, where it was then car- ried by a number of Flemings, who were obliged to quit their own country from an encroachment of the sea in the year eleven hundred and eleven, and settled themselves in some of the northern coun- ties of England. But it was not until several centuries afterwards that the woolen manufactures reached any degree of perfection in Eng- land, and it is a well authenticated fact that up to the year 1667 all woolen cloth was made white in England and sent to Holland to be dyed. We learn from Voltaire, in his general history of Europe, that in the fourteenth century, France was so exhausted she could not make payment of the first in- stallment for the ransom of her king, John, which was six hundred thousand crowns, so that they were obliged to recall the banished Jews, and sell them the privi- leges of living and trading in France. The king himself was reduced to the al- ternative of paying for the necessaries of his household in leather money, in which there was a little nail of silver. The Annales Flandres and many other his- tories give a melancholy account of France at this period. Much of its land lay uncultivated and overgrown with briers and thorns, infested by wild beasts, and its people reduced to poverty and desolation, while, by way of contrast, Flanders and Brabant, from their internal industry, and more particularly, from the great comparative extent of the woolen manufacture, of which they exported largely, abounded in riches and plenty, and all kinds of merchandise, under the liberal patronage of Philir, styled the good Duke of Burgundy. Their cities were magnificent, their towns and villages wealthy, their houses well supplied with good furniture, and, in short, their whole people enjoyed plenty and abundance. History is replete with records of the truth that men remained sunk in igno- rance, vice, and barbarism, just in the same proportion as the useful arts were neglected. As man began to be better clothed, and as the blessings of industry began to be disseminated, he became more civilized ; and as the arts commenced to be extended and his labor became more valuable, his physical wants being better supplied, and his comforts secured, his attention was more and more turned to the bettering of his moral condition. Gradually he began to inquire into his political rights, and though the advances made in political science were very slow, no doubt exists that some of the most im- portant movements made in that all-en- grossing theme of modern times, com- menced and kept pace with the advance- ment of the useful arts. The prosecution of manufactures, even before the modern improvements in ma- chinery, created a surplus beyond the consumption of the respective countries in which they were produced, and thus commerce first permanently commenced, flourished, and extended itself among those people, who had some one or more articles of manufacture to dispose of to other nations. Simply for a moment reverting to the trade carried on by the ancientsthe Egyptians and the Phcuniciansas ans~ ing from the dissemination throughout the Mediterranean of the treasures of Arabia, Ethiopia, and India, among which were the finest tissues of wool, we may recollect the account given in the sacred record that Solomon and David fitted out ships to Tarshish and Ophir, and brought gold and rich merchandise to add to their wealth and splendor. The textile fabrics of the Sidonians, and the purple cloths of the Tyrians were celebrated from the earliest anti- quity. We come now to more modern times. The commerce of the much ce- lebrated republics of Venice and Genoa, and afterwards of the Hanse towns, con- sisted in a great degree of the manufac- turers of that period. But in this rapid sketch let us pass on to that commerce of which we have the most authentic historyhistory, which does not admit of a doubt, and let us inquire where did that commerce take up its permanent abode, and how has it exerted its mighty influence for the civilization of man? Great as was the wealth and power of those eastern countries of whose magni- ficence we have such splendid records what and where are they now? Where is imperial Rome? Where Venice, Pisa, Genoa? Where are Lu- beck, Rostock, Wismar, and the rest of the one hundred Hanseatic cities; once the rulers of the destinies of mankind? Where are Spain and Portugal, the dis- coverers of the passage to India, by the Cape of Good Hope, and of the Western World? The answer is plaintheir pros- perity and glory have departed because they had no stable foundation in a do- mestic industry. Whatwas GreatBritain; but a fewcen. And influence of the Useful Arts. tunes since? Let her own historians an- swer. According to Andersons history of commerce, in the year 1260, a society of English merchants had privileges grant- ed to them in the Netherlands, by John, Duke of Brabant, whither they carried English wool, lead and tin, taking in re- turn, woolen cloths, linen and other ma- nufactures, and the amount of this com- merce is stated to have been in the 28th year of the reign of Edward III., in ex- ports, but 294,184 1~ 2; and in im- ports 38,970 3 6. Sir William Tem- ple remarks upon this : That when England had but a very small com- merce, she was rich in proportion to her neighbors by selling so much more than she bought. At this period, observes the historian, the materials of com- merce were increasing by the improve- ment of manufactures in various parts of Europethe discoveries of the Por- tugese on the coast of Africa, excited a more enterprising spirit, and led in 1497 to the passage of the Cape of Good Hope, thus accomplishing the first mar- itime voyage to India. This discovery made a great sensation throughout the commercial world, and had been preceded by another destined to be of much greater importance, name- ly, the discovery of America by Colum- bus in 1492. Great and important as was this last discovery, and destined, as it has since proved, to exercise a mighty influence upon the whole human race, a long time was suffered to elapse before any mea- sures were taken to settle it by Euro- peans; for it was not until 1530, that the Spaniards landed in Peru, nor did the English attempt any settlement in Ame- rica till 1607, when a colony was com- menced in what was called Virginia, but which included a much greater extent of territory than the member of our Union bearing that name. From this period we must date the first entrance of the An- glo-Saxon race into the Western World. The seventeenth century had therefore commenced, before the slightest founda- tion was laid for the immense empire, which now contains twenty millions of souls, whose pride it is to boast that they are citizens of the United States. We cannot afford space to go fully into the policy which governed England with regard to her colonies in America, which soon began to receive large ad- ditions, and to rise into considerable im- portance. A colony had been planted at Plymouth, in Massachusetts, in 1620, and in a very few years the whole dis- trict of country, comprising the original thirteen States of this Union owed its co- lonial allegiance to Great Britain. By this time the mother country had turned its attention to manufactures; and a determination was formed to monopo- lize them as much as possible, and to render the whole world tributary tobuild- ing them up and sustaining them. The experience which England had acquired, she was determined to preserve to her- self, and with this view, she had enacted the most prohibitory laws against all other European nations: statute after statute was passed to favor British ma- nufactures, and to preserve her home- market to those of her own fabrication. This system she was not content to limit to Europe, but was determined to extend it to her colonies, to keep also their market exclusively to herself, and to prevent them, under the heaviest pen- alties, from attempting even the manu- facture of a hob-nail within her limits. Accordingly, in 1763 it was perceived there was a danger that the manufacture of hats might be supplied by one colony to another, and it was accordingly enact- ed by Parliament, that no hats or felts in any of the plantations should be exported from any one of them; nor should be laden on any horse, cart, or other car- riage with that intent, under forfeiture thereof, and of five hundred pounds for any such offence. Iii 1711 it had been enacted that persons should not cut down any tree in any British province in Amer- ica, of the growth of 24 inches diameter, without the Queens license was first granted, under the penalty of one hundred pounds. In 1721 an act was passed prohibiting the wearing of any printed Indian cali- coes in Great Britain; and for the encour- agement of buttons of silk and mohair, an act was passed prohibiting buttons or button-holes from being made of any other materials. In 1722 it was also enacted, that no copper ore should be shipped from Amer- ica to any other foreign port, without be- ing first landed in Great Britain. An account of the colonies, published in London in 1731, has the following summary. In writing of New-England the author says: From thence also, as from all other continental colonies, we receive all the gold they can spare, none of which ever 1847.1 89 90 Sketch of the Rise, Progress, [Jan., returns to them, for we give them in ex- change all manner of wearing apparel, woolens, cast-iron, and linen manufac- tures; and the authors conclusion is, that England gains one million of pounds sterling annually by this traffic, and that by the aid of the colonies alone she maintained at least eighteen thousand seamen in the fisheries. In 1732 a company had been formed for the settlement of Georgia, and a re- port was made to Parliament by said company in which are found these char- acteristic sentences: This report is in- tended to set forth any laws made, man- ufactures set up, or trade carried on in the colonies, detrimental to the trade, navigation, or manufactures of Great Britain ; and again, It were to be wished that some expedient might be fallen upon to divert their thoughts from undertakings of this nature, so much the rather, because those manufactures in process of time may he carried on to a great degree unless an early stop be put to their progress ; and the report goes on to state that it was thought right from time to time to send general questions to the several governors in America, that we may be more exactly informed of the condition of said plantations, among which were several that related to their trade and manufactures, that they might not interfere with those of the mother country. Accordingly, they sent such questions to New-York, New-Jersey, New Hampshire, Massachusetts Bay, and the several answers from the governors are given. In 1745 a law was passed that it should not be lawful for any person to wear any cambric or French lawn in England. In 1759 an act was passed to prevent British subjects in the Levant from ship- ping any French woolen goods within the limits of the Turkey or Levant Com- pany. Nor could any cloths be imported within these limits, except they were accompanied by a sworn certificate that they were of the manufacture of Great Britain. Thus was the whole policyof England exclusively to foster and protect her own manufactures and trade, and more es- pecially to restrict the colonies by every means in her power from attempting every species of manufacture. But there is a point at which forbear- ance ceases to be a virtue, and that point was at last reached by the passage of the stamp act and the tax upon tea. We have thus seen in what a state of bondage were the energies of this people while they remained colonies of Great Britain. Their pursuits were limited, their inventive powers were smothered, their skill was undeveloped, their indus- try was paralyzed. They felt, neverthe- less, that stirring within them which em- boldened th6u-i to pledge their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honors, in a doubtful contest, that they might rid themselves of these shackles, and assume self-government. It was to exercise the right of thinking and acting for them- selves that they had sought an asylum in the western worldthey had known and felt that men, under the monarchical gov- ernments of Europe, were neither permit- ted to enjoy their civil nor their religious rights; the principle, therefore, that lay deepest in their minds, was to raise them- selves in the rank of nations, to secure to them the right to worship God according to the dictates of their conscience, and to establish an equality of human rights. They had proclaimed to the world the new and then startling doctrine that men were capable of self government, and had proved that the energies of a dauntless people, determined on the establishment of human rights, could place them on a broad and indestructible foundation. By a sad experience they had been taught that as colonies they were kept in a state of vassalage to their trans-Atlantic mas- ters, restricted in their home pursuits, their commerce confined within narrow limits, and every vexatious system adopt- ed to make their labor subservient to the growth and splendor of the mother coun- try. Had a liberal policy been pursued by Great Britain; had its skill and capital been at that time sent to this country to be employed freely in any tmd every way most advantageous to the colonies; had a common cause been then made, it was then the time, when living under the same laws, and acted upen by the same feelings, England should have adopted a liberal policy; and had she so acted, it may be well questioned what would have been our condition at this periodbut upon that it is useless to speculate. In the mysterious wisdom of Providence it has been ordered otherwise, and these homes of a free nation were established. Let us now take a short review of the occurrences which immediately followed the government which was first organ- ized, and its entire failurethe adoption And influence of the Useful Arts. of our present constitution, and the action under it. Our ancestors having proved by their valor that they were worthy of a free government, and having for ever severed the political connection with England, the peace of 1783 acknowledged their rights, and established for the colonies, complete political independence of the mother country. Has a social and eco- nomical independence been equally es- tablished? Let us revert for a moment to some of our experience, and see what always have been, and always will be, the effects of placing ourselves at the mercy of foreign legislation, by withdrawing the shield of protection from American labor. We take the ground of protection to American labor of all and every kind. XVe assume that the low price of labor in Europe is one of its greatest social evils, and one against which our institutions were intended to guard the whole popu- lation of the country. We propose, therefore, to show in the sequel, that this attempt was a total failure under the con- federationthat this failure cre4ed the necessity for the Constitution, and was the cause of its adoption. Nay, we pro- pose to go much further, and to show, that until our labor was properly protected, the permanen( prosperity of the country was not secured. The advantages of our neutral position during the wars incident to the French Revolution, however great they may have proved, grew out of that neutrality, and at the general peace in 1815 we were a second time plunged into great ruin, from which nothing extricated us but the protection from time to time given to the labor of the country. But to our experience! At the close of the war of the Revolution, we were roverned by the Articles of Confederation. We then had what is falsely called Free Trade in the fullest operation. Our ports were open, with scarcely any duties, to the vessels and merchandise of all na- tions. In Pennsylvania the duties were two and a half per cent.; but these were nugatory, for Burlington, New-Jersey, was a free port, and large portions of goods were there entered and clandes- tinely carried across the Delaware into Pennsylvania. From almost all nations of Europe large shipments were made to this country, and we were inundated with foreign goods. We made literally no- thing for ourselves, and thus industry of every kind was paralyzed; every species of goods could be purchased at a price much cheaper than they could be made here, and the system of our would-be wise political economists was in full oper- ation. Such of our citizens as had previously embarked in any kind of manufactures, were reduced to bankruptcy and ruin. Our workmen skilled in the arts were consigned to idleness and its long train of disastrous consequences. Real prop- erty ceased to be of much value. Rents fell to almost nothing. Nor did those who embarked in mercantile pursuits share a better fate; for the people being idle could not pay for the goods pur- chased, and consequently most of the merchants failed. Let us appeal to a few sketches of that eventful period, taken from the pages of some of our his- torians who have left it faithfully de- scribed, to prove to us a useful and in- structive lesson. Dr. Hugh Wilkinson gives the following statement: In every part of these States the scarcity of money has become a common subject of com- plaint. This does not seem to be an imaginary complaint, like that of hard times, of which men have complained in all ages of the world. The misfortune is general, and in many cases is severely felt. The scarcity of money has become so great, and the difficulty of paying debts has become so common, that riots and combinations have been formed in many places, and the operations of civil govern- ment have been suspended. Goods were imported to a much greater amount than could be paid for. In Minots history of the insurrection in Massachusetts, we have the following: Thus, from the cessation of labor, was the usual means of remittance by articles the growth of the country cut off, and little else than specie remained to answer the demands incurred by importations. The scarcity of specie arising from this cause was attended with evident effects. It checked commercial intercourse throughout the community, and furnished reluctant debtors with an apology for withholding their dues, both from indi- viduals an~ the public. On opening our ports, an immense quantity of foreign merchandise was introduced into the country, and people were tempted by the sudden cheapness of imported goods, and by their own wants, to purchase beyond their capacity to pay. Into this indis- cretion they were in some measure be- guiled by their own sanguine calculations 1847.1 91 92 Sketch of the Rise, Progress, [Jan., of the value which a free trade would bestow on the value of their soil, and by a reliance on those evidences of a public debt which were in the hands of most of them. So extravagantly did many esti- mate the temptation which equal liberty and vacant lands would hold out to emi- grants from the Old World, as to entertain the opinion that Europe was about to empty itself into America. The bonds of men, (says Mr. Ram- say of South Carolina,) whose compe- tence to pay their debts was unquestion- able, could not be negotiated at a less dis- count than thirty, forty, and even fifty per cent. Real property was scarcely vendible, and sales of any article for ready money could be made, only at a ruinous loss. The prospects of extricat- ing the country from these embarrass- ments were by no means flattering; while everything else fluctuated, some of the causes which produced this calamitous state of things were permanent. The hope and fear still remained, that the debtor party would obtain the victory at the elections; and instead of making the effort to obtain relief by industry and economy, many rested all their hopes on legislative interference. The mass of national labor and national wealth was consequently diminished. Property, when brought to execution, sold at so low a price as frequently ruined the debtor, without paying the creditor. A disposition to resist the laws be- came common; assemblies were called oftener and earlier than the constitution and laws required. Laws were passed by which property of every kind was made a legal tender in the payment of debts, thougb payable according to contract in gold and silver. Other laws installed del4s, so that of sums already due, only one-third, and afterwards one-fifth, was annually recoverable in the courts of law. Silver and gold, says Belkuap, in his history of New-Hampshire, which had circulated largely in the latter years of the war, were returning by the usual course of trade to those countries whence large quantities of necessary and unne- cessary commodities had been imported. Such was the state of things under the confederation, and while the people were thus writhing under so many complicated evils, it is not to be wondered at thnt every species of ill-advised remedy should be brought forward. According- ly, we find that large emissions of paper money made legal tenders, and suspen sions of the operations of courts of jus- tice for the collection of debts were all resorted to, but they only served to em- barrass and create more and new dftllcul- ties. In Massachusetts the suffering and distress was greater than in any other State. Riotous assemblages of the peo- ple were common, and the proceedings of the courts of justice, according to Chief- Justice Marshall, were impeded, unt~ it finally ended in open insurredion under Shays, a Revolutionary officer, which was crushed by the energy of Governor Bodonin and his council, and the decision of Generals Lincoln and Sheppard. At this agonizing period, the minds of all thinking men felt the total inefficiency of the confederation and with one accord hailed the Constitution as the only reme- dy. Accordingly, in 1789, fhat invalti- able blessing was given to our distressed and distracted country, and its magical effects soon proved the consummate skill and wisdom of its framers; for no sooner was it adopted than confidence was re- stored, the industry of the whole people was soon put in requisition, and a new career was opened to our citizens. Scarcely, however, had time been given to shape any course arising from the re- newed vigor imparted to the people, by the national character which had been given to the government, when the break- ing out of the French Revolution at once gave it a new impulse. Before proceeding rapidly to trace the course thus given to American capital and labor, there is one fact to record here, which is of the first importance, and that is, that no sooner had the first Con- gress assembled under the Constitution, than they commenced to execute the power given to them to legislate for the general welfare, by passing an act which has this decisive preamble: Whereas, it is necessary for the support of goxernment and the encouragement and protection of manufactures, that duties be laid on foreign goods and merchandise, & c., & c. Filled as was this first Con- gress by the sages of the Revolution, the men who had plajmned the glorious Con- stitution, then first about to direct their action under it; men who had, in the cab- inet and the field, evinced a high and holy devotion to the great cause of human lib- erty, of which but few of the would-be patriots of the present day can form a just estimate, this decisive and explicit avow- al not only of their power, but of their solemn act, to protect American inter- 1847.] And Influence of the Useful Arts. 93 eststhis indubitably settles beyond all cavil or dispute, the great duty imposed upon members of Congress to sustain the Constitution in that provision of it which was here recognized and acted upon. But as if those great men were deter- mined to show what was their view of the causes which led to consolidating the confederacy into one government with ample powers to secure the general wel- fare, very soon after the passing the revenue act above referred to, a law was enacted granting a bounty to vessels en- gaged in the fishing trade. Let us now return to the effects of the breaking out of the French Revolution. That extraordinary event, and the wars to whi~h it gave rise, embodied such im- mense armies, and took from the peaceful cultivation of the soil, all over continent- al Europe, such a vast proportion of those whose labor had been devoted to it, that the staff of life was soon so much dimin- ished as to require a resort to its importa- tion from abroad. A large portion of Europe could no longer feed its popula- tion;, hence the cultivation of the fertile fields of the United States, and the trans- mission of the farinaceous productions to the great theatre of European warfare, became the most profitable employment in which the American people could be engaged. Nor was this the only result that followed the mighty struggle which for so many years deluged Iurope in blood, and produced the most vindictive maritime warfare of which history bears any record. The great maritime su- premacy of England soon annihilated the commercial marine of the continental na- tions embodied in these wars, and for a series of years the whole carrying trade of the world fell into our hands. These new circumstances in the com- mercial world soon produced their effects, and turned the attention of our people rather to supply Europe with food than to furnish themselves with clothing. They were content to enrich themselves by agriculture and commerce, and to re- ceive all articles of manufacture from Europe in return for the supplies fur- nished by them to the belligerents, and the freights they received in transmitting them across the Atlantic, as well as those received from delivering in the mother countries the rich treasures of their East and West India colonies. But this was an unnatural state of things which could not always last, nor while it continued could it fail to excite the jealousy of the belligerents; accord- ingly, two thousand two hundred Ameri- can vessels were captured between the breaking out of the French Revolution and the year 1812. Fifteen hundred of these vessels were condemned, and thus were our citizens wrongfully deprived of one hundred millions of dollars at a mod- erate calculation. The aggressions of the British in im- pressing our seamen and unlawfully seizing and condemning our vessels, for the breach of paper blockades, led to the declaration of the war of 1812. A mighty and suddenchange was now to take place in the objects to which American effort was to be directedand necessity, that inevitable law to which all must submit, soon produced the most miraculous results. Deprived of the accustomed supplies of all articles for clothing and domestic use, shut out from a large portion of our own proper and legitimate commerce, the energies of the American people were soon turned to the spindle and the loom. Our mines became opened and explored, the sound of the hammer and the hum of industry, which for years had been silent, now im- parted their cheerful stimulus in every direction, and marvelous was the progress that was made. The true spirit of 1776 had revived; our navy bore itself gallant- ly on the ocean, and on the great inland seas, dividing the hostile territories; and our armies proved, notwithstand- ing some early mismanagement, that our valor had not degenerated, and the plains of Chippewa, the battles of Plattsburg, Northpoint, and New-Orleans, taught the hardy veterans of Europe that it was no childs play to deal with the descendants of their former conquerors. But alas! what were the lessons taught us by the second war for our in- dependence, and how have they been re- garded? What sufferings were not our brave soldiers called upon to experience, for the want of comfortable clothing? Such was the situation of the commis- sariat department, that a state of suffer- ing almost equivalent to that of our revolutionary armies, was often submitted to in the early part of the war. indeed, all through the struggle there was a. great deficiency of comfortable clothing for the troops, and as to the prices paid by the community, they imposed a heavi- er tax in amount to the consumer during 94 Sketch of the Ri8e, Progre8s, [Jan., the three years of the war than has been paid in all the supposed taxation for the sustainment of American industry. There had been some effort made in 1816, by the establishment of minimum duties, to protect the manufactures of cotton and wool, but that effort had proved wholly ineffectual. Still it elicit- ed discussion and a warm debate; and it is a fact never to be forgotten that some of the most able advocates of the true pro- tective policy at that time, were from the southern portion of the Union, and among the most distinguished was the Hon. John C. Calhoun, then a member of the House of Representatives. We ask particular attention to this de- bate and a few of the remarks of Mr. Calhoun on that occasion, because they estabui~h one very important fact, name- ly, that the question of protection, was not then mooted, but was considered as fixed and permanent. Mr. Calhoun said, The debate hereto- fore on this subject, had been on the de- gree of protection which ought to be af- forded to our cotton and woolen manu- factures, all professing to be friendly to the infant establishments, and to be wil- ling to extend to them adequate encour- agement. The present motion (to strike out the minimums) assumes a new as- pect. It is introduced professedly on the ground, that manufactures ought not to receive any encouragement; and will in the, end leave our cotton establishments exposed to the competition of the cotton goods of the East Indies, which it is ac- knowledged on all sides, they are not ca- pable of meeting with success. Till the debate assumed this new form, he had de- termined to be silent, participating as he largely did in that general anxiety which is felt, after so long and laborious a ses- sion, to return to the bosom of our fami- lies; but on a subject of such vital im- portance, touching, as it does, the security and permanent prosperity of our country, he hoped the House would indulge him in a few observations. It is not for the mere purpose of quoting Mr. Calhoun, that these, his remarks, are introduced; but the whole minimum system is now abolished, and resort is had to the very vicious system of ad valorem duties. Mr. Calhouns remarks are directed to that measure and its effects; and as they so thoroughly agree with our own views, we propose somewhat further to state them, and then by facts which have transpired since the speech was made, to prove it to be incontrovertible. Mr. Calhoun goes on to state, that neither agriculture. manufactures, nor commerce, taken sepa- rately, is the cause of national wealth; it flows from the three combined, and can- not exist without each. Without com- merce, industry would have no stimulus; without manufactures, it would be with- out the means of production ; and without agriculture, neither of the others can subsistwhen separated entirely and permanently, they perish. When our manufactures are grown to a certain per- fection, as they soon will under the foster- ing care of the government, they will no longer experience those evils, (the ruin of the finances and the currency.) The farmer will find a ready market for his surplus produce, and what is of almost equal consequence, a certain and cheap supply of all his wants. His prosperity will diffuse itself to every class of the community; and instead of that languor and individual distress, incident to a state of war and suspended commerce, the wealth and vigor of the community will not be materially impaired. The arm of government will be nerved, and the taxes in the hour of danger, when essential to the independence of the nation, may be greatly increased. Loans, so uncertain and hazardous, may be less relied on. Thus situate, the storm may beat with - out, but within, all will be quiet and safe. Where shall we now find fill employment for our prodigious amount of tonnage? where, markets for the numerous and abundant products of our country? This great body of capital, which for the mo- ment has found sufficient employment, exhausted by the war and the measures preceding it, must find a new direction; it will not be idle, what channel can it take but that of manufacturesthis, if things continue as they are, will be its di- rection. It will introduce a new era in our affairs, in many respects highly ad- vantageous. He (Mr. Calhoun) had of- ten heard it said in and out of Congress, that this effect alone would indemnify the country for all its losses. So high was this tone of feeling when the want of these establishments was practically felt, that he remembered, during the war, when some question was agitated respecting the introduction of foreign goods, that many then opposed it on the grounds of injur- ing our manufactures; he (Mr. Calhoun) had then said that war alone furnished sufficient stimulus, and perhaps too much, as it would make their gruwth un 1847.] And Influence of the Useful Arts. 95 naturally rapid; but that on the return of peace, it would then be time to show our affection for them. He, at that time, did not expect an apathy and aversion to the extent that is now seen; but it will no doubt be said, if they are so far estab- lished, and if the situation of the country is so favorable to their growth, where is the necessity of affording them protec- tion? It is to put them beyond the reach of contingency. Should the present own- ers be ruined, and the workmen dispersed and turned to other pursuits, the country would sustain a great losssuch would no doubt be the fact to a considerable ex- tent if they are not protected. For his part, he could see no such tendency, (a tendency to destroy the moral and physi- cal power of the people,) but the exact contrary, as they furnished new stimu- lus, and the means of subsistence to the laboring classes of the people. So far as this able speech (in these ex- tracts) states facts, it is inva]uable, for it is of most undoubted authority. Now what facts does it state? Why, in the first place, that until Mr. Randolph made his motion to strike out the minimum, on which occasion the speech was made, all professed to be friendly to the manufactur- ino-establishme 5; and to be willing to ex- tend to them adequate encouragement proving that at that time no idea had been started, that to protect manufactures by duties was unconstitutional. A further and another fact was stated,that they were highly popular during the war, when their want was practically felt. These are too very important facts. So far as the speech reasons, its arguments are un- answerable; and so far it was prophetic. It has been, and now is completely ful- filled. It is but thirty short years since it was made; and though a great part of that time, (say from 16 to 24, eight years, and from 35 to 42, seven years, making in all fifteen years, or one half of the elapsed period,) manufactures had little or no protection; yet did the capital take the direction fore- .seen by Mr. Calhoun, and they did greatly increase, did greatly add to the natural wealth, and did greatly, by competition, lessen the price, until the farmer and the country are furnished with abundant and cheap supplies. They have greatly in- creased the market for agricultural pro- ductions of all kinds; and fully protected, they would go on still further to increase the national wealth,still further to increase the agricultural prosperity, and stilj fur- ther to verify the truth asserted by Mr. Calhoun, that neither agriculture, manu- factures, nor commerce, taken separately, is the cause of national wealth; but, as he justly says, it flows from the three combined, and cannot exist without each. This article has extended to a greater length than was proposed; and must therefore be drawn to a conclusion else might it be shown what was the sad experience of the country from 1816 to 1824, and from 1835 to 1842. Yet this is scarcely necessary, as it must be with- in the recollection of most readers, that, until the passage of the tariff of 1824, the general industry of the country was greatly paralyzed; that under the prc- tective policy, it went on increasing in every industrial department, until the compromise act again reduced the duties, when the same injurious efihcts were pro- duced, and continued until they were ar- rested in a most decided and satisfactory manner, by the tariff of 1842. We need not advert to the fate of that wise and beneficent measureit has been sacrificed to the Moloch of partyand we are again placed more or less at the mercy of our powerful rival. We have, it is true, acquired a strength which will enable us to fight bravely in the unequal contest, until the indignation of an in- sulted people, shall withdraw their power from the unfaithful stewaj~ds in whose hands it now rests; and we think recent events have fully shown, that this will be done, as soon as the constitutional period will permit. Without the useful arts no nation can prosper; and the open and avowed policy of the present administration is, to aban- don them to a destructive competition with the population of Europe. 96 Thoughts, Feeling8 and Fancies. [Jan., THOUGHTS, FEELiNGS AND FANCIES. THOSE long, awkward, and embarrass- whether, with them, grave speculation ing pauses in conversation, which occur, peers with earnest face into the misty so frequen,tly at evening parties corn- future, or their frail thoughts daily posed of both sexes, are produced by unceasingly with faint surmise, I am causes as amusing as the effects they not experienced enough to determine. give rise to are painful. The greater portion of the company remain silent for the very good reason that they have nothing to say; others are vain enough to imagine they have some reputation for intelligence, and are afraid to speak lest it should be endangered; while a few shrewdly suspect themselves of be- ing fools, and are afraid to open their lips for fear it should be discovered. The bashful reader will agree with me that these pauses are hard to be borne, particularly where they are continued through many minutes, and the stillness is so intense that he can hear himself breathe, distinguish the ticking of his watch, or catch through the closed shut- ters the confused hum of the many-toned noises of the street. The persons who suffer most from ennui and mental disquietude, are those who are in possession of that so-consid- ered panacea for all illsopulence. The fault is in their making it their sole resource. The intellect has its cravings, and the heart has its cravingscravings which cannot be satisfied with mere eating and drinking. A man is not all body. He is commonly supposed to have a soul or mind, which soul or mind demands to ,enjoy other luxuries than those furnished to the animal framethe luxuries of thought, of exertion, of bene~ ficial activity. When an unfortunate finds himself de- scending the inclined plane of adverse fortune, he ought, with all practicable speed, to cut all his acquaintanceas he may thereby save himself the mortifica- tion of being cut by them. I have observed that the approach of the nuptial day makes the principals thereto, whether maiden or swain, seri- ous, sedate, and pensive; but whether i~t is caused by excess of happinessby their joy being so great as to cause a trembling fear for its continuanceor In their domestic relations, women are most deceitful before marriagemen after it. Before wedlock women seek to fasci- nate by the display of fictitious charms and the assumption of false appearances; after it men endeavor to retain the affec- tion of their wives by concealing the fact that they are unworthy of them. Forgetfulness is the minds sepulchre, wherein is entombed its dead emotions. It is too great an effort of magnanimity for some men to acquiesce altogether in a sense of inferiority, and they avoid such a sacrifice of self-love by impugn- ing the merit they cannot rival. To il- lustrate this remark, it may be observed that the purest love of country, and the most incessant exertion of his energies for the promotion of its interests, will not ensure for the patriot statesman an exemption from contemporary denuncia- tion and invective. Let a dog in the stillest hour of the night open his throat and bark vociferously, and but a few moments will elapse before another, and another, and another canine voice will join to swell the clamor, until the whole neighborhood resounds with the din. So in the impeachment of men eminent for their public virtues and services, a single voice utters its cry, and immedi- ately the welkin is made to ring with its allegations, caught up and echoed by the many, who love too well the sound of their own voices to inquire into their truth or falsity. BooKs. Well indeed may Wordsworth call books a substantial world. Without them the past would be as a blank, the present as a pageant that passes by and is forgotten. They chronicle the aggre- gate experience of the worldwhat it has done, and felt, and suffered. They con- nect one age with another, they establish a sympathy between the present and the

Thoughts, Feelings, and Fancies 96-98

96 Thoughts, Feeling8 and Fancies. [Jan., THOUGHTS, FEELiNGS AND FANCIES. THOSE long, awkward, and embarrass- whether, with them, grave speculation ing pauses in conversation, which occur, peers with earnest face into the misty so frequen,tly at evening parties corn- future, or their frail thoughts daily posed of both sexes, are produced by unceasingly with faint surmise, I am causes as amusing as the effects they not experienced enough to determine. give rise to are painful. The greater portion of the company remain silent for the very good reason that they have nothing to say; others are vain enough to imagine they have some reputation for intelligence, and are afraid to speak lest it should be endangered; while a few shrewdly suspect themselves of be- ing fools, and are afraid to open their lips for fear it should be discovered. The bashful reader will agree with me that these pauses are hard to be borne, particularly where they are continued through many minutes, and the stillness is so intense that he can hear himself breathe, distinguish the ticking of his watch, or catch through the closed shut- ters the confused hum of the many-toned noises of the street. The persons who suffer most from ennui and mental disquietude, are those who are in possession of that so-consid- ered panacea for all illsopulence. The fault is in their making it their sole resource. The intellect has its cravings, and the heart has its cravingscravings which cannot be satisfied with mere eating and drinking. A man is not all body. He is commonly supposed to have a soul or mind, which soul or mind demands to ,enjoy other luxuries than those furnished to the animal framethe luxuries of thought, of exertion, of bene~ ficial activity. When an unfortunate finds himself de- scending the inclined plane of adverse fortune, he ought, with all practicable speed, to cut all his acquaintanceas he may thereby save himself the mortifica- tion of being cut by them. I have observed that the approach of the nuptial day makes the principals thereto, whether maiden or swain, seri- ous, sedate, and pensive; but whether i~t is caused by excess of happinessby their joy being so great as to cause a trembling fear for its continuanceor In their domestic relations, women are most deceitful before marriagemen after it. Before wedlock women seek to fasci- nate by the display of fictitious charms and the assumption of false appearances; after it men endeavor to retain the affec- tion of their wives by concealing the fact that they are unworthy of them. Forgetfulness is the minds sepulchre, wherein is entombed its dead emotions. It is too great an effort of magnanimity for some men to acquiesce altogether in a sense of inferiority, and they avoid such a sacrifice of self-love by impugn- ing the merit they cannot rival. To il- lustrate this remark, it may be observed that the purest love of country, and the most incessant exertion of his energies for the promotion of its interests, will not ensure for the patriot statesman an exemption from contemporary denuncia- tion and invective. Let a dog in the stillest hour of the night open his throat and bark vociferously, and but a few moments will elapse before another, and another, and another canine voice will join to swell the clamor, until the whole neighborhood resounds with the din. So in the impeachment of men eminent for their public virtues and services, a single voice utters its cry, and immedi- ately the welkin is made to ring with its allegations, caught up and echoed by the many, who love too well the sound of their own voices to inquire into their truth or falsity. BooKs. Well indeed may Wordsworth call books a substantial world. Without them the past would be as a blank, the present as a pageant that passes by and is forgotten. They chronicle the aggre- gate experience of the worldwhat it has done, and felt, and suffered. They con- nect one age with another, they establish a sympathy between the present and the 1847.] Thoughts, Feelings and Fancies. 97 remote past. By them the voice of in- struction comes down to us through the long lapse of time, the tongues of the ancient wise, stilled and palsied in death as they are, speak in them. These are some of their results They make the great of other days our present teachers; through them we look, as through a glass darkly, upon those vast multitudes whose hodies have re- solved to dust, and form the earth we tread upon; and through them we in our turn shall be made known to coming time, when our spirits have passed on their way to that hourne to which all are destined. To the care-worn they im- part relief from their cares, to the stricken heart they give forgetfulness of its griefs, and for those whose paths are in plea- sant places, they make those paths more pleasant. Well, indeed, 1 repeat it again, may Wordsworth call hooks a substan- tial world. LATENT NATURE. Our strongest qualities, like fire in steel, are concealed, and require the dash of opposition, or collisions with circum- stance, to bring them out. Thus the French and our own revolution made a great many great men out of a great many ordinary men. I never hear a man inveighing bitterly, with acrid tone and a scornful, unhappy curl of the lip, against the fair sex, with- out thinking there is room to suspect he has undergone the torture of disappointed affection, and that thought makes me pity his misfortune and pardon his opinions. We forget the flowers and the verdure and the glories of the past Spring in gaz- ing upon the pomp and garniture of the one before us. Mutation is everywhere, in everything, in ourselves, in the world around us. Nothing is immutable but Truth, and we believe that it is Gods will that Truth shall vindicate itself by the aid of its friend, Time. For those who are not already aware of the strength of their prejudices, it would he well to observe the contempt with which they listen to those who rea- son against their opinions. In literature, as in religion, there is a great deal of blind idolatry. vOL. VNO. r. 7 The injunction, Think twice before you speak once, pre-supposes that those whom it addresses are either knaves or fools, and it is therefore moved to have it set aside. In speech, the free action of the mind is destroyed by habitually de- liberating before utterance, and he always talks best who has the courage to give art instant expression to his sudden thoughts. An author, also, is most eloquent when he writes from feeling and from impulse, and he is most forcible when he commits his views to paper as they occur to him, without waiting to reconsider his thoughts, refine his language, or round his periods. How our long cherished hopes of es- tablishing a name among menthose in- definable longings that have accompanied us in so many noiseless hours, and goad- ed us on to exertion through so many nights of obscure toil, when the wearied frame and jaded spirit would gladly seek the oblivion of sleepsicken within us, as we survey, in some hour given to listless reverie, the crowded shelves of a spacious library. We thought we had read much; but how little of what is here? And did all these writers strive for fame? Yes, all of them. Most of them were read and admired in their early day, and pronounced immortal. Vain author! lying critic! If the worlds distinction is postponed for some thousand years, what a long caravan of writers we~ shall have, journeying on, carrying their wares to the same marketoblivion. What prices are paid for them among the Shades, is not easily determined. Habits influence the character pretty much as under-currents influence a ves- sel, and whether they speed us on the way of our wishes, or retard our pro- gress, their power is not the less import- ant because imperceptible. Dullness is never immortal, Pope, to the contrary, notwithstanding. Women are more artificial thaii men. Led by education and interest to study the art of pleasing, if successful, they become the characters they before had only feigned ; if unsuccessful, they become what it was previously their chief aim to avoid. Sensitiveness is a lash given tous in our youth that we may scourge our backs for the sins we may thereafter commit. 98 William Ilazlitt. [Jan., WILLIAM HAZLITT. A SKETCH. William Hazlitt is a name that will brighten with time. He has said too many new, and too many true things, for oblivion to reach. You may find fault with the setting, but rarely with the jewels; and in literature, as in fashion, the setting soon grows out of date, but the jewels neverBuiwers England and the English. I should belie my own conscience, if I said less than that I think William Hazlitt to be, in his natural and healthy state, one of the wisest and finest spirits breathing. Lambs Letter to Southey. As in water, face answereth to face; xxvii. 19. IIAZLITT was undoubtedlythe best prose writer of his day, and, withal, a shrewd observer of life, men, and manners. He was a man of fierce hatreds, and of deep, abiding loves; and with all his faults, he was worth a million of his little con- temptible maligners. It is not wonderful that his temper became soured, and his faith in human nature impaired, when, after writing volume after volume, full of clear vigorous reasoning, and pene- trative wisdom imbued with sensibility and refinement of thought, the people feared to look into them because they fell under the ban of the Tory reviewers. They could not make a tool of William Hazlitt. He began life with the French revolution, and his heart palpitated with glorious hopes for the regeneration of mankind. He lived to see those hopes blasted, and the friends of his youth become apostates, and subservient, glad instruments, to bolster up the rotten cause of legitimacy. They sold them- selves, and verily they have their re- ward. They were poets; Hazlitt was a metaphysician. The abuse of the government-press was virulent and un- ceasing against Hazlitt ; they coined lies, they slandered him in every shape, gave garbled extracts from his books, and asserted that his pale, eager, marble-like countenance, was pimpled and blotched by intemperance. His writings are full of his own personal feelings, and these give the greatest attraction to his writings. He is as entertaining as Montaigne. He lacked forbearance, and told many truths harshly, but the web of sophistry was indignantly torn asunder, with the utmost sincerity and zeal. He has the power to interest the reader, in whatever subject he chooses to write on, and gives it importance and prominence. People so the heart of man to man.Prorerbs, buy Hazlitts books; for his clear, familiar and sensible style, is grateful to every reader. He was not much of an egotist, but at times he would tell the reviewers his own opinion of himself, in good set terms. He took too much interest in books, and pictures, and human nature, to be always thinking of himself. To speak less of a mans self than what one really is, is folly, not modesty; and to take that for current pay which is under a mans value, is pusillanimity and cowardice, according to Aristotle. The mass of intellectual wealth scattered through Hazlitts writings is immense. The springs of his mind never dried up; but year after year the clear, sparkling, gushing streams of eloquence and truth, were poured forth, to enrich and fertilize the world. His style varies: at one time he is all simplicity, at another rhetorical, and scatters about glowing sentences, linked together by felicitous quotations, like pearls, and then he be- comes paradoxical, to attract that atten- tion that would not otherwise have been bestowed on him. No one has written with more zest on Scott, Wordsworth, and others, whose political creed he loathed: this was a generosity and can- dor he never experienced from his oppo- nents. Hazlitt was born April 10th, 1778, at Maidstone, in Kent, and was the young- est son of the Rev. William .Hazlitt, a Unitarian preacher, who was a roan of great honesty of purpose, and firmness, and who inculcated in his son, his own love of truth, independence and fearless- ness of character. Hazlitt somewhere observes, that his father mistook his talents after all, and was much dissatis- fied that his son preferred his letters to his sermons. The last were forced and

G. F. D. D., G. F. William Hazlitt 98-104

98 William Ilazlitt. [Jan., WILLIAM HAZLITT. A SKETCH. William Hazlitt is a name that will brighten with time. He has said too many new, and too many true things, for oblivion to reach. You may find fault with the setting, but rarely with the jewels; and in literature, as in fashion, the setting soon grows out of date, but the jewels neverBuiwers England and the English. I should belie my own conscience, if I said less than that I think William Hazlitt to be, in his natural and healthy state, one of the wisest and finest spirits breathing. Lambs Letter to Southey. As in water, face answereth to face; xxvii. 19. IIAZLITT was undoubtedlythe best prose writer of his day, and, withal, a shrewd observer of life, men, and manners. He was a man of fierce hatreds, and of deep, abiding loves; and with all his faults, he was worth a million of his little con- temptible maligners. It is not wonderful that his temper became soured, and his faith in human nature impaired, when, after writing volume after volume, full of clear vigorous reasoning, and pene- trative wisdom imbued with sensibility and refinement of thought, the people feared to look into them because they fell under the ban of the Tory reviewers. They could not make a tool of William Hazlitt. He began life with the French revolution, and his heart palpitated with glorious hopes for the regeneration of mankind. He lived to see those hopes blasted, and the friends of his youth become apostates, and subservient, glad instruments, to bolster up the rotten cause of legitimacy. They sold them- selves, and verily they have their re- ward. They were poets; Hazlitt was a metaphysician. The abuse of the government-press was virulent and un- ceasing against Hazlitt ; they coined lies, they slandered him in every shape, gave garbled extracts from his books, and asserted that his pale, eager, marble-like countenance, was pimpled and blotched by intemperance. His writings are full of his own personal feelings, and these give the greatest attraction to his writings. He is as entertaining as Montaigne. He lacked forbearance, and told many truths harshly, but the web of sophistry was indignantly torn asunder, with the utmost sincerity and zeal. He has the power to interest the reader, in whatever subject he chooses to write on, and gives it importance and prominence. People so the heart of man to man.Prorerbs, buy Hazlitts books; for his clear, familiar and sensible style, is grateful to every reader. He was not much of an egotist, but at times he would tell the reviewers his own opinion of himself, in good set terms. He took too much interest in books, and pictures, and human nature, to be always thinking of himself. To speak less of a mans self than what one really is, is folly, not modesty; and to take that for current pay which is under a mans value, is pusillanimity and cowardice, according to Aristotle. The mass of intellectual wealth scattered through Hazlitts writings is immense. The springs of his mind never dried up; but year after year the clear, sparkling, gushing streams of eloquence and truth, were poured forth, to enrich and fertilize the world. His style varies: at one time he is all simplicity, at another rhetorical, and scatters about glowing sentences, linked together by felicitous quotations, like pearls, and then he be- comes paradoxical, to attract that atten- tion that would not otherwise have been bestowed on him. No one has written with more zest on Scott, Wordsworth, and others, whose political creed he loathed: this was a generosity and can- dor he never experienced from his oppo- nents. Hazlitt was born April 10th, 1778, at Maidstone, in Kent, and was the young- est son of the Rev. William .Hazlitt, a Unitarian preacher, who was a roan of great honesty of purpose, and firmness, and who inculcated in his son, his own love of truth, independence and fearless- ness of character. Hazlitt somewhere observes, that his father mistook his talents after all, and was much dissatis- fied that his son preferred his letters to his sermons. The last were forced and 1847.] William Ifazlitt. 99 dry, the first came naturally from him. For ease, half play on words, and a supine, monkish, indolent pleasantry, I have never seen them equaled. Hazlitt, in early youth, was educated by his father; and there is a miniature of him, painted when he was about six years of age, which, in the mild beauty and intelligence of the face, was said to give true indica- tions of the spirit working within. He was intended, by his father, for the minis- try, but a distaste for that profession, and a growing love for painting, bore down all barriers, and he soon gave up his studies. In 1798, he was introduced to Coleridge. lie has glowingly described this interview in an essay entitled, My first Acquaintance with Poets. This meeting made a lasting impression on Hazlitt, and he says that at that time he was dumb, inarticulate, helpless, like a worm by the way-side, crushed, bleeding, lifeless; and that although he afterwards found words wherewith to express him- seW yet still he owed that power to Cole- ridge. Coleridge had come into the neighborhood to take charge of a Uni- tarian congregation, and Hazlitt says, that on a cold, raw, comfortless morning in January, he rose before daylight to walk ten miles through the mud to hear him. His sermon was upon peace and war, upon Church and State. He drew an affecting picture of a simple shepherd boy under the hawthorn, piping to his flock as though he should never be old, and the same lad turned into a drummer boy, with his hair sticking on end with powder and pomatum, tricked out in the loathsome finery of the profession of blood. Hazlitt returned home well satisfied; and he thought the cold, dank drops of dew that hung half melted on the beard of the thistle, had something genial and refreshing in them. Coleridge comes to see the elder Hazlitt, and is attentive to young Hazlitt, who sat 5peechless, listening to the fairy words; and Coleridge afterwards said, that for those two hours he was conversing with William Hazlitts forehead. Hazlitts father could not have been more pleased if his visitor had worn wings, and as the silken sounds rustled round the little wainscoted parlor, he threw back his spectacles over his forehead, his white hair mingling with its sanguine hue, and a smile of delight beamed across his rugged, cordial face, to think that Truth had found a new ally in Fancy. Cole- ridge invites Hazlitt to come and see him, and the anticipation of this visit was never absent from his thoughts, and mingles with all his feelings. He was to visit Coleridge in the spring. The long wished-for time arrives, and he sets out on his journey with unworn heart, and untried feet. His way lay through Worcester and Gloucester and by Upton, where he thought of Tom Jones and the adventure of the muff. He gets com- pletely wet through, and stops at an inn, and sits up all night to read Paul and Virginia. He remains two days at Bridgewater, and reads Fanny Burneys Camilla. He arrives atNether-Stowey, and is well received by Coleridge. At Stowey Coleridge wrote some of his most beautiful poetry, his Ode to the Departing Year, Fears in Solitude, France, an Ode, Frost at Midnight, the first part of Christabel, The Ancient Mariner, and his tragedy of Remorse. The two or three years spent here, seem at once to have been the happiest and produced the richest fruits of Coleridges genius. They go to see Wordsworth, and Hazlitt sleeps that night in an old room with blue hangings, and covered with the round-faced family portraits of the age of George I. and II., and at the dawn of day, from an adjoining park, he hears the loud stag speak. Coleridge and Wordsworth re- cite some of their own compositions. Coleridge, Hazlitt, and one John Chester make a jaunt along the shore of the Bristol Channel. This Chester was a native of Nether- Stowey; one of those who were attracted to Coleridges discourse as flies are to honey, or bees in swarming time to the sound of a brass pan. He followed in the chase like a dog who hunts, not like one who made up the cry. He had on a brown cloth coat, boots and corduroy breeches, was low in stature, bow-leg- ged, and had a drag in his walk like a drover, which he assisted by a hazel switch, and kept on a sort of trot by the side of Coleridge, like a runnuing foot- man by a state coach, that he might not lose a syllable or sound that fell from Coleridges lips. They reach Linton at midnight, and are regaled with some excellent rashers of fried bacon and eggs, and on the morning of the second day they break- fast luxuriously, in an old-fashioned par- lor, on tea, toast, eggs, and honey, in the 100 William Itazlitt. [Jan., very sight of the bee-hives from which it had been taken, and a garden full of thyme and wild flowers. This entire essay is capitally written; the characters are drawn with boldness and spirit; health and happiness are borne along on every breeze; the clouds float gracefully over the clear heavens; and there is a perfume from the soil like that from newly turned up ground. The spirit of youth adds a zest and flavor to every word, and it was written when Hazlitts powers were matured. In 1802 Hazlitt went to Paris to visit the Louvre, and during his stay in that city, he stu- died the art zealously, copying many of the master-pieces of Titian and Raphael. Titiau was his favorite paintcr. It seems that he had no teacher in painting, but his ardent will bore him through all diffi- culty. He had a natural feeling for the beautiful and true in form and color. The misfortune was that he saw too far. He wished to be a great artist at one bound, to erect a glorious structure, with- out the trouble of foundatio1 s or scaf- foldings: from the root Springs lighter the green stalk; from thence the leaves More airy; last the bright consummate flower. In 1803, he returned to England, and made a professional tour through some of the midland counties. He was suc- cessful in obtaining sitters, and his pic- tures pleased others but not himself. He became diffident of his powers, and a painful feeling arose in his mind that he would never become famous as a paint- er. He finally relinquished the art, but his love for it continued to the last, and as a critic on painting, he was unequaled. He then turned his thoughts to literature, and in 1803, he went to London. He had now completed a work, on which he had been busy for eight years; the only work on which he ever prided himself, an Essay on the Principles of Human Action. He sought to establish in this treatise the natural disinterestedness of the human mind; or, that we seek the welfare of others, in the same way, and with the same motives with which we seek our own. It is a noble production, and, to my mind, he worked out his theory successfully. If some think otherwise, still it was written to advance and digni- fy human nature; not to lessen and de- grade it, as Hobbes, Mandeville, and Rochefoucauld had attempted to do. The style of this book is as dry as the re- mainder biscuit after a voyage; it looks like a mathematical demonstration. I select, however, one passage, full of bounty brave, that sparkles like a dia- mond, and sheds a golden light over the work. This is the passage that Southey said was something between the manner of Miltons prose works and Jeremy Tay- lor. There are moments in the life of a solitary thinker, which are to him what the evening of some great victory is to the conqueror and herothough milder friumphs and long remembercd with truer and deeper delight. And though the shouts of multitudes do not hail his suc- cess; though gay trophies, though the sounds of music, the glittering of arm- or, and the neighing of steeds do not mingle with his joy; yet shall he not want monuments and x itnesses of his glory; the deep forest, the willowy brook, the gathering clouds of winter, or the silent gloom of his own chamber, faith- ful remembrances of his high endea- vor and his glad success, that as time passes by him with unreturniug wing, still awaken the consciousness of a spirit patient and indefatigable in the search of truth, and a hope of surviving in the thoughts and minds of other men.~~ He published, in 1806, a pamphlet with the title of Free Thoughts on Public Affairs, written in a style of great force and purity, with much eloquence of rea- soning, and it evinces a warm love for freedom. In 1807, he prepared for Mr. Johnson, An Abridgement of Tuckers Li~ht of Nature Pursued ; and also, in the same year, he wrote a Reply to Malthus. The year 1808 was passed by Hazlitt in writing an English Gram- mar, Eloquence of the British Senate, (this work embraces the finest specimens of oratory, from the times of Charles I. down to those of Sheridan,) and Me- moirs of Holcroft. In 1811, he resided in the house once occupied by Milton, the poet and patriot, which circumstance he commemorated by a small tablet placed at the back of the house. In 1813, he delivered a course of lecLures upon the History and Progress of English Phi- losophy. He was also, for a time, parliamentary reporter for the Mornin~ Chronicle; but he gave it up, finding it too arduous for his feeble health, and that he had insensibly formed the habit of a frequent recourse to spirits, as a sti- mulant to a constitution already much impaired by study and sickness. From 1847.1 William Ilazijit. 101 this period, to the day of his death, he never tasted spirits or wine. I mention this, as a proof of his great resolution; for he still frequented the same society, where the sparkling glass, the laugh, and repartee, went round. He endeavored to make himself amends for this loss, by quaffing large potations of tea, and Keeping the palace of the soul serene. Wailer. In 1817, he puhlished the Round Ta- ble. These volumes are, to the general reader, the most pleasing, perhaps, that Hazlitt ever wrote. They contain es- says on various subjects; among the best, is that on the Character of Rousseau,~~ On Pedantry, On the Catalogue Raisonn6 of the British Institution, On the Love of Life, On the Love of the Country, On John Buncle all written in a style of great eloquence and strength, easy, flowing, and every page teeming with thought and beauty. In 1818, appeared a View of the Eng- lish Stage. The finest criticisms in this hook, are on the acting of Kean, Kem- hle, Mrs. Siddons, and on the singing of Miss Stephens. In the same year, he delivered, at the Surrey Institution, a series of lectures, On the Comic Wri- ters, On the English Poets, and on the Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth. These lectures were pub- lished in three separate volumes, and are choice reading. In 1819, his political essays were collected and published by Mr. Hone. There is in this work some of Hazlitts hest writing, full of force and sincerity; his heart was in what lie wrote. The prefac.e is glorious, and worthy of MiltonI know of nothing finer in all of Hazlitts writings. In this same vo- lume are to be found, Illustrations of Votes the best thing, according to (Jodwin, that Hazlitt ever wrote; some powerfully written and hitter attacks on the renegades, Southey, Coleridge, and Wordsworth; Essay on Owens View of Society, On Court Influence, On the Clerical Character, What is the People, * On the Regal Character. In this same year appeared the famous Letter to William Gifford. This ultra- crepidarian critic, and his malevolent re- marks, fall hefore the unsparing attack of Hazlitt, like weeds before A vessel under sail. His next work was the Characters of Shakspeares Plays. No one has writ- ten on Shakspeare with a keener in- sight into his writings, or a fonder ap- preciation of his genius. I need only refer to his remarks on Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Midsummer Nights Dream, As You Like It, and The Twelfth Night. It must have heen ahout this time, that a little volume called Characteristics was first published. It contains the germs of many of Haz- litts finest essays. In 1823, Liher Amoris was published. I have heard objections made to this work, hut I can see nothing objectionable in it. It only shows the overpowering effects of love, even on the strongest intellect, when judgment deserts its post, and passion has sole sovereign sway and masterdom. There is sunshine and storm in it, love and grief, Which commonly (the snore the pity) dwell As inmates both togetber.Daniel. Besides, there are portions of it intensely affecting, which make their way to the heart, there to remain forever. The deep feeling, and retrospective glance to his childhood, in the following pass~ ge, will illustrate my meaning: I had part- ed with her in anger, and each had spok- en words of high disdain, not soon to he forgiven. Should I ever hehold her again? Where go and die far from her? In her sight there was Elysium; her smile was heaven; her voice was enchantment; the air of love waved around her, breathing halm into my heart; for a little while I had sat with the gods at their golden tables, hoth living and loving. But now Paradise barred its doors against me ; I was driven from her presence, where rosy blushes and de- licious sighs, and all soft wishes dwelt, the outcast of nature and the scoff. I thou6bt of the time when I was a little, rho reader will recollect General-Foys comprehensive answer to the interrogatory 0f an ultra: Qu est cc que cest quo laristocratie i Le vais vous le dire , said Foy, laristocratie an dix-neuvieme siecle cest ha higue, cest la coalition, do cenx, ~ veulent consommer sans produire, vivre sans travailler, tout savoir sans non avoir appnis, envahir tons los bonneurs sans lea avoir merhes, occuper toutes los places sans otre en dat do los remplet, Foys sayings and speeches were as sharp as his sword. 102 William ilazijit. [Jan., happy, careless child; of my fathers house; of my early lessons; of my brothers picture of me when a boy; of all that had since happened to me, and of the waste of years to come. Liber Amoris is an instructive comment on Mirabels saying, that a man may as soon make a friend by his wit, or a fortune by his honesty, as win a woman with plain- dealing and sincerity. In 1824, appeared Sketches of the Principal Picture Galleries in England. Finer criticisms on paintings were never written; we literally see The Titian stroke, the Guido air.~~ Prior. There is a heartiness in Hazlitts ad- miration for the great masters, and it seems as if their quiet and rich beauties had sunk deep into his heart, early in life, and that he mused on them through long, silent years, and at last in order to show his intense love, no course was left but to bare his swelling heart. How beautiful are the opening remarks on the different galleries and collections, on that of Mr. Angerstein, on the Dulwich Gal- lery, on that of the Marquis of Stafford, and on the pictures at Burleigh House. The description of his visit to Burleigh is most affecting; and the remarks on his youth and youthful feelings, those skies and suns so pure, is one of the best passages in his writings. In this year, also, was published by Mr. Colburn, Table Talk ; two volumes of Essays on Men and Manners, and two years after, two more volumes were pub- lished, with the title of The Plain Speaker. These four volumes contain an almost innumerable number of exqui- site essays. Among those which I like best are, On the Pleasure of Painting, On Living to Ones Self; On a Landscape of Nicolas Poussin, On Going a Journey, Why Distant Objects Please. The prodigality of genius, richness of language, and aptness of illustration displayed in these essays are wonderful. In 1825, appeared The Spirit of the Age, or Contemporary Portraits. Among these are fine-drawn characters of Bentham, Godwin, Cole- ridge, Horn Tooke, Byron, Southey, Wordsworth, Mackintosh, Jeffrey and others, xvith remarks on their writings. In this same year, appeared his Selec- tions from the British Poets, which has since gone through several editions. In 1826, was published Notes of a Journey through France and Italy. There are in this work some excellent remarks on the French and Italian char- acter and manners, on pictures, and on French actors and acting. The best de- scriptions are of Ferrara and Venice. You walk the wide and grass-grown streets of the one, and the other rises in its glittering glory from the bosom of the deep. He remained some fifteen weeks in Switzerland, at the Campagna Gela- mont, near Vevay. He was delighted with the quiet, retired life he led there, and says, days, weeks, months, and even years might have passed on with but the seasons difference. We breakfasted at the same hour, and the tea-kettle was al- ways boiling, an excellent thing in housewifery; a lounge in the orchard for an hour or two, and twice a week we could see the steamboat creeping, like a spider, over the surface of the lake; a volume of the Scotch novels, (to be had in every library on the continent, in Eng- lish, French, German or Italian, as the reader pleases,) or M. Galignanis Paris and London Observer, amused us till dinner time; then tea, and a walk till the moon unveiled itself apparent queen of night, or the brook, swollen with the transient shower, was heard more dis- tinctly in tbe darkness, mingling with the soft, rustling breeze; and the next morn- ing the song of peasants broke upon re- freshing sleep, as the sun glancing among the clustering vine leaves, or the shadowy hills, as the mists retired from their summits, looked in at our windows. In 1830, his life of Napoleon appeared. This is a masterly production. It is the best life of that extraordinary man that has as yet been written, for it is the most impartial. It is a just and noble tribute of respect and admiration for one whose fame folds in the orb of the earth. The Life of Titian, and Conversa- tions with Northcote, were also pub- lished this year, and this brings me to his tomb. Here may thy storme-bett vessell safely ryde; This is the port of rest from troublous toyle, The worides sweet inn from paine and wearisome turrnoyle.Spenser. Keats beautifully says: Life isbutaday; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a trees summit; a poor Indians sleep, While his boat hastens to the monstrou steep TJ7illiam .TIazlitt. Of Montmorenci. * * ~ * ~ * Life is the roses hope while yet unbiown; The reading of an ever changing tale; The light uplifting of a maidens veil; A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air; A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, Riding the springy branches of an elm. These sweet verses are not applicable either to the life of the young poet who wrote them, or to that of Hazlitt. From the beginning of his career to its close, an arrowy shower of unjust and malevolent criticism~ was poured upon his head by the government critics. His habits, manners, and character, were shamelessly vilified. When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that all the dunces are in confederacy against him.* Hazlitt dedicated his life and talents to the cause of the people, and he never swerved from them to the side of arbitrary power. He did not stand debating the question with himself, like an old lawyer between two fees, but at once embraced the cause of justice and humanity, and re- mained true to them. He saw the friends of his youth fall from his side, and become the assertors of the divine right of kings: still he kept fearlessly and unflinchingly on his way, and died with the colors wrapped around him, beneath which he had so bravely fought. One doth not know How much an ill word may empoison likin~ The government critics had this pas- sage in view, when they uttered their verdicts against Hazlitt; and he, at times annoyed by this injustice, would attach an undue importance to the success arising from a display of physical strength and skill, and wrote long and labored essays to prove their superiority over the productions of the mind. His great am- bition was to excel as a racket player. He would devote whole days to this amusement, and seldom took up his pen except from necessity. Still, he would often leave London, and retire to a place called Winterslow Hut, on the borders of Salisbury Plain. There, without books, and without company, he would dash off a volume in a short time, devoting the day to wandering about in the woods and fields, and the evening to composition. Hazlitts political opinions rendered him obnoxious to the government, and hin- dered many from reading his writings and doing him justice. His fame is now ripening, and posterity will assuredly class him with those master spirits that have adorned the earth, and shed a light on human nature. During an authors life, fame is often bestowed on him, in right of something connected with his personal character, and extraneous to the merit of his writings. But this effect ceases with his own personal existence; his literary productions will, after his death, be estimated correctly; favor will not exalt them, censure or prejudice will not be able to sink or depreciate them; they will be judged impartially by their intrinsic qualities alone.t Allan Cunningham says, that Hazlitt had great powers of pleasing when he chose to exert them. His conversational powers were surpassingly fine; he was, in the best sense of the word, a converser, for talking is not always to converse.~~ The authors he most admired, were Shakspeare, Burke, and Rousseau. Leigh Hunt, in the Indicator, observes, W. H., I believe, has no books except mine; but he has Shakspeare and Rousseau by heart. G. F. D. Swift. t Sir Egerton Brydges. 1847.1 103 104 Latest Current Prices of Metals. LATEST CURRENT PRICES OF METALS. LONDON, NoVflMBER 27, 1845. s. s.d. 8 15 9 0 0 0 010 0 0 0 010150 11 5li 10 0 0 013 0 0 11 01110 0 CoPPEROrdin. sheets, lb. 0 bottoms .. 0 Chulian, in cakes 0 TINCorn. blocks g,cwt. 0 bars 0 Refined 0 Straitsh 0 o5100 Banca 0 TII~S-PLATE5Ch.ICi,bOX 1 IX 1 Coke, IC ... 0 IX .... 0 LEADSheet, k ton 19 Pig, refined 0 common 18 Spanish,inbdl7 American .... 0 SPELTER(Cake) 1 0 ZINc(Sheet) m export* 0 QuIcKsILvER N lb. 0 IRONBar a. Wales. ton .London Nail rods Hoop (Staf.) Sheet Bars Welsh cold- ) blast found- ~ rypig.... 5 Scotch pig b,Clyde 3 10 3 12 0 Rails, average 0 0 9 15 0 Russian, CCND e. 0 0 PSI.... 0 0 Gourieff 0 0 Archangel 0 013 10 0 Swedishd,onthespotli 1012 0 0 Steel, fagt. 0 016 0 0 kegsel4 1515 0 0 CosPERTilef 0 087 10 0 Tough cake 0 088 10 0 Best selected 0 091 10 0 a Discount 2~ per cent. b Net cash. c Discount 2~ per cent. d Ditto. e In kegs ~ and I-inch. f Discount 3 per cent. g Ditto 2~ per cent. Ii Net cash, in bond. i Discount 3 per cent. le Ditto 2~ per cent. t Net cash. m Discount 1~ per cent. St Discount Ii per cent. * For home use it is 321. per ton. From our Correspondent. IRON.Welsh and Staffordshire are stea- dy at quotations, with a fair demand; in Scotch pigs there has been very little done this week; the recent failure of a very large operator at Glasgow, has had an un- favorable effect upon the market; in Rus- sian and Swedish nothiu0 doin0. COPPER continues steady, as also LEAD and TIN-PLATES. TIN remains very scarce, with buyers of English at quotations, for arrivalthe transactions in Banca and Straits are very limited; but stocks are low, and holders firm. In SPELTER nothing doing this week. From a Correspondent. English Iron continues firm; hut the transactions during the week have been few. Scotch pig iron is quite neglected, owing to the failure at Glaseow of the principal Operator in the article; it is, however, thought that it will be higher, as so few parcels are pressing on the market; OPs. to lOs. cash has been offered for mixed Nos., and 71s. cash for No. 1, and refused. Swedish iron and steel are firm. English copper without alteration. English block tin 18 nominally OSs. 6d. Smelters being very reluctant in making sales, Banca has been sold this week at 5/. 3s. Straits scarce. Tin-plates are in fair demand at quotations. In English lead there is little doing. Spelter has been sold in small par- cels during the week at 191. 5s. GLASGOW PIG-IRON TRADE. Nov. 25.This week the trade has been rather deressed, by reason of an extensive failure. Prices have declined, and may to-day he quoted at 68s. Gd. for No. 3 ; 69s. Gd. for mixed Nos., and 71s. for No. 1 cash in 14 days. For immediate cash, mixed numbers was sold to-day at 68s. Gd. and 69s. The Foreign Miscellany, not being of great importance, has been left out of this number. That department will hereafter, beginnin., with next month, be enlarged and improved, and a chapter of Domestic Miscellany added. [Jan., s. s. d. 00 010 0 0 0 11 0 0 4 18 0 0 4 19 6 0 5 1 0 0 4 18 6 0 5 3 0 9 111 0 15 117 0 0 1 6 0 0 112 0 519 10 0 021 0 0 518 10 0 1018 0 0 0 019 5 0 028 0 0 0 0 4 6

Latest Current Prices of Metals 104-105

104 Latest Current Prices of Metals. LATEST CURRENT PRICES OF METALS. LONDON, NoVflMBER 27, 1845. s. s.d. 8 15 9 0 0 0 010 0 0 0 010150 11 5li 10 0 0 013 0 0 11 01110 0 CoPPEROrdin. sheets, lb. 0 bottoms .. 0 Chulian, in cakes 0 TINCorn. blocks g,cwt. 0 bars 0 Refined 0 Straitsh 0 o5100 Banca 0 TII~S-PLATE5Ch.ICi,bOX 1 IX 1 Coke, IC ... 0 IX .... 0 LEADSheet, k ton 19 Pig, refined 0 common 18 Spanish,inbdl7 American .... 0 SPELTER(Cake) 1 0 ZINc(Sheet) m export* 0 QuIcKsILvER N lb. 0 IRONBar a. Wales. ton .London Nail rods Hoop (Staf.) Sheet Bars Welsh cold- ) blast found- ~ rypig.... 5 Scotch pig b,Clyde 3 10 3 12 0 Rails, average 0 0 9 15 0 Russian, CCND e. 0 0 PSI.... 0 0 Gourieff 0 0 Archangel 0 013 10 0 Swedishd,onthespotli 1012 0 0 Steel, fagt. 0 016 0 0 kegsel4 1515 0 0 CosPERTilef 0 087 10 0 Tough cake 0 088 10 0 Best selected 0 091 10 0 a Discount 2~ per cent. b Net cash. c Discount 2~ per cent. d Ditto. e In kegs ~ and I-inch. f Discount 3 per cent. g Ditto 2~ per cent. Ii Net cash, in bond. i Discount 3 per cent. le Ditto 2~ per cent. t Net cash. m Discount 1~ per cent. St Discount Ii per cent. * For home use it is 321. per ton. From our Correspondent. IRON.Welsh and Staffordshire are stea- dy at quotations, with a fair demand; in Scotch pigs there has been very little done this week; the recent failure of a very large operator at Glasgow, has had an un- favorable effect upon the market; in Rus- sian and Swedish nothiu0 doin0. COPPER continues steady, as also LEAD and TIN-PLATES. TIN remains very scarce, with buyers of English at quotations, for arrivalthe transactions in Banca and Straits are very limited; but stocks are low, and holders firm. In SPELTER nothing doing this week. From a Correspondent. English Iron continues firm; hut the transactions during the week have been few. Scotch pig iron is quite neglected, owing to the failure at Glaseow of the principal Operator in the article; it is, however, thought that it will be higher, as so few parcels are pressing on the market; OPs. to lOs. cash has been offered for mixed Nos., and 71s. cash for No. 1, and refused. Swedish iron and steel are firm. English copper without alteration. English block tin 18 nominally OSs. 6d. Smelters being very reluctant in making sales, Banca has been sold this week at 5/. 3s. Straits scarce. Tin-plates are in fair demand at quotations. In English lead there is little doing. Spelter has been sold in small par- cels during the week at 191. 5s. GLASGOW PIG-IRON TRADE. Nov. 25.This week the trade has been rather deressed, by reason of an extensive failure. Prices have declined, and may to-day he quoted at 68s. Gd. for No. 3 ; 69s. Gd. for mixed Nos., and 71s. for No. 1 cash in 14 days. For immediate cash, mixed numbers was sold to-day at 68s. Gd. and 69s. The Foreign Miscellany, not being of great importance, has been left out of this number. That department will hereafter, beginnin., with next month, be enlarged and improved, and a chapter of Domestic Miscellany added. [Jan., s. s. d. 00 010 0 0 0 11 0 0 4 18 0 0 4 19 6 0 5 1 0 0 4 18 6 0 5 3 0 9 111 0 15 117 0 0 1 6 0 0 112 0 519 10 0 021 0 0 518 10 0 1018 0 0 0 019 5 0 028 0 0 0 0 4 6 105 Critical Notices. CRITICAL NOTICES. Review of T. L. MKenneys Xarrative of the Causes which, in 18 14, led to Gen. lirinstrongs resignation of the War Office. By KosclUsKo ARM- STRONG. New York, 1846. Probably many of our readers recollect MKenneys Memoirs, a work containing some interesting matter, and much valua- ble, if true, information; but in many places unnecessarily diffuse, and in some obtrusively egotistical. Among other pub- lic characters freely commented on in these Memoirs, is the late General Armstrong, who is indeed handled without gloves, it is generally safer to attack the dead than the living; the rule, however, is subject to numerous exceptions, and in the present instance, Mr. MKenney has evidently waked up the wrong passenger. Mr. Kosciusko Armstrong, a gentleman of con- siderable literary attainments, and holding the pen of a ready writer, has come to the rescue of his fathers reputation, in the pamphlet whose title heads this notice. Whatever conclusion may be arrived at respecting the matter at issue, there can be but one opinion as to the succinct, lucid and gentlemanly manner in which it is here set forth. Caustic and indignant as Mr. A. is, he nowhere exceeds the bounds of good taste and propriety. We have not had time to study the controversy very thoroughly, but the two points in it thaI principally struck us are these: 1. Mr. MKenny taxes General A. with want of foresight, and ignorance of the enemys plans, and says that after Com- modore Barney had been forced to blow up his flotilla in the Patuxent, he him- self suggested to the General, in the course of a hurried conversation on horseback, (the President being of the party,) that the enemy would be upon them before daylight next morning ; to which Gen. A. replied, They can have no such in- tention; they are foraging, I suppose, and if an attack is meditated by them on any place, it is Annapolis. To which Mr. Kosciusko Armstrong replies: That as all the witnesses of the conver- sation are dead, it is impossible to.prove or disprove Mr. MKs. assertion directly; but as the highest indirect refutation, he cites passages froni several letters written by the General immediately previous to the time specified, in which a very different opinion is expressed. That General A. doubted what the enemys intentions were, he admits, but maintains that nothing short of omniscience could have prevent- ed this doubt, the British themselves having no settled plan of operations from the first, as he proves by references to their own ac- count of the affair. 2. Mr. MK. says: While engaged in throwing up batteries at the foot of Wind- mill Hill, Gen. A. rode on the ground. The impression had become universal, that, as Secretary of War, he had neglect- ed to prepare the necessary defences, and that, owing to this neglect, the capitol had been desecrated, and the glory of our arms tarnished. Charles Carroll, of Bellevue, the moment Gen. A. rode upon the ground, met him, and denounced him openly and vehemently, as the cause of all the disasters that had befallen the city; when with one impulse, the officers said to General Smith: There, sir, are our swords; we will not employ them, if General Armstrong is to command us in his capacity of Secretary of War; hot we will obey the orders of any other member of t~ie Cabinet. At the same time the men at the batteries threw down their spades, avowing a like resolve. * ~ ~ The message delivered to President Madison was in accordance with the above to the letter. Answer. That there is no proof of Gen. As. ever having been at Wind-mill Hill. That the story of Carrolls open denuncia- tion is now heard for the first time, having never been promulgated by Wilkinson or any other of the Generals opponents. That if the city was undefended, General A. could not be to blame for it, as he was prevented, by a special order, from having anything to do with the management of the troops in the field. That the refusal to obey him was the result of a movement concocted by some of Monroes friends, including MKenney himself. We have already adverted to the high tone and good temper of this pamphlet. It has another merit, equally rare among usits brevity. All the points at issue are disposed of in twenty small pages, a terseness much to be commended at this time, when there is so very much of that easy writing, which is not only hard, but actually impossible, reading. [Since the above notice was written, Mr. MKenney has published a letter ask- ing a suspension of public opinion, till he can procure the requisite documents from Washington, and in the mean time denying, an toto, Mr. Armstrongs charges of con- spiracy, & c. So the quarrel stands for the present.] 1847.]

Review of T. L. McKenney's Narrative of the Causes which, in 1814, led to Gen. Armstrong's resignation of the War Office. Kosciusko Armstrong Critical Notices 105-106

105 Critical Notices. CRITICAL NOTICES. Review of T. L. MKenneys Xarrative of the Causes which, in 18 14, led to Gen. lirinstrongs resignation of the War Office. By KosclUsKo ARM- STRONG. New York, 1846. Probably many of our readers recollect MKenneys Memoirs, a work containing some interesting matter, and much valua- ble, if true, information; but in many places unnecessarily diffuse, and in some obtrusively egotistical. Among other pub- lic characters freely commented on in these Memoirs, is the late General Armstrong, who is indeed handled without gloves, it is generally safer to attack the dead than the living; the rule, however, is subject to numerous exceptions, and in the present instance, Mr. MKenney has evidently waked up the wrong passenger. Mr. Kosciusko Armstrong, a gentleman of con- siderable literary attainments, and holding the pen of a ready writer, has come to the rescue of his fathers reputation, in the pamphlet whose title heads this notice. Whatever conclusion may be arrived at respecting the matter at issue, there can be but one opinion as to the succinct, lucid and gentlemanly manner in which it is here set forth. Caustic and indignant as Mr. A. is, he nowhere exceeds the bounds of good taste and propriety. We have not had time to study the controversy very thoroughly, but the two points in it thaI principally struck us are these: 1. Mr. MKenny taxes General A. with want of foresight, and ignorance of the enemys plans, and says that after Com- modore Barney had been forced to blow up his flotilla in the Patuxent, he him- self suggested to the General, in the course of a hurried conversation on horseback, (the President being of the party,) that the enemy would be upon them before daylight next morning ; to which Gen. A. replied, They can have no such in- tention; they are foraging, I suppose, and if an attack is meditated by them on any place, it is Annapolis. To which Mr. Kosciusko Armstrong replies: That as all the witnesses of the conver- sation are dead, it is impossible to.prove or disprove Mr. MKs. assertion directly; but as the highest indirect refutation, he cites passages froni several letters written by the General immediately previous to the time specified, in which a very different opinion is expressed. That General A. doubted what the enemys intentions were, he admits, but maintains that nothing short of omniscience could have prevent- ed this doubt, the British themselves having no settled plan of operations from the first, as he proves by references to their own ac- count of the affair. 2. Mr. MK. says: While engaged in throwing up batteries at the foot of Wind- mill Hill, Gen. A. rode on the ground. The impression had become universal, that, as Secretary of War, he had neglect- ed to prepare the necessary defences, and that, owing to this neglect, the capitol had been desecrated, and the glory of our arms tarnished. Charles Carroll, of Bellevue, the moment Gen. A. rode upon the ground, met him, and denounced him openly and vehemently, as the cause of all the disasters that had befallen the city; when with one impulse, the officers said to General Smith: There, sir, are our swords; we will not employ them, if General Armstrong is to command us in his capacity of Secretary of War; hot we will obey the orders of any other member of t~ie Cabinet. At the same time the men at the batteries threw down their spades, avowing a like resolve. * ~ ~ The message delivered to President Madison was in accordance with the above to the letter. Answer. That there is no proof of Gen. As. ever having been at Wind-mill Hill. That the story of Carrolls open denuncia- tion is now heard for the first time, having never been promulgated by Wilkinson or any other of the Generals opponents. That if the city was undefended, General A. could not be to blame for it, as he was prevented, by a special order, from having anything to do with the management of the troops in the field. That the refusal to obey him was the result of a movement concocted by some of Monroes friends, including MKenney himself. We have already adverted to the high tone and good temper of this pamphlet. It has another merit, equally rare among usits brevity. All the points at issue are disposed of in twenty small pages, a terseness much to be commended at this time, when there is so very much of that easy writing, which is not only hard, but actually impossible, reading. [Since the above notice was written, Mr. MKenney has published a letter ask- ing a suspension of public opinion, till he can procure the requisite documents from Washington, and in the mean time denying, an toto, Mr. Armstrongs charges of con- spiracy, & c. So the quarrel stands for the present.] 1847.] 106 Critical Notices. [Jan., The History of Civilization, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. By F. GuizoT (the Prime Minister of France). Trans- lated by WILLIAM HAZLITT. 4 vols. Svo. D. Appleton & Co., New York. 1846. A History of Civilization will of course include that of the Church, of the State, and of the social manners. M. Guizots work, dividing itself into two parts, the first of European civilization in general, the second of French civilization, is an arrangement of facts and illustrations from the old French chronicles, knit together by a line of argument in defence of that course of condensation and centralization, which ended in the production of one French nation, with their one city of Paris, under their one despot and their well-gov- erned House of Deputies. In this arrangement, beginning with the early Christian Church, with feudalism and feudal manners, M. Guizot traces the Third Estate, showing how the municipal towns arose; how they aided their then weak-handed monarch; and how, by a nat- ural strengthening of each other the mon- archy and the townspeople gradually cver- mastered the aristocracy; contending with them in all manner of ways through a course of ten centeres; until at length the townspeople, or Third Estate, sudden- ly found itself master, and after having crushed or exiled all its aristocracy, ended in a freak with killing its king. M. Guizot does not indeed present the matter in so raw a phrase, hut in aphiloso- phical and elegant manner developes it. In this long battle of the people and their king against the petty tyrants of feudalism, the church, or more properly the religion, of the French people, plays its part. First, as the patron and sustainer of letters and the teacher of the people then as a mad enthusiast, darkening the counsel of reason by words without know- ledge; now mediating between the people and their opnressors, now oppressing and robbing in it~ turn. The manners too have their share ; hereditary opulence at first gives dignity and authority to the eldest son. In the privacy of the castle, elegance and liberal arts are cultivated, and polite learning takes its rise among the nobility, producing a Froissart, a Count de Foix, a Montaigne. In the towns of Italy, of the Netherlands, and Southern France, ideas of liberty ori- ginate, and here and there a man of the people, a Philip Van Arteveldt, appears. As the wealth of the towns increases, the merchants become rivals of the nobles: arts, sciences, manufactures, philosophy and moral criticism, are cultivated under the protection, now of the people and now of the monarch. The Third Estate, spite of superstition and nobility, gradually strengthens and enlightens itself; by and by it becomes (what it now is) the NA- TION; and the church and better classes sink into comparative insignificance. Monsieur Guizots method is the philo- sophical French one, which begins with an idea, and rakes up facts to illustrate it. He begins with the idea of civilization, that it consists in the production of such a condition of society as will suffer a free development of all the powers of the manbe their direction religious, political, or socialan idea which few will gainsay. But M. Guizot, it must be remembered, is a despotic minister of the most despotic king in Europe; and accordingly the idea of centralization, or of bringing all powers, of whatever name, under one head, rides dominant in his book as in his mind. He commits the error of making French civilization the type of civilization in general ; a position against which the English historian may advance grave ob- jections. Feudalism in England gave rise to the idea, not of popular liberty under despotism of any kind, but of individual liberty as we have itin America. Indeed, it is impossible to concede M. Guizot the position assumed in this his most admi- rable and delightful work. It cannot be admitted, on this side the water, that French civilization is the typical kind for these days. M. Guizot and his king are in too great a danger of the emeiite and the assassin, to permit him to utter such a proposition. What with its one city, its one despot, its Jesuit intrigue, its persecuted Protestantism, its raging Atheism, and its Literature of Despair (as Goethe once named it); what with its antiseptic wars, its bastions (a Bastille drawn out around the city), its Chamber of Deputies, so well governed by the Min- istry; the French cannot be admitted as the typical, or most freely developing nation. Dr. Hoopers Fade Mecum: or, .Manual of the Principles and Practice of Phy- sic. With additions by JAs. STEWART, AM., M.D., Fellow of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, author of A Practical Treatise on the Diseases of Children, & c. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1846. This is one of the few books of practical medicine which have attained a universal reputation. Though not free from the ex- ploded errors of the older English school of medicine, as, for example, the use of bleed- sng and drastic purgatives in serious atonis apoplexy, a treatment which is pretty sure to fix the disease upon the patient; the use of purges for Melancholisi; of anti- phlogistics for delirium tremens; of local depletion for spinal irritation, & c., & c,,

The History of Civilization, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. William Hazlitt Critical Notices 106

106 Critical Notices. [Jan., The History of Civilization, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. By F. GuizoT (the Prime Minister of France). Trans- lated by WILLIAM HAZLITT. 4 vols. Svo. D. Appleton & Co., New York. 1846. A History of Civilization will of course include that of the Church, of the State, and of the social manners. M. Guizots work, dividing itself into two parts, the first of European civilization in general, the second of French civilization, is an arrangement of facts and illustrations from the old French chronicles, knit together by a line of argument in defence of that course of condensation and centralization, which ended in the production of one French nation, with their one city of Paris, under their one despot and their well-gov- erned House of Deputies. In this arrangement, beginning with the early Christian Church, with feudalism and feudal manners, M. Guizot traces the Third Estate, showing how the municipal towns arose; how they aided their then weak-handed monarch; and how, by a nat- ural strengthening of each other the mon- archy and the townspeople gradually cver- mastered the aristocracy; contending with them in all manner of ways through a course of ten centeres; until at length the townspeople, or Third Estate, sudden- ly found itself master, and after having crushed or exiled all its aristocracy, ended in a freak with killing its king. M. Guizot does not indeed present the matter in so raw a phrase, hut in aphiloso- phical and elegant manner developes it. In this long battle of the people and their king against the petty tyrants of feudalism, the church, or more properly the religion, of the French people, plays its part. First, as the patron and sustainer of letters and the teacher of the people then as a mad enthusiast, darkening the counsel of reason by words without know- ledge; now mediating between the people and their opnressors, now oppressing and robbing in it~ turn. The manners too have their share ; hereditary opulence at first gives dignity and authority to the eldest son. In the privacy of the castle, elegance and liberal arts are cultivated, and polite learning takes its rise among the nobility, producing a Froissart, a Count de Foix, a Montaigne. In the towns of Italy, of the Netherlands, and Southern France, ideas of liberty ori- ginate, and here and there a man of the people, a Philip Van Arteveldt, appears. As the wealth of the towns increases, the merchants become rivals of the nobles: arts, sciences, manufactures, philosophy and moral criticism, are cultivated under the protection, now of the people and now of the monarch. The Third Estate, spite of superstition and nobility, gradually strengthens and enlightens itself; by and by it becomes (what it now is) the NA- TION; and the church and better classes sink into comparative insignificance. Monsieur Guizots method is the philo- sophical French one, which begins with an idea, and rakes up facts to illustrate it. He begins with the idea of civilization, that it consists in the production of such a condition of society as will suffer a free development of all the powers of the manbe their direction religious, political, or socialan idea which few will gainsay. But M. Guizot, it must be remembered, is a despotic minister of the most despotic king in Europe; and accordingly the idea of centralization, or of bringing all powers, of whatever name, under one head, rides dominant in his book as in his mind. He commits the error of making French civilization the type of civilization in general ; a position against which the English historian may advance grave ob- jections. Feudalism in England gave rise to the idea, not of popular liberty under despotism of any kind, but of individual liberty as we have itin America. Indeed, it is impossible to concede M. Guizot the position assumed in this his most admi- rable and delightful work. It cannot be admitted, on this side the water, that French civilization is the typical kind for these days. M. Guizot and his king are in too great a danger of the emeiite and the assassin, to permit him to utter such a proposition. What with its one city, its one despot, its Jesuit intrigue, its persecuted Protestantism, its raging Atheism, and its Literature of Despair (as Goethe once named it); what with its antiseptic wars, its bastions (a Bastille drawn out around the city), its Chamber of Deputies, so well governed by the Min- istry; the French cannot be admitted as the typical, or most freely developing nation. Dr. Hoopers Fade Mecum: or, .Manual of the Principles and Practice of Phy- sic. With additions by JAs. STEWART, AM., M.D., Fellow of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, author of A Practical Treatise on the Diseases of Children, & c. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1846. This is one of the few books of practical medicine which have attained a universal reputation. Though not free from the ex- ploded errors of the older English school of medicine, as, for example, the use of bleed- sng and drastic purgatives in serious atonis apoplexy, a treatment which is pretty sure to fix the disease upon the patient; the use of purges for Melancholisi; of anti- phlogistics for delirium tremens; of local depletion for spinal irritation, & c., & c,,

Dr. Hoper's Vade Mecum; or, Manual of the Principles and Practice of Physic. James Stewart Critical Notices 106-107

106 Critical Notices. [Jan., The History of Civilization, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. By F. GuizoT (the Prime Minister of France). Trans- lated by WILLIAM HAZLITT. 4 vols. Svo. D. Appleton & Co., New York. 1846. A History of Civilization will of course include that of the Church, of the State, and of the social manners. M. Guizots work, dividing itself into two parts, the first of European civilization in general, the second of French civilization, is an arrangement of facts and illustrations from the old French chronicles, knit together by a line of argument in defence of that course of condensation and centralization, which ended in the production of one French nation, with their one city of Paris, under their one despot and their well-gov- erned House of Deputies. In this arrangement, beginning with the early Christian Church, with feudalism and feudal manners, M. Guizot traces the Third Estate, showing how the municipal towns arose; how they aided their then weak-handed monarch; and how, by a nat- ural strengthening of each other the mon- archy and the townspeople gradually cver- mastered the aristocracy; contending with them in all manner of ways through a course of ten centeres; until at length the townspeople, or Third Estate, sudden- ly found itself master, and after having crushed or exiled all its aristocracy, ended in a freak with killing its king. M. Guizot does not indeed present the matter in so raw a phrase, hut in aphiloso- phical and elegant manner developes it. In this long battle of the people and their king against the petty tyrants of feudalism, the church, or more properly the religion, of the French people, plays its part. First, as the patron and sustainer of letters and the teacher of the people then as a mad enthusiast, darkening the counsel of reason by words without know- ledge; now mediating between the people and their opnressors, now oppressing and robbing in it~ turn. The manners too have their share ; hereditary opulence at first gives dignity and authority to the eldest son. In the privacy of the castle, elegance and liberal arts are cultivated, and polite learning takes its rise among the nobility, producing a Froissart, a Count de Foix, a Montaigne. In the towns of Italy, of the Netherlands, and Southern France, ideas of liberty ori- ginate, and here and there a man of the people, a Philip Van Arteveldt, appears. As the wealth of the towns increases, the merchants become rivals of the nobles: arts, sciences, manufactures, philosophy and moral criticism, are cultivated under the protection, now of the people and now of the monarch. The Third Estate, spite of superstition and nobility, gradually strengthens and enlightens itself; by and by it becomes (what it now is) the NA- TION; and the church and better classes sink into comparative insignificance. Monsieur Guizots method is the philo- sophical French one, which begins with an idea, and rakes up facts to illustrate it. He begins with the idea of civilization, that it consists in the production of such a condition of society as will suffer a free development of all the powers of the manbe their direction religious, political, or socialan idea which few will gainsay. But M. Guizot, it must be remembered, is a despotic minister of the most despotic king in Europe; and accordingly the idea of centralization, or of bringing all powers, of whatever name, under one head, rides dominant in his book as in his mind. He commits the error of making French civilization the type of civilization in general ; a position against which the English historian may advance grave ob- jections. Feudalism in England gave rise to the idea, not of popular liberty under despotism of any kind, but of individual liberty as we have itin America. Indeed, it is impossible to concede M. Guizot the position assumed in this his most admi- rable and delightful work. It cannot be admitted, on this side the water, that French civilization is the typical kind for these days. M. Guizot and his king are in too great a danger of the emeiite and the assassin, to permit him to utter such a proposition. What with its one city, its one despot, its Jesuit intrigue, its persecuted Protestantism, its raging Atheism, and its Literature of Despair (as Goethe once named it); what with its antiseptic wars, its bastions (a Bastille drawn out around the city), its Chamber of Deputies, so well governed by the Min- istry; the French cannot be admitted as the typical, or most freely developing nation. Dr. Hoopers Fade Mecum: or, .Manual of the Principles and Practice of Phy- sic. With additions by JAs. STEWART, AM., M.D., Fellow of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, author of A Practical Treatise on the Diseases of Children, & c. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1846. This is one of the few books of practical medicine which have attained a universal reputation. Though not free from the ex- ploded errors of the older English school of medicine, as, for example, the use of bleed- sng and drastic purgatives in serious atonis apoplexy, a treatment which is pretty sure to fix the disease upon the patient; the use of purges for Melancholisi; of anti- phlogistics for delirium tremens; of local depletion for spinal irritation, & c., & c,, 1847.] Critical Notices. 107 with a hundred other irrational prescrip- tions of the old stamp. We may venture to recommend the book for its excellent descriptions of diseases, and the valuable physiological information contained in it, A reader who will discreetly pass over the heads of treatment and the prescriptions, may read the book with considerable bene- fit. The Water Cure in Chronic Dis- eases. By J. B. GULLEY, M.D. New York: Wiley & Putnam, 161 Broadway. 1846. Medicine, like all the other sciences, is daily assuming more popular manifesta- tions. Every new theory its professors advance, is discussed by the press and in social circles. Amid all the evils conse- quent upon a superficial knowledge of subjects of vital importancelike the philosophy of healthwe believe that. the ultimate result is favorable, inasmuch as all controversy elicits, in its progress, more or less of truthand truth gradually su- persedes errorso that correct ideas of physical well-being obtain to far greater extent now than at any former period. This subject of water-cure is attracting at present a large share of attention. We believe that between the extremes of fanaticism and prejudice, there lies a re- gion of important facts which books, like the one before us, will tend to disseminate. Bulwers eloquence has been lavished upon this theme; but the most judicious and pleasant account of the matter we have seen is that of our own countryman, Mr. Calvert, in his Scenes and Thoughts in Europe. We recommend Dr. Gullys book to the profession and all interested in the subject. He stands high as a physi- sician, and writes in a learned and philoso- phical strain. The Modern Standard Drama. Vol- ume III. New York: William Taylor & Co., No. 2 Astor House. 1846. This is a collection of the most popular acting plays; and will prove a desirable addition to the library of every lover of dramatic literature. They are not arranged in chronological order. The Poor Gen- tleman precedes Hamlet, and Lend me Five Shillings~ follows Othello. This very blending of the existent popular drama, is, however, an interesting illustra- tion of the prevalent taste. It gives us what has survived the lapse of time and the changes of fashion, side by side with the successful novelty of the hour. The usefulness of the work for reference is en- hanced by the intelligent criticisms and remarks of the editor, EPES SARGENT, and each of the volumes is prefaced by a memoir of some distinguished performer, accompanied by a portrait. Memoirs of .,qmerican Governors. By JACOB BAILEY MOORE. Vol. 1. N. Y. Gates & Stedman, 136 Nassau st. 1S46. This volume is the first of a series, de- signed to give, what has long been wanted, consecutive biographies of the American Governors. It embraces the six Governors of the Old Colony of Plymouth, from the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620, to the union of the colony with that of the Mas- sachusetts Bay, in 1692, and the ten gov- ernors of the latter colony, from 1630, the date of its settlement, to the expulsion of Asdros in 1689. So far as regards New England, the lives of the old governors furnish for the most part the history of the colonies. The stern old Puritans, who there administered the will of the people, whether expressed by the vote of the freeholders at large as in Plymouth, by that of the Great and General Court, as in Massachusetts, or by the General Assembly of Representatives, as in the other colonies; those fierce com- pounds of priest, of soldier, and of states- man, were not only the rulers, but the fa- thers of their people. Bound up in spirit and in estate with the well-being of their communities, they identified themselves with their very existence. Their duties were as various as the exigencies of their colonies. They by turns negotiated with the savage tribes around them, or carried fire and the sword into their territories; they palavered the court of the mother country with most commendable assiduity, and ex- hibited, in the procurement of some char- tered privilege, the settlement of seine dis- puted boundary, talents for diplomacy which a XVesselrode or a Metternich might have applauded; they settled the founda- tions of the faith by dicta as infallible as a bull of Gregory, or of Pius ; they adjudged the fate of criminals, and settled the doom of heretics. In times of danger they shared the common peril; in times of famine and distress, the common misery. Had they fortunes, they devoted them with a liber- ality worthy the first ages of the Christian world; had they spiritual gifts, they ex- ercised them as freely for the glory of God and the building up of his Church. Par- ties there were, and factions from time to time, civil and religious; periods of popu- larity and distrust, but the old magistrates of Puritandom, trod on their course, fear- less and unmoved, wrapped up in the ful- fillment of their mission, the patriarchs of the tribes of our modern Israel. The lives of many of them furnish ma- terials of historical romance, which, in the hands of one worthy of the task, are des- tined yet to body forth in that due mixture of truth and fiction with which Scott in- vested the tales of his own land, treasures not less abundant or attractive. To us

The Water Cure in Chronic Diseases. J. B. Gulley, M. D. Critical Notices 107

1847.] Critical Notices. 107 with a hundred other irrational prescrip- tions of the old stamp. We may venture to recommend the book for its excellent descriptions of diseases, and the valuable physiological information contained in it, A reader who will discreetly pass over the heads of treatment and the prescriptions, may read the book with considerable bene- fit. The Water Cure in Chronic Dis- eases. By J. B. GULLEY, M.D. New York: Wiley & Putnam, 161 Broadway. 1846. Medicine, like all the other sciences, is daily assuming more popular manifesta- tions. Every new theory its professors advance, is discussed by the press and in social circles. Amid all the evils conse- quent upon a superficial knowledge of subjects of vital importancelike the philosophy of healthwe believe that. the ultimate result is favorable, inasmuch as all controversy elicits, in its progress, more or less of truthand truth gradually su- persedes errorso that correct ideas of physical well-being obtain to far greater extent now than at any former period. This subject of water-cure is attracting at present a large share of attention. We believe that between the extremes of fanaticism and prejudice, there lies a re- gion of important facts which books, like the one before us, will tend to disseminate. Bulwers eloquence has been lavished upon this theme; but the most judicious and pleasant account of the matter we have seen is that of our own countryman, Mr. Calvert, in his Scenes and Thoughts in Europe. We recommend Dr. Gullys book to the profession and all interested in the subject. He stands high as a physi- sician, and writes in a learned and philoso- phical strain. The Modern Standard Drama. Vol- ume III. New York: William Taylor & Co., No. 2 Astor House. 1846. This is a collection of the most popular acting plays; and will prove a desirable addition to the library of every lover of dramatic literature. They are not arranged in chronological order. The Poor Gen- tleman precedes Hamlet, and Lend me Five Shillings~ follows Othello. This very blending of the existent popular drama, is, however, an interesting illustra- tion of the prevalent taste. It gives us what has survived the lapse of time and the changes of fashion, side by side with the successful novelty of the hour. The usefulness of the work for reference is en- hanced by the intelligent criticisms and remarks of the editor, EPES SARGENT, and each of the volumes is prefaced by a memoir of some distinguished performer, accompanied by a portrait. Memoirs of .,qmerican Governors. By JACOB BAILEY MOORE. Vol. 1. N. Y. Gates & Stedman, 136 Nassau st. 1S46. This volume is the first of a series, de- signed to give, what has long been wanted, consecutive biographies of the American Governors. It embraces the six Governors of the Old Colony of Plymouth, from the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620, to the union of the colony with that of the Mas- sachusetts Bay, in 1692, and the ten gov- ernors of the latter colony, from 1630, the date of its settlement, to the expulsion of Asdros in 1689. So far as regards New England, the lives of the old governors furnish for the most part the history of the colonies. The stern old Puritans, who there administered the will of the people, whether expressed by the vote of the freeholders at large as in Plymouth, by that of the Great and General Court, as in Massachusetts, or by the General Assembly of Representatives, as in the other colonies; those fierce com- pounds of priest, of soldier, and of states- man, were not only the rulers, but the fa- thers of their people. Bound up in spirit and in estate with the well-being of their communities, they identified themselves with their very existence. Their duties were as various as the exigencies of their colonies. They by turns negotiated with the savage tribes around them, or carried fire and the sword into their territories; they palavered the court of the mother country with most commendable assiduity, and ex- hibited, in the procurement of some char- tered privilege, the settlement of seine dis- puted boundary, talents for diplomacy which a XVesselrode or a Metternich might have applauded; they settled the founda- tions of the faith by dicta as infallible as a bull of Gregory, or of Pius ; they adjudged the fate of criminals, and settled the doom of heretics. In times of danger they shared the common peril; in times of famine and distress, the common misery. Had they fortunes, they devoted them with a liber- ality worthy the first ages of the Christian world; had they spiritual gifts, they ex- ercised them as freely for the glory of God and the building up of his Church. Par- ties there were, and factions from time to time, civil and religious; periods of popu- larity and distrust, but the old magistrates of Puritandom, trod on their course, fear- less and unmoved, wrapped up in the ful- fillment of their mission, the patriarchs of the tribes of our modern Israel. The lives of many of them furnish ma- terials of historical romance, which, in the hands of one worthy of the task, are des- tined yet to body forth in that due mixture of truth and fiction with which Scott in- vested the tales of his own land, treasures not less abundant or attractive. To us

The Modern Standard Drama Critical Notices 107

1847.] Critical Notices. 107 with a hundred other irrational prescrip- tions of the old stamp. We may venture to recommend the book for its excellent descriptions of diseases, and the valuable physiological information contained in it, A reader who will discreetly pass over the heads of treatment and the prescriptions, may read the book with considerable bene- fit. The Water Cure in Chronic Dis- eases. By J. B. GULLEY, M.D. New York: Wiley & Putnam, 161 Broadway. 1846. Medicine, like all the other sciences, is daily assuming more popular manifesta- tions. Every new theory its professors advance, is discussed by the press and in social circles. Amid all the evils conse- quent upon a superficial knowledge of subjects of vital importancelike the philosophy of healthwe believe that. the ultimate result is favorable, inasmuch as all controversy elicits, in its progress, more or less of truthand truth gradually su- persedes errorso that correct ideas of physical well-being obtain to far greater extent now than at any former period. This subject of water-cure is attracting at present a large share of attention. We believe that between the extremes of fanaticism and prejudice, there lies a re- gion of important facts which books, like the one before us, will tend to disseminate. Bulwers eloquence has been lavished upon this theme; but the most judicious and pleasant account of the matter we have seen is that of our own countryman, Mr. Calvert, in his Scenes and Thoughts in Europe. We recommend Dr. Gullys book to the profession and all interested in the subject. He stands high as a physi- sician, and writes in a learned and philoso- phical strain. The Modern Standard Drama. Vol- ume III. New York: William Taylor & Co., No. 2 Astor House. 1846. This is a collection of the most popular acting plays; and will prove a desirable addition to the library of every lover of dramatic literature. They are not arranged in chronological order. The Poor Gen- tleman precedes Hamlet, and Lend me Five Shillings~ follows Othello. This very blending of the existent popular drama, is, however, an interesting illustra- tion of the prevalent taste. It gives us what has survived the lapse of time and the changes of fashion, side by side with the successful novelty of the hour. The usefulness of the work for reference is en- hanced by the intelligent criticisms and remarks of the editor, EPES SARGENT, and each of the volumes is prefaced by a memoir of some distinguished performer, accompanied by a portrait. Memoirs of .,qmerican Governors. By JACOB BAILEY MOORE. Vol. 1. N. Y. Gates & Stedman, 136 Nassau st. 1S46. This volume is the first of a series, de- signed to give, what has long been wanted, consecutive biographies of the American Governors. It embraces the six Governors of the Old Colony of Plymouth, from the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620, to the union of the colony with that of the Mas- sachusetts Bay, in 1692, and the ten gov- ernors of the latter colony, from 1630, the date of its settlement, to the expulsion of Asdros in 1689. So far as regards New England, the lives of the old governors furnish for the most part the history of the colonies. The stern old Puritans, who there administered the will of the people, whether expressed by the vote of the freeholders at large as in Plymouth, by that of the Great and General Court, as in Massachusetts, or by the General Assembly of Representatives, as in the other colonies; those fierce com- pounds of priest, of soldier, and of states- man, were not only the rulers, but the fa- thers of their people. Bound up in spirit and in estate with the well-being of their communities, they identified themselves with their very existence. Their duties were as various as the exigencies of their colonies. They by turns negotiated with the savage tribes around them, or carried fire and the sword into their territories; they palavered the court of the mother country with most commendable assiduity, and ex- hibited, in the procurement of some char- tered privilege, the settlement of seine dis- puted boundary, talents for diplomacy which a XVesselrode or a Metternich might have applauded; they settled the founda- tions of the faith by dicta as infallible as a bull of Gregory, or of Pius ; they adjudged the fate of criminals, and settled the doom of heretics. In times of danger they shared the common peril; in times of famine and distress, the common misery. Had they fortunes, they devoted them with a liber- ality worthy the first ages of the Christian world; had they spiritual gifts, they ex- ercised them as freely for the glory of God and the building up of his Church. Par- ties there were, and factions from time to time, civil and religious; periods of popu- larity and distrust, but the old magistrates of Puritandom, trod on their course, fear- less and unmoved, wrapped up in the ful- fillment of their mission, the patriarchs of the tribes of our modern Israel. The lives of many of them furnish ma- terials of historical romance, which, in the hands of one worthy of the task, are des- tined yet to body forth in that due mixture of truth and fiction with which Scott in- vested the tales of his own land, treasures not less abundant or attractive. To us

Memoirs of American Governors. Jacob Bailey Moore Critical Notices 107-108

1847.] Critical Notices. 107 with a hundred other irrational prescrip- tions of the old stamp. We may venture to recommend the book for its excellent descriptions of diseases, and the valuable physiological information contained in it, A reader who will discreetly pass over the heads of treatment and the prescriptions, may read the book with considerable bene- fit. The Water Cure in Chronic Dis- eases. By J. B. GULLEY, M.D. New York: Wiley & Putnam, 161 Broadway. 1846. Medicine, like all the other sciences, is daily assuming more popular manifesta- tions. Every new theory its professors advance, is discussed by the press and in social circles. Amid all the evils conse- quent upon a superficial knowledge of subjects of vital importancelike the philosophy of healthwe believe that. the ultimate result is favorable, inasmuch as all controversy elicits, in its progress, more or less of truthand truth gradually su- persedes errorso that correct ideas of physical well-being obtain to far greater extent now than at any former period. This subject of water-cure is attracting at present a large share of attention. We believe that between the extremes of fanaticism and prejudice, there lies a re- gion of important facts which books, like the one before us, will tend to disseminate. Bulwers eloquence has been lavished upon this theme; but the most judicious and pleasant account of the matter we have seen is that of our own countryman, Mr. Calvert, in his Scenes and Thoughts in Europe. We recommend Dr. Gullys book to the profession and all interested in the subject. He stands high as a physi- sician, and writes in a learned and philoso- phical strain. The Modern Standard Drama. Vol- ume III. New York: William Taylor & Co., No. 2 Astor House. 1846. This is a collection of the most popular acting plays; and will prove a desirable addition to the library of every lover of dramatic literature. They are not arranged in chronological order. The Poor Gen- tleman precedes Hamlet, and Lend me Five Shillings~ follows Othello. This very blending of the existent popular drama, is, however, an interesting illustra- tion of the prevalent taste. It gives us what has survived the lapse of time and the changes of fashion, side by side with the successful novelty of the hour. The usefulness of the work for reference is en- hanced by the intelligent criticisms and remarks of the editor, EPES SARGENT, and each of the volumes is prefaced by a memoir of some distinguished performer, accompanied by a portrait. Memoirs of .,qmerican Governors. By JACOB BAILEY MOORE. Vol. 1. N. Y. Gates & Stedman, 136 Nassau st. 1S46. This volume is the first of a series, de- signed to give, what has long been wanted, consecutive biographies of the American Governors. It embraces the six Governors of the Old Colony of Plymouth, from the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620, to the union of the colony with that of the Mas- sachusetts Bay, in 1692, and the ten gov- ernors of the latter colony, from 1630, the date of its settlement, to the expulsion of Asdros in 1689. So far as regards New England, the lives of the old governors furnish for the most part the history of the colonies. The stern old Puritans, who there administered the will of the people, whether expressed by the vote of the freeholders at large as in Plymouth, by that of the Great and General Court, as in Massachusetts, or by the General Assembly of Representatives, as in the other colonies; those fierce com- pounds of priest, of soldier, and of states- man, were not only the rulers, but the fa- thers of their people. Bound up in spirit and in estate with the well-being of their communities, they identified themselves with their very existence. Their duties were as various as the exigencies of their colonies. They by turns negotiated with the savage tribes around them, or carried fire and the sword into their territories; they palavered the court of the mother country with most commendable assiduity, and ex- hibited, in the procurement of some char- tered privilege, the settlement of seine dis- puted boundary, talents for diplomacy which a XVesselrode or a Metternich might have applauded; they settled the founda- tions of the faith by dicta as infallible as a bull of Gregory, or of Pius ; they adjudged the fate of criminals, and settled the doom of heretics. In times of danger they shared the common peril; in times of famine and distress, the common misery. Had they fortunes, they devoted them with a liber- ality worthy the first ages of the Christian world; had they spiritual gifts, they ex- ercised them as freely for the glory of God and the building up of his Church. Par- ties there were, and factions from time to time, civil and religious; periods of popu- larity and distrust, but the old magistrates of Puritandom, trod on their course, fear- less and unmoved, wrapped up in the ful- fillment of their mission, the patriarchs of the tribes of our modern Israel. The lives of many of them furnish ma- terials of historical romance, which, in the hands of one worthy of the task, are des- tined yet to body forth in that due mixture of truth and fiction with which Scott in- vested the tales of his own land, treasures not less abundant or attractive. To us 108 Critical Notices. [Jan., there is, even now, no reading more enti- cing than the simple narratives of trial and of triumph, with their quaint details, their earnest devotion, their stern bigotry, their self-denial, their patience in suffering, their trustful hope, in which the old chroniclers have recorded the infancy of New England, and the administrations of New Englands chiefs. The present volume does not add much to what already has been in some other form pursued, of mere historical matter, though the author has evidently searched well, and collated with judgment, all the existing authorities on the subject. But as regards the biographical sketches, the real object of the work, particularly of some in- dividuals less generally known, it does give much that, to us at least, is new and interesting. The characters are drawn with fidelity and impartiality, and where facts are attainable, with detail enough to give all the individuality possible to men among whom there exists an almost family likeness. The next volume, we under- stand, will comprise the governors of the remaining New England Colonies until the termination of the Colonial Independence and their formation into provinces. The third will enter upon a field almost entire- ly new, the lives of the early governors of Virginia, and so on in succession through the rest. Mr. Moore, the author of this work, is extensively and favorably known as, for many years, the editor of one of the best conducted papers in New Enland. He has since occupied a confidential place in the Post Office department at Washington. Possessing unwearied industry, a devoted attachment to historical investigation, with a style easy and natural, he is admira- bly qualified for the successful completion of the laborious, but interesting task he has now commenced. The volume is well print- ed, on good paper, and is embellished with a steel engraving of Governor Winslow, and excellent lithographs of Sir Henry Vane, John Endicott and the Elder Winthrop. Letters on astronomy, addressed to a Lady, in which the elements of the Science are familiarly explained, in connection with its literary history, with Engravings. By DE1~asoN OLM- STEAD, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. These are a very clear and excellent se- ries of observations on all the more popular topics of astronomical knowledge. The style, as was to be expected in letters to a lady, is more easy and familiar than is usual in this authors scientific writings. The book is full of apt illustrations, and presents, with suitable perspicuity, nearly. everything that need be known by the general reader. On the whole, the only fault we have to find is the eternal use of the word hence. We remember it of old. In this book, among other instances, Hence, from this cause, is a trifle tau tological. Sailors Life and Sailors Yarns. By CAPTAIN RINGBOLT. This is a neat little hook, published by Francis. It rests ones eyes and ones heart to read it, but not ones risibles. There is much humor and humanity, and some pathos in this little work The first story is the best. It made our heart run over at our eyes. The practical observa- tions, and the plea for the improvement of sailors, should recommend the book to all who would do good to a large and neglected class of men. Captain Ringbolt is a wit, (we have heard him tell a better story than any in his book,) but he is something bet- ter. He has a sailors heart in a captains bosoma very desirable thing for sailors. if we ever go Capt. Rs. way at sea, we shall certainly take passage with him. The Italian Reader. Edited hy Signor FoREsTI. New York: Appleton & Co. Instead of meaningless phrases and thrice-repeated extracts, appended to unin- telligible rules, we have in this volume a beautiful selection from the choicest prose of the Italian language. The work is prel)ared by Signor Foresti, the Professor of Italian Literature in Columbia Collegea well known exile, of character and attain- ments, who has been for many years resi- dent in this country. He has chosen for the purpose the writings of standard mod- ern authorsmany of which are inaccessi- ble to the general reader. Difficult pas- sages are elicited in notes, and a running commentary unites the extracts into an in- telligible whole. The passages from Botta, Foscolo, Verri, Bini, & c., are selected with rare taste and judgment, and are not only beautiful examples of style, but possess intrinsic interest. Indeed, although intended as a reader to initiate students of the language, it is an attractive volume for the adepts in Italian to revive their most pleasant associations with that musical tongue. We wish, hy the way, that more attention were paid among us to a language and literature, from which so much of the fine fancy and mellowness and richness of style, of our own early English writers was drawn. We say our own, for we hold that the literature of England, previous to the reign of Charles II., belongs as much to us as tothe modern inhabitants of Great Britain, who speak but the same inherited language, and are but the descendants of the same stern, iniaginative generations.

Letters on Astronomy. Denison Olmstead Critical Notices 108

108 Critical Notices. [Jan., there is, even now, no reading more enti- cing than the simple narratives of trial and of triumph, with their quaint details, their earnest devotion, their stern bigotry, their self-denial, their patience in suffering, their trustful hope, in which the old chroniclers have recorded the infancy of New England, and the administrations of New Englands chiefs. The present volume does not add much to what already has been in some other form pursued, of mere historical matter, though the author has evidently searched well, and collated with judgment, all the existing authorities on the subject. But as regards the biographical sketches, the real object of the work, particularly of some in- dividuals less generally known, it does give much that, to us at least, is new and interesting. The characters are drawn with fidelity and impartiality, and where facts are attainable, with detail enough to give all the individuality possible to men among whom there exists an almost family likeness. The next volume, we under- stand, will comprise the governors of the remaining New England Colonies until the termination of the Colonial Independence and their formation into provinces. The third will enter upon a field almost entire- ly new, the lives of the early governors of Virginia, and so on in succession through the rest. Mr. Moore, the author of this work, is extensively and favorably known as, for many years, the editor of one of the best conducted papers in New Enland. He has since occupied a confidential place in the Post Office department at Washington. Possessing unwearied industry, a devoted attachment to historical investigation, with a style easy and natural, he is admira- bly qualified for the successful completion of the laborious, but interesting task he has now commenced. The volume is well print- ed, on good paper, and is embellished with a steel engraving of Governor Winslow, and excellent lithographs of Sir Henry Vane, John Endicott and the Elder Winthrop. Letters on astronomy, addressed to a Lady, in which the elements of the Science are familiarly explained, in connection with its literary history, with Engravings. By DE1~asoN OLM- STEAD, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. These are a very clear and excellent se- ries of observations on all the more popular topics of astronomical knowledge. The style, as was to be expected in letters to a lady, is more easy and familiar than is usual in this authors scientific writings. The book is full of apt illustrations, and presents, with suitable perspicuity, nearly. everything that need be known by the general reader. On the whole, the only fault we have to find is the eternal use of the word hence. We remember it of old. In this book, among other instances, Hence, from this cause, is a trifle tau tological. Sailors Life and Sailors Yarns. By CAPTAIN RINGBOLT. This is a neat little hook, published by Francis. It rests ones eyes and ones heart to read it, but not ones risibles. There is much humor and humanity, and some pathos in this little work The first story is the best. It made our heart run over at our eyes. The practical observa- tions, and the plea for the improvement of sailors, should recommend the book to all who would do good to a large and neglected class of men. Captain Ringbolt is a wit, (we have heard him tell a better story than any in his book,) but he is something bet- ter. He has a sailors heart in a captains bosoma very desirable thing for sailors. if we ever go Capt. Rs. way at sea, we shall certainly take passage with him. The Italian Reader. Edited hy Signor FoREsTI. New York: Appleton & Co. Instead of meaningless phrases and thrice-repeated extracts, appended to unin- telligible rules, we have in this volume a beautiful selection from the choicest prose of the Italian language. The work is prel)ared by Signor Foresti, the Professor of Italian Literature in Columbia Collegea well known exile, of character and attain- ments, who has been for many years resi- dent in this country. He has chosen for the purpose the writings of standard mod- ern authorsmany of which are inaccessi- ble to the general reader. Difficult pas- sages are elicited in notes, and a running commentary unites the extracts into an in- telligible whole. The passages from Botta, Foscolo, Verri, Bini, & c., are selected with rare taste and judgment, and are not only beautiful examples of style, but possess intrinsic interest. Indeed, although intended as a reader to initiate students of the language, it is an attractive volume for the adepts in Italian to revive their most pleasant associations with that musical tongue. We wish, hy the way, that more attention were paid among us to a language and literature, from which so much of the fine fancy and mellowness and richness of style, of our own early English writers was drawn. We say our own, for we hold that the literature of England, previous to the reign of Charles II., belongs as much to us as tothe modern inhabitants of Great Britain, who speak but the same inherited language, and are but the descendants of the same stern, iniaginative generations.

Sailor's Life and Sailor's Yarns. Captain Ringbolt Critical Notices 108

108 Critical Notices. [Jan., there is, even now, no reading more enti- cing than the simple narratives of trial and of triumph, with their quaint details, their earnest devotion, their stern bigotry, their self-denial, their patience in suffering, their trustful hope, in which the old chroniclers have recorded the infancy of New England, and the administrations of New Englands chiefs. The present volume does not add much to what already has been in some other form pursued, of mere historical matter, though the author has evidently searched well, and collated with judgment, all the existing authorities on the subject. But as regards the biographical sketches, the real object of the work, particularly of some in- dividuals less generally known, it does give much that, to us at least, is new and interesting. The characters are drawn with fidelity and impartiality, and where facts are attainable, with detail enough to give all the individuality possible to men among whom there exists an almost family likeness. The next volume, we under- stand, will comprise the governors of the remaining New England Colonies until the termination of the Colonial Independence and their formation into provinces. The third will enter upon a field almost entire- ly new, the lives of the early governors of Virginia, and so on in succession through the rest. Mr. Moore, the author of this work, is extensively and favorably known as, for many years, the editor of one of the best conducted papers in New Enland. He has since occupied a confidential place in the Post Office department at Washington. Possessing unwearied industry, a devoted attachment to historical investigation, with a style easy and natural, he is admira- bly qualified for the successful completion of the laborious, but interesting task he has now commenced. The volume is well print- ed, on good paper, and is embellished with a steel engraving of Governor Winslow, and excellent lithographs of Sir Henry Vane, John Endicott and the Elder Winthrop. Letters on astronomy, addressed to a Lady, in which the elements of the Science are familiarly explained, in connection with its literary history, with Engravings. By DE1~asoN OLM- STEAD, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. These are a very clear and excellent se- ries of observations on all the more popular topics of astronomical knowledge. The style, as was to be expected in letters to a lady, is more easy and familiar than is usual in this authors scientific writings. The book is full of apt illustrations, and presents, with suitable perspicuity, nearly. everything that need be known by the general reader. On the whole, the only fault we have to find is the eternal use of the word hence. We remember it of old. In this book, among other instances, Hence, from this cause, is a trifle tau tological. Sailors Life and Sailors Yarns. By CAPTAIN RINGBOLT. This is a neat little hook, published by Francis. It rests ones eyes and ones heart to read it, but not ones risibles. There is much humor and humanity, and some pathos in this little work The first story is the best. It made our heart run over at our eyes. The practical observa- tions, and the plea for the improvement of sailors, should recommend the book to all who would do good to a large and neglected class of men. Captain Ringbolt is a wit, (we have heard him tell a better story than any in his book,) but he is something bet- ter. He has a sailors heart in a captains bosoma very desirable thing for sailors. if we ever go Capt. Rs. way at sea, we shall certainly take passage with him. The Italian Reader. Edited hy Signor FoREsTI. New York: Appleton & Co. Instead of meaningless phrases and thrice-repeated extracts, appended to unin- telligible rules, we have in this volume a beautiful selection from the choicest prose of the Italian language. The work is prel)ared by Signor Foresti, the Professor of Italian Literature in Columbia Collegea well known exile, of character and attain- ments, who has been for many years resi- dent in this country. He has chosen for the purpose the writings of standard mod- ern authorsmany of which are inaccessi- ble to the general reader. Difficult pas- sages are elicited in notes, and a running commentary unites the extracts into an in- telligible whole. The passages from Botta, Foscolo, Verri, Bini, & c., are selected with rare taste and judgment, and are not only beautiful examples of style, but possess intrinsic interest. Indeed, although intended as a reader to initiate students of the language, it is an attractive volume for the adepts in Italian to revive their most pleasant associations with that musical tongue. We wish, hy the way, that more attention were paid among us to a language and literature, from which so much of the fine fancy and mellowness and richness of style, of our own early English writers was drawn. We say our own, for we hold that the literature of England, previous to the reign of Charles II., belongs as much to us as tothe modern inhabitants of Great Britain, who speak but the same inherited language, and are but the descendants of the same stern, iniaginative generations.

The Italian Reader. Edited by Signor Foresti Critical Notices 108-108B

108 Critical Notices. [Jan., there is, even now, no reading more enti- cing than the simple narratives of trial and of triumph, with their quaint details, their earnest devotion, their stern bigotry, their self-denial, their patience in suffering, their trustful hope, in which the old chroniclers have recorded the infancy of New England, and the administrations of New Englands chiefs. The present volume does not add much to what already has been in some other form pursued, of mere historical matter, though the author has evidently searched well, and collated with judgment, all the existing authorities on the subject. But as regards the biographical sketches, the real object of the work, particularly of some in- dividuals less generally known, it does give much that, to us at least, is new and interesting. The characters are drawn with fidelity and impartiality, and where facts are attainable, with detail enough to give all the individuality possible to men among whom there exists an almost family likeness. The next volume, we under- stand, will comprise the governors of the remaining New England Colonies until the termination of the Colonial Independence and their formation into provinces. The third will enter upon a field almost entire- ly new, the lives of the early governors of Virginia, and so on in succession through the rest. Mr. Moore, the author of this work, is extensively and favorably known as, for many years, the editor of one of the best conducted papers in New Enland. He has since occupied a confidential place in the Post Office department at Washington. Possessing unwearied industry, a devoted attachment to historical investigation, with a style easy and natural, he is admira- bly qualified for the successful completion of the laborious, but interesting task he has now commenced. The volume is well print- ed, on good paper, and is embellished with a steel engraving of Governor Winslow, and excellent lithographs of Sir Henry Vane, John Endicott and the Elder Winthrop. Letters on astronomy, addressed to a Lady, in which the elements of the Science are familiarly explained, in connection with its literary history, with Engravings. By DE1~asoN OLM- STEAD, LL. D. New York: Harper & Brothers. These are a very clear and excellent se- ries of observations on all the more popular topics of astronomical knowledge. The style, as was to be expected in letters to a lady, is more easy and familiar than is usual in this authors scientific writings. The book is full of apt illustrations, and presents, with suitable perspicuity, nearly. everything that need be known by the general reader. On the whole, the only fault we have to find is the eternal use of the word hence. We remember it of old. In this book, among other instances, Hence, from this cause, is a trifle tau tological. Sailors Life and Sailors Yarns. By CAPTAIN RINGBOLT. This is a neat little hook, published by Francis. It rests ones eyes and ones heart to read it, but not ones risibles. There is much humor and humanity, and some pathos in this little work The first story is the best. It made our heart run over at our eyes. The practical observa- tions, and the plea for the improvement of sailors, should recommend the book to all who would do good to a large and neglected class of men. Captain Ringbolt is a wit, (we have heard him tell a better story than any in his book,) but he is something bet- ter. He has a sailors heart in a captains bosoma very desirable thing for sailors. if we ever go Capt. Rs. way at sea, we shall certainly take passage with him. The Italian Reader. Edited hy Signor FoREsTI. New York: Appleton & Co. Instead of meaningless phrases and thrice-repeated extracts, appended to unin- telligible rules, we have in this volume a beautiful selection from the choicest prose of the Italian language. The work is prel)ared by Signor Foresti, the Professor of Italian Literature in Columbia Collegea well known exile, of character and attain- ments, who has been for many years resi- dent in this country. He has chosen for the purpose the writings of standard mod- ern authorsmany of which are inaccessi- ble to the general reader. Difficult pas- sages are elicited in notes, and a running commentary unites the extracts into an in- telligible whole. The passages from Botta, Foscolo, Verri, Bini, & c., are selected with rare taste and judgment, and are not only beautiful examples of style, but possess intrinsic interest. Indeed, although intended as a reader to initiate students of the language, it is an attractive volume for the adepts in Italian to revive their most pleasant associations with that musical tongue. We wish, hy the way, that more attention were paid among us to a language and literature, from which so much of the fine fancy and mellowness and richness of style, of our own early English writers was drawn. We say our own, for we hold that the literature of England, previous to the reign of Charles II., belongs as much to us as tothe modern inhabitants of Great Britain, who speak but the same inherited language, and are but the descendants of the same stern, iniaginative generations. 6 (

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The American Whig review. / Volume 5, Issue 2 American review; a Whig journal of politics, literature, art, and science Wiley and Putnam, etc. New York Feb 1847 0005 002
Military Conduct of the War 109-122

THE AMERICAN REVIEW: A WHIG JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERATURE, ARTS AND SCIENCE. FEBRUARY, 1847. MILITARY CONDUCT OF THE WAR. THE military conduct of the war against Mexico, seems to us deserving of more critical examination than it has yet re- ceived at the hands of journalismthat power of modern times, which may so truly he called one of the Estates of the republic. We propose in the following pages to consider this matter somewhat in detail. First: as elucidating a deli- berate purpose on the part of the adminis- tration to bring about a war with Mex- ico; and, secondly, as illustrating the really martial character of our race. Concerning the original motives of this untoward contest, and the rapid develop- ment which has been given to the princi- ples upon which it was undertaken, there does not now seemout of the imme- diate sphere of partisan influence, and beyond the circle of that brotherhood of hope, the most rapacious and uncleanest spawn of wararmy contractors, and army jobbers, executive printers, and execu- tive parasites, of all degreesthere does not seem, we repeat, any essential differ- ence of opinion. It was, from its inception, a war of aggression and rapacity; a war of the strong, confident in their strength, against the feeble, because they were feeble; a war prompted by the coveting of our neighbors possessions, and by the consciousness that this covetousness might here be indulged with greater im- punity, than would have followed the gratification of the same lawless cupidity VOL. V.NO. II. 8 in reference to the whole of Oregon or none, or at an earlier day, in reference to the north-eastern boundary. A very elaborate attempt is indeed made in the message, at the opening of the present session of Congress, to prove that Mexico, and not the United States, commenced the war, that she was the blood-thirsty wolf that muddied the water up stream, for the innocent lamb of the United States, and ther~ threw the blame upon the innocent; and that it was only with reluctance, and after much tribulation and patient suffering, that we, the people of this Model Republic, turn- ed upon our nearest American neighbor with fire and swordnot to conquer her territories, nor extend our own; but, to conquer peace ! The common sense of mankind, how- ever, revolts at the absurdity; and we shall make it appear, by reference to dates and facts, that our own records bear witness against this weak presi- dential fiction. The resolutions, inviting the annexa- tion of Texas, passed both houses of Congress, and became the law of the landat least in the ~ordinary formsat the very heel of Mr. Tylers administra- tion, in March, 1845; and that unhappy Magistrate used the last moments of his most humiliating rule, to transmit these resolutions to the government of Texas, in that form which most aggravated the evils of annexation. VOL. V. No. II. Military Conduct of the War. Mr. Polk, who succeeded not unwor- thily Mr. Tyler, fell at once into his foot- steps in this matter; and, disregarding the solemn protest of the Mexican minis- ter against annexation as offensive to Mexico, and entailing upon her the ne- cessity of looking upon it as a measure of war, he went forward in the work in a spirit apparently of premeditated and de- liberate outrage. At the moment when the measure was consummated by the act of our Congress, the army and the navy of the U. States were in their ordinary force and inacti- vity, and at their ordinary peace stations, little dreaming of any near occasion for change; for no assurance had been more confident, on the part of the friends of annexation, than that it would be a bloodless achievement ; and no ridi- cule more loud or scornful than that heaped upon those prophets of disas- ter, as they were called, who foresaw and foretold that, only at the cost of countless lives and countless treasure, could this iniquity be perpetrated. Even as late as December, 1845, in his first annual message to Congress, the President used this emphatic and exulting language respecting annexation, then all complete, except the formal act, soon after passed by Congress, for admitting the new State into the Union. This accession to our territory has been a bloodless achievement. No arm of force has been raised to produce the result, the sword has had no part in the victory. We have not sought to extend our territo- rial possessions by conquest, or our repub- lican institutions over a reluctant people. It was the deliberate homage of that peo- ple to the great principles of our federative Union.~~ When it shall be seen in the sequel what bloody instructions~ had, pre- viously to this date, been given by the President to our commanders, the read- ers of this Review will agree with us, probably, in thinking the language of this extract most extraordinary indeed. And this brings us to our immediate subject. In the very same message of 2d Dec., 1845, from which we have just quoted, occurs this passage, so apparently con- tradictory, in spirit and import at least, if not in terms, of the seif-gratulation about peaceful annexation: When orders were given, during the past summer, for concentrating a military force on the western frontier of Texas, our troops were widely dispersed, and in small detachments, occupying posts remote from each other. The prompt and expeditious manner in which an army, embracing more than half of our peace establishment, was drawn together, on an emergency so sud- den, reflects great credit on the officers who were intrusted with the execution of these orders, as well as upon the discipline of the army itself. To be in strength to defend the people of Texas, in the event Mexico should commence hostilities with a large army, as she threatened, I author- ized the general commanding, & c., & c. No arm of force, says the President, in the opening of this message, has been raised to produce this result ! Yet, a few pages further on, he tells us that an army, embracing near the half of our peace establishment, was suddenly drawn together from all points of the Union, and dispatched to the Western frontier of Texas, which Mexico threat- ened to invade. Nay morethe navy, too, was sent to prevent this land invasion! Hear the same message: Both the Congress and Convention of the people of Texas invited this government to send an army into their territory to protect and defend them against a menaced attack. The moment the terms of annexation, offer- ed by the United States, were accepted by Texas, the latter became so far a part of our country as to make it our duty to afford such protection and defence. 1, therefore, deemed it proper, as a precautionary mea- sure, to order a strong squadron to the coasts of Mexico, and to concentrate an efficient military force on the western fron- tier of Texas. Our army was ordered to take positions in the country between the Nueces and the del Norte, and to repel any invasion of the Texan territory which might be attempted by the Mexican forces, Our squadron in the Gulf was ordered to co.operate with the army. But though our army and navy were placed in a position to defend our own and the rights of Texas, they were ordered to commit no act of hostility against Mexico, unless she de- clared war, or was herself the aggressor by striking the first blow. The resolution of annexation having been passed on 3d March, 1845in eighteen days thereafteralthough a to- tal change in the personel of the adminis- tration had interveneda new President and new Secretariesorders were dis- patched on 21st March, to General Tay- lor, at Fort Jessup, in Louisiana, t~ prepare his command, and hold it in readi. 110 rFeb., 1847.] 11/Ti litary Conduct of the War. 111 ness to be moved into Texas as soon as ordered. On 28th May, and we beg the dates may be attended to, a confidential letter from Mr. Secretary Marcy to General Taylor, directed him by order of the President to cause the forces now under your command, and those which may be assigned to it, to be put into a position where they may, most promptly and effi- ciently, act in defence of Texas, in the event it shall become necessary or pro- per to employ them for that purpose.~~ As yet Texas had not, in any manner, acceded to annexation: neither by her Congress nor her convention. In the same confidential letter, found- ing himself on an article in the treaty between the United States and Mexico, whereby each party bound himself to re- strain the Indian nations inhabiting the lands on their borders from attacking, in any manner, the citizens of the other; or the Indians residing upon the territories of the other, Mr. Secretary Marcy de- clares that the obligations which are due in this respect to Mexico by this treaty, are due, also, to Texas ! How so, unless Texas were a part of Mexico? and if a part of Mexico, how could we annex it in defiance of Mexico? If right- fully a part of the United Slates, it needed no authority from a treaty with Mexico to authorize an American commander to prevent or punish Indian hostilities. This application, therefore, of a treaty with Mexico, to the case of Texas, seems, at least, unfortunate. But it is in truth only introduced to furnish an excusewhich was not lostfor pushing some of the American troops across the upper Red river into Texas, before that country was ours by any sort of title. Events, however, did not seem to march fast enough for the ambitious longings of the Washington cabinet, and on the 15th June, Mr. Bancroft, in the absence of Mr. Marcy, ad interim Secretary of War, writes another confidential, but most ex- traordinary, dispatch to General Taylor. We give extracts from it: (CONFIDENTIAL.) War Department, June 15, 1845. SIR,On the 4th day of July, or very soon thereafter, the convention of the peo. pIe of Texas will probably accept the pro- position of annexation under the joint reso- lution of the late Congress of the United States. That acceptance will constitute Texas an integral portion of our country. In anticipation of that event, you will forthwith make a forward movement with the troops under your command, and ad- vance to the mouth of the Sabine, or to such other point on the Gulf of Mexico, or itsna- vigable waters, as in your judgment may he most convenient for an embarkation, at the proper time, for the western frontier of Texas. * * * * The point of your ultimate destination is the western frontier of Texas, where you will select and occu- py, in or near the Rio Grande del Norte, such a site as will consist with the health of your troops, and will be best adapted to repel invasion, and to protect what, in the event of annexation, will be our western border. You will limit yourself to the de- fence of the territory of Texas, unless Mexico should declare war against the United States. Your movement to the Gulf of Mexico, and your preparations to embark for the western frontier of Texas, are to be made without delay; but you will not efiisct a landing on that frontier until you have yourself ascertained the due acceptance, by Texas, of iihe proffered terms of annex- ation. The italics in the above extract are oursbut what hot haste is here evinced, to anticipate difficulties! What disregard of the special malediction pro- nounced by the revealed Word of God upon those whose feet are swift to shed blood ! Yet the writer of this confi- dential, stimulating missive, was an ex- priest !but who, like so many of his prototypes in the French revolution, seemed, in the intoxication of political power, to delight in violating the holy precepts they were trained to inculcate and exemplify. The real Secretaryreturned to his postappears to have had some apprehen- sion lest the fiery zeal of his locum-tenens should lead the commanding officer into indiscretion and, therefore, by a letter, not marked confidential, of 8th July, he thus cautions him this department is informed that Mexico has some military establishments on the east side of the Rio Grande, which are, and, for some time have been, in the actual occupancy of her troops. In carrying out the in- structions, heretofore received, you will be careful to avoid any acts of aggres- sion, unless an actual war shall exist. The Mexican forces, at the posts in their possession, and which have been so, will not be disturbed, as long as the relations of peace between the United States and Mexico continue. 112 Military Conduct of the War. [Feb., From New Orleans, on 20th July, Gen. Taylor acknowledges the receipt of this last letter from Secretary Marcy: ex- presses his gratification at receiving such instructions, as they confirm, says he, my views, previously communicated, in regard to the proper line to be occupied, at present, by our troops; those instruc- tions will be closely followed, and the department may rest assured that I will take no step to interrupt the friendly re- lations between the United States and Mexico. It no where appears, from any infor- mation communicated by the Executive to Congressnor to the publicwhat these views previously communicated by General Taylor, as to the proper line to be occupied, were, but it is quite fair to infer that if they had been in unison with those of the President, he could not have failed to strengthen himself before the country, by showing that in taking up a position in the disputed territory, he was fortified by the military opinion of the commanding general. That such, however, was not the line indicated by General Taylor, we have evidence, both direct and indirect. Of the latter a specimen is furnished in the very next letter from Secretary Marcy, of 30th July, whereinacknowledging the receipt of General Taylors dispatch, as above, from New Orleans, of 20th July he thus seeks to coax General Taylor to advance, against his own better judg- ment, to the Rio Grande; and at any rate, after affecting to leave the whole discre- tion with him, peremptorily orders him to occupy a position, with a part of his for- ces at least, west of the Nueces: (EXTRACT.) War Department, Washington, 30th July. 5 He (the President) has not the requisite information in regard to the country, to en- able him to give any. positive directions as to the position you ought to take, or the movements which it may be expedient to make: these must be governed by circum- stances. While avoiding, as you have been instructed to do, all aggressive measures towards Mexico, as long as the relations of peace exist between that republic and the United States, you are expected to occupy, protect, and defend the territory of Texas, to the extent that it has been occupied by the people of Texas. The Rio Grande is claimed to be the boundary between the two countries, and up to this boundary you ~re to extend your protection, only except- ing any posts on the eastern side thereof whizh are in the actual occupancy of Mex- ican forces, or Mexican settlements, over which the republic of Texas did not exer- cise jurisdiction at the time of annexation, or shortly before that event. It is expected that in selecting the establishment for your troops, you will approach as near the boundary line, the Rio Grande, as prudence will dictate. With this view the President desires that your position, for part of your forces at least, should be west of the Nue- ces. Two things appear to us obvious from this crafty letter. First, that Taylors views, as to the line to be occupied, did not suit the President; and, & cond, that if his line was not to be adopted, Taylor had asked positive and specific instruc- tions as to the line he sl~ould occupy. The President, under the plea of insuffi- cient information, shrinks from giving positive instructions, but his cunning scribe of the war department tells the frank General that he is expected to de- fend all Texas, and that Texas extends to the Rio Grande, save and except the Mexican armed stations, and the Mexican settlements east of it, over which Texas never had even claimed jurisdiction; and, finally, after trying to coax Taylor to as- sume the responsibility of marching to the Rio Grande, ventures, at last, the positive order that he must cross and en- camp, with a part of his force, west of the Nueces. This much must suffice for the indirect proof that Taylors own judgment was against advancing into the disputed territory. The following ex- tract, from a letter of General Taylor, from the camp at Corpus Christi, on the 30th Oct.,is a direct proof in point: Be- fore the Presidents instructions of 30th July reached me, (the cunning letter of Sec. Marcy), I would have preferred a position on the left bank of the river. He, indeed, adds, that the position whence he writes, on the right bank, has more advantages than any on the other, and suggests, in additionfalling in, appa- rently, with the spirit which he found to be prevailing with the cabinetthat one or two suitable points, on or near the Rio Grande should be taken possession of, as soon as the entire force under him is concentrated, as greatly facilitating the settlement of the boundary, if the line of the Rio Grande is determined on as the ultimatum of our government. IBut to resume the regular order of events: 1847.] Military Conduct of the War. 113 On the 6th August, the Adjutant-Gen- eral notifies General Taylor that the 7th infantry, andthree companies of dragoons, are ordered to join him in Texas, for, says the letter, although a state of war with Mexico, or an invasion of Texas by her forces, may not take place, it is, nev- ertheless, deemed proper and necessary that your forces should be fully equal to meet, with certainty of success, any crisis which may arise in Texas, and which would require you, by force of arms, to carry out the instructions of the govern- ment. The letter further calls upon General Taylor to report what auxiliary troops, in case of an emergency, he could rely upon from Texas, and what additional troops, designating the arms, and what supply and description of ordnance, ordnance stores, and small arms, & c.,judgingfrom any information you may possess as to the future exigencies of the public service, he, General Taylor, might deem necessary to be sent into Texas; informing him, at the same time, that 10,000 muskets and 1,000 rifles had already been issued for Texas. Here is another of the cunning devices of politicians to shift the responsibility for all consequences upon the commanding general; and, although it occurs in a dispatch from the office of the adjutant- general, yet he writes, as he expressly says, pursuant to the instructions of the Secretary at War, and we hazard the conjecture with some confidence, that the very paragraph we have printed above in italics, was interlined by the Secretary himself. How could a general in the field, in a region like that of Texas, judge of future exigencies of the public ser- vice, when those exigencieswhatever they might bewould be wholly depend- ent on measures adopted at Washington, over which the general cotild exercise no control, nor form any judgment as to what they were likely to be. The whole purport of this insidious inquiry strikes us as preparing, in advance, a justifica- tion of the administration forany deficien- cy in adequate supplies of men or munitions, in case of the worst; while all the benefit and all the credit of dimin- ished expenditure, arising from not for- warding such suppliesas, knowing their own views, they were bound to do were to inure to the administration. On the 23d August, Secretary Marcy writes to the General that the administra- tion has no information, respecting the purposes of Mexico, that could enable them to give him more explicit instruc- tions than heretofore; that, nevertheless, there is reason to believe Mexico is making efforts to assemble a large army on the frontier of Texas, for the purpose of entering its territory and holding for- cible possession of it, and that it is trusted he will take prompt and efficient steps to meet and repel any such hostile invasion. If Mexico cross the Rio Grande with any considerable force, such a movement must be regarded as an in- vasion of the United States, and a com- mencement of hostilities, which, to the utmost extent of all the means you pos- sess, or can command, must be repelled. The sequel of this letter, written three months and a half before the delivery of the Presidents Message, in which he boasts of the annexation of Texas, as a bloodless achievement, which no arm of force was raised to accomplish, is tot) significantboth of the expectation, and, we cannot but think, wish of the admin- istration, that some pretext would, or might be found, for drawing the sword, and thus commencing a war of aggran- dizementnot to be given entire: An order has been this day issued for sending one thousand more men into Tex- as to join those under your command. When the existing orders are carried into effect, you will have with you a force of four thousand men of the regular army. We are not enabled to judge what auxil- iary force can, upon an emergency, be brought together from Texas, and, as a precautionary measure, you are authorized to accept volunteers from the States of Louisiana and Alabama, and even from Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky. Should Mexico declare war, or commence hostilities ny crossing the Rio Grande with a considerable force, you are instructed to lose no time in giving information to the authorities of each of any of the ahovemen- tioned States as to the number of volunteers you may want from them respectively. Should you require troops from any of these States, it would be important to have them with the least possible delay. It is not doubted that at least two regiments from New Orleans and one from Mobile could be obtained and expeditiously brought into the field. You will cause it to be known at these places what number and description of troops you desire to receive from them in the contemplated emergency. The authorities of these States will be ap- prized that you are authorized to receive volunteers from them, and you may calci~- late that they will promptly join you when 114 Military Conduct of the War. [Feb., it is made known that their services are required. Arms, ammunition, and camp equipage for the auxiliary troops that you may require, xviii be sent forward subject to your orders. You will so dispose of them as to be most available in case they should be needed, at the same time with a due regard to their safety and preservation. Orders have been issued to the naval force in the gulf of Mexico to co-operate with you. You will, as far as practicable, hold communication xvith the commanders of our national vessels in your vicinity, and avail yourself of any assistance that can be derived from their co-operation. The Lexington is ordered into service as a transport ship, and will sail in a few days from New York with a detachment of United States troops for Corpus Christi. She will be employed as the exigency of the public service may require. In order to keep up a proper communication be- tween the army in Texas and the United States, the On-ka-hy-e, the Harney, and the Dolphin will be put into service as soon as they can be made ready as des- patch vessels to convey intelligence, sup- plies, & c. You will avail yourself of these vessels and all other proper means to keep the government here advised of your oper- ations, and of the state of things in Texas and Mexico. Accompanying this letter was a copy of a letter from the War Department to the Governors of Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennesee, and Kentucky, ap- prizing them that General Taylor was authorized to call for such detachments of volunteers from each of them as he might require, and that it was not doubt- ed the contingent asked from each would be cheerfully and promptly forwarded. A like letter had previously been written to the Governor of Texas. On the 26th August, is a letter from the adjutant~general, apprizing General Taylor that more troops were ordered to him, and urging him to frequent commu- nications with the Department, as most alarming and exaggerated rumors fill the country, which, for want of official tid- ings from the army, the Department can- not correct. On 30th August follows a letter from the Secretary to the General, repeat- ing the injunction of frequent communi- cation, and saying that only one letter had been received from him since he entered Texas. Referring to previous letters in which instructions had been given to repel any invasion of Texas, and to draw for that purpose whatever troops he should need, this letterwritten appa rently under the apprehension (the word is deliberately used) that after all the talk about the Mexican army on the Rio Grande, nothing deserving of that name existed there, and therefore that the de- sired occasion of striking a blow and commencing hostilities, might not un- der previous instructions occurholds this extraordinary language: You have been advised that the assembling of a large Mexican army on the borders of Texas, and crossing the Rio Grande, with a considerable force, will he regard. ed by. the executive here as an invasion of the United States, and the commence- ment of hostilities. An attempt to cross that river with such force will also be considered in the same light ! Here is plainly seen the spirit in which the whole matter was conducted. First of all the deed was to be the cause of war; but as the possibility of its being accom- plished, lessened, the attempt was to be considered a sufficient cause; and for the purposes of the administration, it is not to be doubted, that an attempt by a few hundred rancheros or other lawless and irregular partisans, to cross the Rio Grande, by swimming their horses into it with an appearance of earnest, would have been gladly seized upon and con- sidered by our war-desiring cabinet as a considerable force. It is further evi- dence of this, that the despatch in ques- tion thus concludes : In case of war either declared, or made manifest by hos- tile acts, yonr main object will be the protection of Texas; but the pursuit of this object will not necessarily confine your action within the territory of Texas. In the passage here italicised by us, peeps out the first distinct avowal of the dearly cherished purpose of conquest and terri- torial aggrandizement. An attempt be- ing made, or imagined to be preparing, the General is told he may consider de- fence to mean offence, and that instead of protecting Texas to her extremest western limits, he may invade Mexico. Look to the sequel of this letter. Mex- ico having then commenced hostilities, that is by an attempt real, or feigned, or feared, you may in your discretion, should you have sufficient force, and be in a condition to do so, cross the Rio Grande, disperse or capture the forces assembling, to invade Texas, defeat the junction of troops assembling for that pur- pose, drive them from their position on ei- ther side of that river, and, if deemed prac- ticable and expedient take and hold poe- 1S47.] Military Conduct of the War. 115 session of Matamoras and other places in the country. I scarcely need say, adds oar moral Secretary, that enter- prises of this kind are only to be ventur- ed upon under circumstances, presenting afair prospect of success! Success, not right, is thus to be the chief considera- tion, and so that he can make sure of the plunder, the General is not to stand about the guilt, and blood and outrage, through which alone it can be obtained. Still peace remained undisturbedthe Mexicans would not cross nor attempt to cross the Rio Grande, and General Taylor would not do anything in the way of provoking them, by advanc- ing at his own discretion, into the vi- cinity of that river. Another month and a half past, and the prospect of an in- vasion by Mexico becomes fainter and fainter, so that on the 16th October, the Se- cretary is obliged to inform Gen. Taylor that the information we possess renders it probable that no serious attempt willbe at present made by Mexico to invade Texas, although she continues to threat- en incursions. Something then must be done to stir up the flagging zeal of Mexico. Here is the expedient thus communicated to the General in the same letter of 16th Oct. On the supposition that no active operations on your part, will be required during the approaching win- ter, an important question to be decided is the position or positions to be occu- pied by your forces ; this must be deter- mined mainly with reference to the objects for which the army under your command was sent to Texas. You will approach as near the western boundary of Texas (the Rio Grande) as circumstances will permit, having reference to reasonable security, & c., & c. Farther on in ex- amining whether the present position occupied by General Taylor ought to be changed, and whether his whole force should be kept together, or divided, the Secretary concludes that these are questions which must be in a measure left to your judgment, or at least the de- cision upon them hereif there be time will be influenced in no inconsiderable degree by the information and views which you may furnish the department. You need not therefore wait for the direc- tions from Washington, to carry out what you deem proper to be done. The italics in the above extract are ours, and are introduced in order to mark the true character of this correspondence designed, and artfully calculated, from beginning to end, to stimulate Taylor, without incurring the responsibility of a positive order, to advance to the Rio Grande, in the hope, as we cannot but believe, of provoking Mexico to some overt act of resistance, which should be the signal of immediate invasion and war. The wary General was not to be so entangled, for although in a letter of 4th October, from Corpus Christi, he had expressed a belief that if Mr. Bancrofts instructions of 15th June, directing him to occupy a site on, or near, the Rio Grande, were to be carried into effect, Point Isabel, at the mouth, and Laredo, higher up on the left bank of the river, and holding in observation the main route from the interior of Mexico passing from Monterey to Matamoras, should be the points selected; and that by the occupa- tion of those points, the ultimate settle- ment of the boundary question would be facilitated; he yet added: Mexico as yet having made no positive declaration of war, or committed any overt act of hostilities, I do not feel at liberty, under my instructions, particularly those of July 8th, (the cautionary ones to which we have already called attention, as issued by Mr. Secretary Marcy, on returning to his post, and finding what a fire-brand had occupied it during his temporary absence,) to make a forward movement to the Rio Grande without authority from the War Department. On the p7th November, General Taylor refers, specifically, to Mr. Secretary Marcys letter of 16th October, of which he had previously acknowledged the re- ception in letters of 1st and 2d Novem- ber, which letters are not given. In this letter of the 7th he says, in reference to the views expressed in his letter of the 4th, which, so far as they designated Point Isabel, and Loredo, on the Rio Grande, as advantageous points to occupy, coincided with the wishes of the cabinet; that the intelligence since received from Mexico had tended to modify those views. The General evidently supposed negotia- tions were in progress, and in that per- suasion he adds: The position now oc- cupied by the troops may, perhaps, be the best, while negotiations are pending, or, at any rate, until a disposition shall be manifested by Mexico to protract them unreasonably. Under the supposition that such may be the views of the De- partment, I shall make no movements from this point, until further instructions are received. General Taylor had jua~ 116 Military Conduct of the War. received from Commodore Conner, a let- ter of the 24th October, from off Vera Cruz, in which he informed him that the Mexican government had just ac- ceded to the proposal to arrange the ex- isting difficulties by negotiation. From this time forth to the end of the year, all General Taylors dispatches seemed to anticipate a peaceful and successful ne- gotiation. Hence, as the General would not see any occasion for moving from Corpus Christi to the Rio Grande; nor take upon himself the responsibility of hazarding the success of the negotiation he supposed pending, by advancing to the Rio Grande, and menacing Matamoras, the war-seekers at Washington were obliged to take the responsibility, so long and anxiously shunned; and accordingly on the 13th January, 1846, Congress then being in session, the Secretary of War thus writes, I am directed by the Pres- ident to instruct you to advance and oc- cupy, with the troops under your com- mand, positions on, or near the east bank of the Rio del Norte, as soon as it can conveniently be done, with reference to the season and the routes by which your movements must be made. From the views heretofore presented to this depart- ment, it is presumed Point Isabel will be considered by you an eligible position; this point, or some one near it, and points opposite Matamoras, and Mier, and in the vicinity of Loredo, are suggested to your consideration. * * * Should you attempt to exercise the right which the United States have in common with Mexico to a free navigation of the Del Norte, it is probable that Mexico would interpose resistance. You will not attempt to enforce this right without further instructions. Nothing can be plainer than that the administration foresaw, that by advanc- ing Gen. Taylor to the river overlooking Mexican towns, and claiming to exercise as of right the free navigation of a river, heretofore wholly Mexican, and where Texas had never had a custom-house, nor shown a flag, resistance would ne- cessarily follow on the part of Mexico. But though ordered to provoke, General Taylor was not as yet to be at liberty to overcome this resistance, while confined merely to the question of navigation; but his ,ld instructions still remained in full force: to consider any attempt by a considerable body of Mexicans to cross the Rio Grande as an act of war, and to repel it accordingly. [Feb., These specific instructions to advance, General Tayloracknowledges on 4th Feb- ruary; and says he shall lose no time in carrying them out: urging anew, as, in the event of such an advance, he had previously done, that a small vessel of war should coverthe movementto Point Isabel. It is not out of place here to remark that when these orders were given to General Taylor to advance, it was not known, and could not be known, in Washington, whether Mr. Slidell, the minister appointed to negotiate with Mex- ico, and who was then in that capital, would be received or not. He reached Vera Cruz on 30th of November, pro- ceeded soon after to the city of Mexico, was courteously received there; and but for the overthrow of Herreras adminis- tration by a military revolt, headed by General Paredes, would, as the President says, in his message of 11th May, 1846, there is great reason to believe, have been received by Herrera. But, on the 30th December, thatfunctionary resigned the presidency, and the supreme power of Mexico passed into the hands of a mi- litary leader. But Mr. Slidell still re- mained in the country. Yet, while there was a probability, acknowledged by the President himself, that our negotiator might be received, the peremptory order is given from Washington to the com- mander of the army on the Nueces, to advance to the Rio Grande; and this or- der is thus, in the face of the facts here specified, justified by the President in his message This force (that under Gen. Taylor) was concentrated at Corpus Christi, and remained there nutil after I had received such information from Mexico, as ren- dered it probable, if not certain, that the Mexican government would refuse to receive our envoy. Yet it was not till 21st December, that President Herrera did refuse to receive him, and that, as Pre- sident Polk acknowledges, under duress and against his own inclinations, and at the moment of a revolutionary explosion. The minister himself did not think this final, for he remained in the country. President Polk did not think it final, for he instructed Mr. Slidell to present him- self anew to the successful rival of Her- rera, Paredes, and ask to be accredited by him; and Mr. S. actually remained in the country till late in March, before asking for his passports, and abandoning all hope of negotiation. Notwithstand~ ing all which Mr. Polk, who, on the 13th 1847.] Military Conduct of ike War. 117 January, had ordered the army to march to the Rio Grande, tells Congress, in his message of 11th May, 1846, that this army was not moved from Corpus Christi until he had received information from Mexico, that an envoy could not be re- ceived. General Taylor marched from Corpus Christi on 10th March, and encamped opposite Matamoras on the 28th March, having effected his march without firing a shot or experiencing any resistance. In crossing the Arroyo Colorado, however, a Salt Lagoon about thirty miles east of the Rio Grande, he was warned by a pic- quet of Mexican Cavalry, that if he per- sisted in crossing that stream, it would be taken as an act of war; and in like manner, before reaching Point Isabel, a formal protest by the Prefect of Ta- maulipas, was put into his hands against his right to occupy, under the name of Texas, any portion of the department under his, the Prefects, charge. Dis- regarding these notices, but not molest- ing or detaining the Mexican officials; disseminating on all hands assurances that the rights, person, property and re- ligion of all persons peacefully pursuing their avocations, would be scrupulously respected; and that all provisions and forage furnished for the army would be paid for at the highest prices, the Ame- rican troops moved onward to the river the fatal river, as now it was to be too soon and truly designated. Before the march, the inhabitants along the river were represented to be well- disposed to the Americans. Traders from Matamoras were constantly in the camp at Corpus Christi. In the letter of 26th February, Gen. Taylor alludes to some influential citizens of that town, as then in his camp, with a large number of mules for sale. But no sooner arrived and encamped in hostile array, opposite Matamoras, than all seemed changed. Our approach, says Gen. Taylor, in a dispatch of 29th March, the day after he had established himself opposite Mata- moras, seems to have created unusual excitement at that place, and a great deal of activity has been displayed since our arrival, in the preparation of batter- ies. * * * The attitude of the Mexicans is so far decidedly hostile. An interview has been held, by my direction, with the military authorities of Matamoras, but with no satisfactory result. In his next dispatch, of 6th April, Gen. Taylor says: On our side, a battery for four 18 pounders will be completed, and the guns placed in battery to-day. These guns bear directly upon the public square of Matamoras, and within good range for demolishing the town. THEIR OBJECT CANNOT BE MISTAKEN BY THE ENEMY ! In point of law and of fact, however, the two peoples were at peacethere was no enemy. Congress was in session, which alone has the power to declare or authorize war; and yet, under the bid- ding of the Executive, a general officer of the U. S. army erects a battery of 18 pounders, within range to demolish the peaceful town of a neighboring nation; tells us the object of the battery cannot be mistaken by the enemy! meaning the aforesaid peaceful inhabitants; and, in the face of all this, the President reports, and the Congress of the U. S. votes, that we are the injured partythat we are not the assailants but the assailed; and that Mexico, stung to desperation by the aggravated insult of thus having one of her chief cities placed under the fire of our batteries, and maddened by the morn- ingandthe evening drum beat of a stran- ger army, which, without a declaration of war, was then domineering over the soil always before ruled by Mexicothat Mexico causelessly, unjustly, rushed into hostilities with us. It is an insult to the sense of right, and to the spirit of manhood of every American, thus to argue. We feel, we all feel, that under like circumstances, not a day, not an hour, would elapse be- fore we should rush, sword in hand, to exterminate the foe that should thus in- sult us, nor suspect that in thus doing we were the aggressors, but solely act- ing upon that instinct which God has im- planted in the breast of every man fit for life and freedom, to defend bothat all hazardsagainst all who menaced the one or would degrade the other. When any body of reputable American citizens can persuade themselves that the responsibility of really commencing the war, belongs, under such circumstances, to Mexico, they may be ready to accept Mr. Polks version of this whole matter, but most assuredly they would not be ac- cepted by the American people at large as the true exponents of national feel- ing. The Mexicans, who, as General Taylor says, could not mistake the object of his batteries, were expected to resist. It was, as we verily believe, a deliberate calculation that, under such provocation, they could not but commit some overt 118 Military Conduct of the War. [Feb., act, which would be immediately availed of as an apology to cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war, and thus consum- mate in blood and in tears, as the unsuc- cessful but prophetic opponents of an- nexation had foreseen, the unrighteous schemes of aggression and conquest. Unless we have failed in the preced- ing pages to make ourselves understood, it follows that in the whole operation, first of ordering the army into Texas, and then of marching it to the Rio Grande, the Cabinet have acted without the con- currence of judgment, but rather in oppo- sition to the judgment of the command- ing general, whom they have, at the same time, sought by every sort of de- vice, to put forward in such position, as, in the event of defeat and disaster, would make him the scape-goat. It has been an ungracious and humi- liating task, thus to track the devious windings of selfish partisans, incapable apparently of appreciating the elevation in which circumstances have placed them, and wholly strangers to that noble ambition which puts country before all personal calculation, and if war is to be made, makes it with a full conscious- ness of its evils, but with a lofty convic- tion that the honor of the republic and the interests of humanity alike command, that it be no little peddling parsimonious war. From the beginning it has been a party war, for party purposes, and selfish and sectional interests, so fashioned and stamped by those who plunged us into it, and so conducted wherever their influ- ence could confine its operation within party limits. Happilyand this brings us to the con- sideration of the second head in our chap- terthe army of the U. S. knows no party, but, looking to the flag of the Union, and deeply imbued with love of country, it has won laurels, beneath the lustre of which we all are proud to re- pose, and to feel that humanity, courtesy and discipline, not less than daring valor, have been exemplified and honored by their conduct. The length to which this paper has al- ready extended, will compel us to abridge, more than we desire, the summary it was proposed to make of the feats of arms of our soldiers, but it will be a welcome re- lief to turn to it from the less noble and exhilarating spectacle of the selfish schemings of the Cabinet at Washington. We have already stated that on the 11th March Gen. Taylor broke up his encampment at Corpus Christi, and marched to the Rio Grande. From the difficulty of subsistence, and scarceness of water and of forage, he was obliged to put intervals of days between the detach- ments of even his small army, which did not number 4000, nor, in spite of repeat- ed and urgent requisitions, for a small armed vessel, of light draft of water, to cover the left flank of the force, and fa- cilitate and strengthen the occupation of Point Isabel, was Gen. Taylor able to obtain this succor. The whole force which thus commenced the active cam- paign, was of the regular army, consist- ing of part of the 2d regt. of dragoons, under Col. Twiggs; detachments from the four regiments of artillery, constitut- ing one battalion under the command of Bt. Lieut.-Colonel Childs; and portions of the 3d, 4th, 5th, 7th and 8th regiments of infantry, with Ringgolds and Dun-. cans batteries of light artillery, and a few engineer and ordnance officers. rrhe discipline acquired in the camp at Corpus Christi, where large portions of the troops had, for the first time, the op- portunity of seeing and learning the evo- lutions of the line, having mostly before been stationed in small detachments at widely separated posts, told with good effect upon the long march to the Rio Grande, of about 180 miles. Atthe cross- ing of the Arroyo Colorado, a deep ford, where resistance was denounced if they should attempt to pass, the passage was effected with a degree of order, regularity and despatch eminently creditable. The field pieces being placed in battery on the bank, so as to cover the crossing, the advance was led by Capt. C. F. Smith, of the 2d art., with the light companies of the 2d brigade, (Worths,) and a more spirited movement, or one more steady withal, is, it is conceded, rarely wit- nessed. it was sufficient to satisfy the Mexican cavalry corps of observation, on the oppo- site bank, which withdrew without any offer or show of resistance, and the whole personel and materiel of the army, men, ammunition, artillery and wagon train were safely crossed. Point Isabel was thus the firstplace per- manently occupied and garrisoned. As our troops approached it, they perceived that the buildings were in flames. They hastened their march and arrived, still unresisted, in time to aid in extinguish- ing the conflagration, and rescuing the town from destruction. 119 1847.] Military Conduct of the War. Leaving, at this point, his train and stores, with a garrison sufficientwith the aid of some vessels of war, oppor- tunely arrived off the Brazos, to co-ope- rate with himto hold it against attack, Gen. Taylor followed up the left bank of the Rio Grande till he came opposite Ma- tamoras, and then made his stand. Before he began his march, and during its whole course, the General took great pains to impress upon the people and the authorities, that he was not advancing as an enemy, nor to make war upon Mexico, but solely to assert the right of the U. S. to Texas up to the Rio Grande, including the free navigation of that river, free alike to the Mexicans and the Ameri- cans. The protest of the Prefect of Ta- maulipas, and the warning at the Ar- royo Colorado, had led to no ill words or ill conduct, and thus far all was blood- less. Two dragoons, who, on the ap- proach of Gen. Taylor towards Matamo- ras, had fallen into the hands of the Mexi- cans, were, upon the requisition of Gen. Taylor, returned to him, and, notwith- standing the commotion which his en- campment over against Matamoras na- turally excited there ,no overt acts of hos- tility were perpetrated. Gen. Taylor at once proceededto fortify his position, and there he lay; bugle an- swering to bugle; and all the fierce and dread array of war, exhibited on either side of the river, and yet war was there none. The first untoward incident, was the disappearance of Col. Cross, the Quarter- master in chief of the army, who, having ridden out from the camp unattended, was no more heard of. Gen. Ampudia, in command at Matamoras, to the inquiry addressed to him by Gen. Taylor, dis- claimed all knowledge of the fate of Col. Cross: and it was only after several days that the body was found, mutilated in death at the hands, as seemed to be un- derstood, of some straggling rancheros, a sort of predatory mounted peasantry, who had fallen in with, murdered, and robbed him. About the same time, Lieut. Porter, sent out with a scout of men, was attacked by a party of these rancheros, superior to his own in number, and the fire-arms of his men being rendered use- less by rain, they could make no resist- ance, and by the order of their officer dis- pe~sed and saved themselves. The Lieu- tenant and one of his men were killed; these, however, were not avowed acts of war, nor acknowledged as such by the Mexican commander,who treated them as robberies and murders. Soon, however, a more serious face was put upon matters. Desertion was thinning the ranks of the American army; desertions, it must be added, mostly confined to foreign born sol- diers; while that of the Mexicans was daily increasing. Arista having suc- ceeded to the command in chief, immedi- ately notified Gen. Taylor of the fact, and summoned him to retire behind the Nueces, and to commence his march within 24 hours ; failing whereof he, Arista, would consider it an act of war. The Mexican commander was cour- teously, but firmly answered b~ Gen. Taylor, that, being where he was by order of his government, he could only retire from that position by like order, and that meantime he was prepared and resolved to hold it. Having ascertained at the same time, that the Mexican force at Matamoras was mainly provisioned from the sea, and looking upon the summons of Gen. Arista as decisive of hostile purposes, Gen. Tay- lor immediately ordered the blockade of the Rio Grande, and thus cut off the sup- plies of the Mexican camp. He was himself, at that time, distant some 30 miles from the bulk of his own supplies, at Point Isabel; having at Fort Brown only what was needful for a few days. Ru- mors were soon spread of the purpose of Arista to cross the river and throw him- self between Fort Brown and Point Isabel, and frequent alerts in the American camp were occasioned by these rumors. One in an authentic shape having reached the American commander, he on the 24th of April sent forth a detachment of dragoons some 60 or 60 strong, under the com- mand of Capt. Thornton, to reconnoitre; this detachment coming suddenly upon a small body of Mexicans, without wait- ing to ascertain their number, or choose favorable ground for operating, at once charged upon the enemyas Mexicans in arms on the east side of the river were considered. Engaged beyond retreat in an unfavorable position, surrounded, as was soon evident by a greatly superior force, the gallant efforts of the detach- ment to disengage itself were in vain; the officers were shot down or disabled, and some sixteen officers and men, alto- gether, being killed or wounded, the re- mainder were compelled to surrender. This was war, and Gen. Taylor ac- cepting it as such, immediately made a call upon the Governors of Texas and 120 Military Conduct of tke War. Louisiana, for four regiments of volun- teers from each State, to be sent forward with the least possible delay. Appre- hensive, moreover, now that blood had been shed, that active operations might be undertaken by the Mexican forces, to cut him off from his supplies at Point Isabel, the General, leaving a small guard at Fort Brown, marched with his main force, on the evening of the 3d May, to Point Isabel, for the purpose of escorting thence his trains of munitions and provi- sions. He accomplished the march with- out encountering any obstacle; and after resting his forces for a day, and organiz- ing a Very large train, he commenced his returning march on the 7th of May, and after advancing about 12 miles, and ascertaining that a considerable enemys force was before him, bivouacked for the night; the next morning the army moved again, in hourly expectation, and with an ardent desire to meet the enemy, without much concerning themselyes about any disparity of numbers. At two oclock in the afternoon., at a place until then obscure, but which the events of that day have consecrated to history, they found their enemy posted on ground of their choice at Palo Alto; the battle was immediately joined, and for more than five hours it was fought with gallantry unsurpassed, and with decisive success by an American army of 2,200 men, against a Mexican force of 6,000 regulars composed in great part, of regiments in- ured to ~var, and led by skillful chiefs; there was too, a considerable irregular or guerilla force. Our gallant soldiers slept upon the field of victory; and the next morning, 9th May, sought the enemy, who, it was ascertained, had been rein- forced from the opposite side of the river, and still stood betwixt Gen. Taylor and his camp at Fort Brown. Fierce and bloody as had been the con- test of the 8th, that of the morrow was yet more obstinate and bloody; for the position in which the Mexicans had post- ed themselveson the edge of a thick chapporal, of which, they held all the roads, and which, off the roads, was im- passable to man or horsewas, of itself, most difficult of appproach and uneven; defeat, then, might be the destruction of the whole army: for Fort Brown was in the rear of the Mexicans, and the Rio Grande on their right and rear. With strength of position, therefore, superior numbers, and under the eye almost of one of their capital cities, Matamoras, [Feb., the Mexicans had every motive to im- part courage and confidence. The small American force few and faint, but fearless still, reduced but ex- asperated by the loss of precious lives on the 8th, encumbered with an immense provision train in the rear, which must be protected against sudden and separate at- tacks, while the real battle should be raging in frontsuffering for want of food, and especially of wateraware too that defeat was ruin, not to themselves alone, but to the gallant and devoted band left in Fort Brown, the incessant cannon- ading of which post, from the opposite side, was heard by Taylors forceboldly advanced, and in reliance upon their own hearts and arms for all that men could do, they promptly accepted the battle of- fered them by the Mexicansand by a display, alike decisive and admirable, of skill and high daring, in all the arms, ar- tillery, infantry and horse, they swept the enemy with slaughter and in confu- sion from the field. We do not repeat here the brilliant incidents of these battles, nor reproduce the official dis- patches of the commander; dispatches hardly less admirable for modesty and precision, than the acts they commem- morate were for courage and conduct, be- cause both the events and the record of them are fresh in every mind. The over- throw of the Mexican army was complete it was a routand the Rio Grande, which was crossed in haste and terror, while swallowing up many a victim who had escaped the sword of battle, inter- posed an impassable barrier to the pur- suit of our army. Properly equipped and provided, that army would then and there have annihilated, or made prison- ers the whole Mexican force, and at once taken possession of Matamoras. But arrived at the bank of the river, neither boats nor pontoon train were there to en- able the troops to cross, and the victors were obliged to look on with unavailing chagrin, while their prey, almost within their grasp, escaped them; because the authorities at home, in spite of repeated calls and remonstrances, from Gen. Tay- lor, had not provided the army with any means of crossing rivers. It was, from the very moment when General Taylor was first ordered to Tex- as, the favorite project of the administra- tion, that he should occupy the left bank of the Rio Grande; and that he should be prepared, at need, to carry the war across that river; yet sent they to him 1847.] Military Conduct of Use War. 121 neither flat and shallow boats, which, af- ter he had occupied Point Isabel and blockaded the Rio Grande, might so rea- dily have been transported up the river, nor the yet more convenient and port- able ponlon trains. Bitterly did the gal- lant general lament his inability to avail himself of all the consequences of the victories of the 8th and 9th. In a dis- patch from Matamoras, (which city he entered without resistance on the 18th May,) he thus writes to the Secretary of War, under date of 18th May: I have the honor to report that my very limited means for crossing rivers, prevented a complete prosecution of the victory of the 9th. A ponton train, the tie- ees8ity of which lexhibited to the depart- ment last year, would have enabled the army to cross, on the evening of the battle, take the city, with all the artillery and stores of the enemy, and a great number of prisonersin short to destroy the Mexican army. But I am compelled to await the arrival of heavy mortars, with which to menace the town from the left hank, and also the accummulation of small boats. In the mean time the enemy had somewhat recovered from the confusion of the fight, and ought still,with the 3,000 men left him, to have made a respectable defence. The town was occupied by Gen. Tay- lor on the morning of the 18th; General Arista, after a vain attempt to negotiate an armistice during which both forces should remain separated by the river having abandoned the place with all his available force, leaving his sick and wounded to our mercy. Thus was consummated the first act in the great national drama of war, and it must not be forgotten that the glorious actors were of the regular army. The regiments and companies were all skele- ton regiments and companies, with a number of officers and non-commission- ed officers equal to full war comple- ments of privates, while, in fact, the ef- fective rank and file of each company was about one-third of the war comple- ment. This excess of officers will ex- plain at once, in a great measure, the success of the troops, and the unusual proportion of casualties among officers. The gallant youths whom the nation had educated at West Point, and five-sixths of all the officers engaged on the Rio Grande were graduates of the Military Academyhad many of them never seen an enemy beforeyet no veterans could have evinced more valor, more steadi ness, and more resource. From the na- ture of the ground and of the contests, the results depended very much much more than in battles of considerable numbers is usualupon the individual judgment and prowess of each officer andseparate squad, or detachment. Fore- seeing this, after arranging the order of battle, almost the only order given by General Taylor was, that his troops should feel the enemy with their bayon- ets, holding the cavalry in reserve to act as occasion should require. Well indeed was the order carried out at Resaca de Ia Palma, and when Duncans dreadful artillery had turned the tide of battle, and Ridgely seeing his comrade May, of the dragoons, darting forward to storm a Mexican battery with horse, drew by his opportune fire, the fire of the Mexicans, the day was oursfor the steady bay- onet of the infantry following up the slaughtering fire of the light artillery, and the impetuous charge of the dra- goons, put an end to all resistance, and converted retreat into tumultuous flight. The victors sternly marched on to Fort Brown which, during seven mortal days and nights, had been constantly bombarded and cannonaded from the op- posite shore. Without a single heavy mortar, with few heavy pieces of artil- lery, with an insufficient supply of am- munition, and a garrison of about 400 men, Major Brown, of the 7th infant- ry, to whose fidelity and skill this fort was intrusted, had maintained, without flinching, the unequal fight, until on the 4th day, by the explosion of a shell he was dangerously wounded, and died on the very day, and within hearing, of the victorious battle, of the 9th. But the garrison never dreamed of surrender, though often and again summoned; and sorely as they were tried, for in the oc- casional lull of the fire upon them, from very weariness sometimesthey beard with beating hearts the cannonading of the battle field of the 8tha contest al- most wholly of artilleryand when the sun went down that night, and no tid- ings came of the result, these beleaguer- ed few still abated naught of heart or of hopestill had faith in the fortunes of their country, and in the valor of their comrades; and the next day when the cannonading was renewed, and the sound and rush of men came nearer and near- er, they felt then that ours was the conquering cause, and finally from their ramparts they saw, and by some distant 122 Military Conduct of the War. but well-directed shots, increased the confusion and the danger of the Mexi- can rout and flight across the river; and then soon opened their arms and hearts to receive and welcome back their own victorious brethren, exulting in their success, and mourning, as men and sol- diers only mourn, the precious comrades who were to return no more. From this period the war assum- ed a new aspect. Thus far the reg- ulars alone had done the work. Now large bodies of volunteers were poured forth, and soon an army of some 20,000 men was under the command of Taylor. The various towns on the Rio Grande were in succession occupied, and finally the march to Monterey was undertaken, and that strong city, strong by position and by art, and garrisoned by a regular force, numerically superior to the whole of that volunteer and regular displayed against it,was, after several days bloody fighting, captured. The conduct of the volunteers in these trying scenes was remarkable for steadiness under fire, and impetuosity in attack. They showed themselves worthy rivals and competi- tors with the regulars. The gallant Watson, of the Baltimore battalion, laid down his life while leading a charge in the streets of the city, and other brave men of the Ohio and other regiments sealed their devotion to country with their blood. It has been made a matter, if not of re- proach, at least of that sort of comment which wounds as much as decided cen- sure, against Gen. Taylor, that he should have permitted this city to capitulate upon what are called such easy terms; and we find, by a private letter from the General himself, which, while these sheets are passing through the press, has (most indiscreetly, and, in our judgment, unjustifiably) been thrust before the pub- lic by a very ill-judging friend, that the war department and the Executive joined in the quasi condemnation. The Generals answer is complete, alike, we should ap- piehend, to military judgment and to that of humanity and duty. Here it is: Although the terms of capitulation may be considered as too liberal on our part, by the President and his advisers, as well as by many others at a distance, particularly by those who do not understand the posi- tion which we occupied, (otherwise they might come to a different conclusion in re- gard to the matter,) yet, on due reflection, I see nothing to induce me to regret the course I pursued. The proposition on the part of General Ampudia, which had much to do in determining my course in the matter, was based on the ground that our government had proposed to his to settle the existing difficulties by negotia- tion, (which I knew was the case without knowing the result,) which was then un- der consideration by the proper authori- ties, and which he (Gen. Ampudia) had no doubt would result favorably, as the whole of his people were in favor of peace. If so, I considered the effusion of blood not only unnecessary, but improper. Their force was also considerably larger than ours; and from the size and position of the place, we could not completely invest it; so that the greater portion of their troops, if not the whole, had they been disposed to do so, could, any night, have abandoned the city, at once entered the mountain passes, and effected their re- treat,do what we would! Had we been put to the alternative of taking the place by storm, (which there is no doubt we should have succeeded in doing,) we should, in all probability, have lost fifty or a hundred men in killed, besides the wounded; which I wished to avoid, as there appeared to be a prospect of peace, even if a distant one. I also wished to avoid the destruction of women and child- ren, which must have been very great had the storming process been resorted to. Besides, they had a very large and strong fortification, a short distance from the city, which, if carried with the bayonet, must have been taken at a great sacrifice of life; and, with our limited train of heavy or battering artillery, it would have required twenty or twenty-five days to take it by regular approaches. This is the language of a commander who knows how to despise the clap-trap of his professionand no profession is without itwho, amid the wildest scenes of war, and the excitement of victory, preserves the serene balance of his mind, and is neither afraid nor ashamed to lis- ten to the voice of humanity, in thus con- summating a triumph, which could not be more complete, though it might have been more doubtful, and would certainly have been more bloody, if extorted from the resistance of resolute despair. We are prevented, by want of space, from following up the progress of these victorious troops, in their advance upon, and occupation of, Saltillo, and cannot even glance, as we designed to do, at the movements of the columns under Gene- rals Wool and Kearney; the last having performed a march and accomplished re- sults of the greatest moment and diffi

The Happy Pair. From the German of Goethe 122

122 Military Conduct of the War. but well-directed shots, increased the confusion and the danger of the Mexi- can rout and flight across the river; and then soon opened their arms and hearts to receive and welcome back their own victorious brethren, exulting in their success, and mourning, as men and sol- diers only mourn, the precious comrades who were to return no more. From this period the war assum- ed a new aspect. Thus far the reg- ulars alone had done the work. Now large bodies of volunteers were poured forth, and soon an army of some 20,000 men was under the command of Taylor. The various towns on the Rio Grande were in succession occupied, and finally the march to Monterey was undertaken, and that strong city, strong by position and by art, and garrisoned by a regular force, numerically superior to the whole of that volunteer and regular displayed against it,was, after several days bloody fighting, captured. The conduct of the volunteers in these trying scenes was remarkable for steadiness under fire, and impetuosity in attack. They showed themselves worthy rivals and competi- tors with the regulars. The gallant Watson, of the Baltimore battalion, laid down his life while leading a charge in the streets of the city, and other brave men of the Ohio and other regiments sealed their devotion to country with their blood. It has been made a matter, if not of re- proach, at least of that sort of comment which wounds as much as decided cen- sure, against Gen. Taylor, that he should have permitted this city to capitulate upon what are called such easy terms; and we find, by a private letter from the General himself, which, while these sheets are passing through the press, has (most indiscreetly, and, in our judgment, unjustifiably) been thrust before the pub- lic by a very ill-judging friend, that the war department and the Executive joined in the quasi condemnation. The Generals answer is complete, alike, we should ap- piehend, to military judgment and to that of humanity and duty. Here it is: Although the terms of capitulation may be considered as too liberal on our part, by the President and his advisers, as well as by many others at a distance, particularly by those who do not understand the posi- tion which we occupied, (otherwise they might come to a different conclusion in re- gard to the matter,) yet, on due reflection, I see nothing to induce me to regret the course I pursued. The proposition on the part of General Ampudia, which had much to do in determining my course in the matter, was based on the ground that our government had proposed to his to settle the existing difficulties by negotia- tion, (which I knew was the case without knowing the result,) which was then un- der consideration by the proper authori- ties, and which he (Gen. Ampudia) had no doubt would result favorably, as the whole of his people were in favor of peace. If so, I considered the effusion of blood not only unnecessary, but improper. Their force was also considerably larger than ours; and from the size and position of the place, we could not completely invest it; so that the greater portion of their troops, if not the whole, had they been disposed to do so, could, any night, have abandoned the city, at once entered the mountain passes, and effected their re- treat,do what we would! Had we been put to the alternative of taking the place by storm, (which there is no doubt we should have succeeded in doing,) we should, in all probability, have lost fifty or a hundred men in killed, besides the wounded; which I wished to avoid, as there appeared to be a prospect of peace, even if a distant one. I also wished to avoid the destruction of women and child- ren, which must have been very great had the storming process been resorted to. Besides, they had a very large and strong fortification, a short distance from the city, which, if carried with the bayonet, must have been taken at a great sacrifice of life; and, with our limited train of heavy or battering artillery, it would have required twenty or twenty-five days to take it by regular approaches. This is the language of a commander who knows how to despise the clap-trap of his professionand no profession is without itwho, amid the wildest scenes of war, and the excitement of victory, preserves the serene balance of his mind, and is neither afraid nor ashamed to lis- ten to the voice of humanity, in thus con- summating a triumph, which could not be more complete, though it might have been more doubtful, and would certainly have been more bloody, if extorted from the resistance of resolute despair. We are prevented, by want of space, from following up the progress of these victorious troops, in their advance upon, and occupation of, Saltillo, and cannot even glance, as we designed to do, at the movements of the columns under Gene- rals Wool and Kearney; the last having performed a march and accomplished re- sults of the greatest moment and diffi

William Barber Barber, William The Castle by the Shore. From the German of Uhland 122-123

122 Military Conduct of the War. but well-directed shots, increased the confusion and the danger of the Mexi- can rout and flight across the river; and then soon opened their arms and hearts to receive and welcome back their own victorious brethren, exulting in their success, and mourning, as men and sol- diers only mourn, the precious comrades who were to return no more. From this period the war assum- ed a new aspect. Thus far the reg- ulars alone had done the work. Now large bodies of volunteers were poured forth, and soon an army of some 20,000 men was under the command of Taylor. The various towns on the Rio Grande were in succession occupied, and finally the march to Monterey was undertaken, and that strong city, strong by position and by art, and garrisoned by a regular force, numerically superior to the whole of that volunteer and regular displayed against it,was, after several days bloody fighting, captured. The conduct of the volunteers in these trying scenes was remarkable for steadiness under fire, and impetuosity in attack. They showed themselves worthy rivals and competi- tors with the regulars. The gallant Watson, of the Baltimore battalion, laid down his life while leading a charge in the streets of the city, and other brave men of the Ohio and other regiments sealed their devotion to country with their blood. It has been made a matter, if not of re- proach, at least of that sort of comment which wounds as much as decided cen- sure, against Gen. Taylor, that he should have permitted this city to capitulate upon what are called such easy terms; and we find, by a private letter from the General himself, which, while these sheets are passing through the press, has (most indiscreetly, and, in our judgment, unjustifiably) been thrust before the pub- lic by a very ill-judging friend, that the war department and the Executive joined in the quasi condemnation. The Generals answer is complete, alike, we should ap- piehend, to military judgment and to that of humanity and duty. Here it is: Although the terms of capitulation may be considered as too liberal on our part, by the President and his advisers, as well as by many others at a distance, particularly by those who do not understand the posi- tion which we occupied, (otherwise they might come to a different conclusion in re- gard to the matter,) yet, on due reflection, I see nothing to induce me to regret the course I pursued. The proposition on the part of General Ampudia, which had much to do in determining my course in the matter, was based on the ground that our government had proposed to his to settle the existing difficulties by negotia- tion, (which I knew was the case without knowing the result,) which was then un- der consideration by the proper authori- ties, and which he (Gen. Ampudia) had no doubt would result favorably, as the whole of his people were in favor of peace. If so, I considered the effusion of blood not only unnecessary, but improper. Their force was also considerably larger than ours; and from the size and position of the place, we could not completely invest it; so that the greater portion of their troops, if not the whole, had they been disposed to do so, could, any night, have abandoned the city, at once entered the mountain passes, and effected their re- treat,do what we would! Had we been put to the alternative of taking the place by storm, (which there is no doubt we should have succeeded in doing,) we should, in all probability, have lost fifty or a hundred men in killed, besides the wounded; which I wished to avoid, as there appeared to be a prospect of peace, even if a distant one. I also wished to avoid the destruction of women and child- ren, which must have been very great had the storming process been resorted to. Besides, they had a very large and strong fortification, a short distance from the city, which, if carried with the bayonet, must have been taken at a great sacrifice of life; and, with our limited train of heavy or battering artillery, it would have required twenty or twenty-five days to take it by regular approaches. This is the language of a commander who knows how to despise the clap-trap of his professionand no profession is without itwho, amid the wildest scenes of war, and the excitement of victory, preserves the serene balance of his mind, and is neither afraid nor ashamed to lis- ten to the voice of humanity, in thus con- summating a triumph, which could not be more complete, though it might have been more doubtful, and would certainly have been more bloody, if extorted from the resistance of resolute despair. We are prevented, by want of space, from following up the progress of these victorious troops, in their advance upon, and occupation of, Saltillo, and cannot even glance, as we designed to do, at the movements of the columns under Gene- rals Wool and Kearney; the last having performed a march and accomplished re- sults of the greatest moment and diffi 1847.] Military Conduct of the War. 121* culty. It must suffice to say of each and all of these commanders, and of their troops, regular and volunteer, that they have abundantly justified the confidence, and commended themselves to the grati- tude, of their country; and that the peo- ple will not forget themhowever party leaders mayand with some few reflec- tions, suggested by this idea, we must close this paper. If we have not wholly failed in pre- senting our views, it is made quite clear by the statements here given, that from the moment he was ordered into Texas until the present, there has been a settled purpose to make General Taylor the scape-goat for any calamity that should befal the army, while the little menthe very little menwhom the caprice of po- pular elections has placed on the pinna- cles of power, sought to reap all the hon- or and eclat of victory. Justice to the army has proved no part of the policy of those who sent this army forth to unequal xvar; unequal, less by disparity of num- bers, great as that was, than by inade- quate supplies; and the most disgraceful proof of this is to be found in the fact which an honorable nature cannot re- cord, nor a just people recall, without a tingling sense of shamethat within a few brief days of the reception at Wash- ington, of the intelligence of the decisive and glorious battles at Palo Alto and Re- saca de la Palma and Fort Brown battles which saved a tottering adminis- tration from the total condemnation which the popular voice had begun, in so marked a manner, to pronounce upon it the head of the administration being au- thorized to commission some thirty ofil- cers in a new regiment of mounted riflemen, just created by law, gave not one of those commissions to any of the gallant men who, on these bloody fields, had so nobly sustained the honor of the country, and proved their title to promo- tion. Congress had voted thanksthe nation, by acclamation, had uttered thanks to these modest and victorious soldiers; but of reward, in the way of their profession, the only reward they look for, the hand to which the distribu tion of these rewards is by the Constitu- tion confided, had not onenot onefor the men whose blood and bravery won these memorable days. Party and per- sonal calculationsbase, mercenary and unprincipleddirected the choice of the new officers, and together with barren words of thanks from Congress, and trea- cherous compliments through the war department from the Executive, the gal- lant soldiers of the Rio Grande, received the intelligence that the sam.e Executive, to them the fountain of honor, had pass- ed them all by in entire neglect, and scattered among unknown and untried men, the commissions which, on every principle of justice, policy and gratitude belonged to themselves. And now again, when at Monterey, mo- deration and humanity put their crown upon victory, we have these speculators, at a safe distance, in the blood and suf- ferings of the armyexpressing insidious regrets that the extremest terms were not demanded of the enemythat more blood was not shedwhen, by abstaining from slaughter, which might possibly af- ter all have been unavailing, almost all the good results of the most successful contest were obtained. We hardly dare trust ourselves to char- acterize, as they seem to us t~ deserve, the callous indifference of the adminis- tration to the shedding of blood, while their own is safe, and to danger from which they are exempt; nor their cold injiistice, which lured on gallant spirits to the uombat, and then snatched from their victorious hands the coveted prize. But we have here sought to put upon record, by the testimony of facts and dates, the proofs of these things, that they may wit- ness at needto the present and the fu- turethat as Whigs, not less than as Americans, we disclaim all fellowship in, or responsibility for, an administration which coldly speculates upon the blood and laurels of the brave; which would appropriate their fruits to the mean and pitiful purpose of a personal party, while denying to the gallant soldiers themselves, not only flavor, but justice. 122* Translations from the German. [Feb., THE HAPPY PAIR. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. THE Gods, benignly from above, Smile on the happy pair in love; The warmest, fairest weather in May, Is not so warm and fair as they. How stand they gazing each at each, In the glances of their eyes, Their whole souls melt and languish, Panting quick with ecstasies; They are clasping bands in hands, While a sweet delicious anguish Knits their hearts in lasting bands. A balmy, vernul atmosphere, Their full souls around them breathe; They are, ye Gods, your likeness here, Your likeness, Gods, beneath! THE CASTLE BY THE SHORE. FROM THE GERMAN OF URLAND. BY WILLIAM BARBER. KNowsT thou the lofty castle, The castle on the shore? Clouds, roseate and golden, - Around the summit soar. It seemeth as twould enter The glassy wave below, Or mount aloft, aspiring, Where clouds at evening glow. I know the lofty castle, The castle by the shore, With moonbeams playing round it, With mist-wreaths covered oer. The voice of wind and ocean, Oh! seemed it glad to thee? Did lofty halls re-echo With minstrelsy and glee ? No! every breeze and billow Lay silent and unstirred; One tearful song of sorrow From out the halls I heard. Didst thou behold above thee The monarch and his queen, The glow of purple garments, Of golden crowns the sheen? And thither did they carry With joy a lovely maid, The sun himself scarce nobler, With hair of golden shade ? I saw the aged parents, No crowns with flashing ray, But sorrows sable garments The maid had passed away ! 1847.1 Fe3tu8. 123 FESTUS.* OuR author, we have said, has no dra- matic power; he cannot pass out of him- self into other minds, so as to express their thoughts and feelings; but merely practises a sort of ventriloquism; ex- presses his own thoughts and feelings under other names; and if he cannot mould, cannot osganize the elements of character into individual unity, much less can he organize several characters into dramatic unity. But there is a further question, namely, whether and how far he evinces any truly poetic power. Mil- ton, for example, has little dramatic pow- er, and Wordsworth still less; neverthe- less, both are true poets; though always expressing their own thoughts and feel- ings, they express them poetically; that is, they express them in images, not in propositions. Shakspeare, as everybody knows, keeps himself entirely out of his representations; sets objects and charac- ters before us, as nature does, and lets us see them with our own eyes: Milton and Wordsworth transfuse themselves into whatever they represent, so that, to see the objects they set before us, we have to look through their eyes; never- theless, they do give us objects, not mere impressions; their thoughts and feelings are imaged forth, not merely uttered; are organized into sensuous forms, which stand out before the mind objectively and independently, like the living, organic forms of nature. Here is obviously in- volved a process of creation; thought and image are moulded, are created into organic unity. This, then, is to make, to create, as nature creates; and this is what we mean by poetry. One of our authors eulogists says, nature is as rife with symbols to this poet as she is withfacts to a common ob- server. We are at a loss to conceive what this writer means by symbols, when he instances Festus ~ as an example of symbolic writing. The remark, how- ever, involves a very correct idea of po- etry, though a very gross misstatement, in regard to the book. Festus, it seems to us, is in no wise replete with symbols, but with mere analogies, which this writer has probably mistaken for symbols. A symbol,we take it, is an in- carnation of something; that is, a signifi- cant form, involving a consubstantiation of the thing signified with the form signifying, as man is a consubstantiation of soul and body. To the true poet, un- doubtedly, the facts and forms of nature do become symbolic; he incarnates his life in them; informs them with his pas- sion; makes them embody and express his meanings; in a word, he creates the spiritual elements of thought and the ma- terial elements of nature into organic unity, and thus speaks in symbols, instead of propositions. When, for example, Ben Jonson says, Slaughter bestrid the streets and stretched himself To seem more huge ; and when Coleridge says, The scorpion, falsehood, Coils round in its perplexity, and fixes Its sting in its own bead ; here, we see, the thought is incorporated, consubstantiated with the image; and if we undertake to disembedy the thought into a proposition, we shall inevitably lose it. If this be a just account of symbolic writing, we shall find very little of it in Festus. For synibols, he gives us mere similes; uses the facts and forms of nature, not to enibody, but only to il- lustrate his meaning ; nay, he often seems to use the illustration rather for its own sake, than for the sake of the thing illustrated; he has a morbid hunt- ing after analogies, and is perpetually tormenting truth and nature to get them. Accordingly, we have never seen a book so stuffed with figures, and rarely seen one so barree of imagination. He gives us thoughts and images, not in concres- cence, but in collation; instead of con- taining and expressing the thought, the image, if image it can be called, merely lies alougside the thought, as a kind of analogical illustration. His power is not synthetic, creative, but merely ag- gregative; the elements are not fused, or even welded, but only tied together. He has, indeed, a good degree of subtlety in detecting analogies, and an unheeding VOL. V.NO. II. Continued from p. 61. 9

Festus 123-148

1847.1 Fe3tu8. 123 FESTUS.* OuR author, we have said, has no dra- matic power; he cannot pass out of him- self into other minds, so as to express their thoughts and feelings; but merely practises a sort of ventriloquism; ex- presses his own thoughts and feelings under other names; and if he cannot mould, cannot osganize the elements of character into individual unity, much less can he organize several characters into dramatic unity. But there is a further question, namely, whether and how far he evinces any truly poetic power. Mil- ton, for example, has little dramatic pow- er, and Wordsworth still less; neverthe- less, both are true poets; though always expressing their own thoughts and feel- ings, they express them poetically; that is, they express them in images, not in propositions. Shakspeare, as everybody knows, keeps himself entirely out of his representations; sets objects and charac- ters before us, as nature does, and lets us see them with our own eyes: Milton and Wordsworth transfuse themselves into whatever they represent, so that, to see the objects they set before us, we have to look through their eyes; never- theless, they do give us objects, not mere impressions; their thoughts and feelings are imaged forth, not merely uttered; are organized into sensuous forms, which stand out before the mind objectively and independently, like the living, organic forms of nature. Here is obviously in- volved a process of creation; thought and image are moulded, are created into organic unity. This, then, is to make, to create, as nature creates; and this is what we mean by poetry. One of our authors eulogists says, nature is as rife with symbols to this poet as she is withfacts to a common ob- server. We are at a loss to conceive what this writer means by symbols, when he instances Festus ~ as an example of symbolic writing. The remark, how- ever, involves a very correct idea of po- etry, though a very gross misstatement, in regard to the book. Festus, it seems to us, is in no wise replete with symbols, but with mere analogies, which this writer has probably mistaken for symbols. A symbol,we take it, is an in- carnation of something; that is, a signifi- cant form, involving a consubstantiation of the thing signified with the form signifying, as man is a consubstantiation of soul and body. To the true poet, un- doubtedly, the facts and forms of nature do become symbolic; he incarnates his life in them; informs them with his pas- sion; makes them embody and express his meanings; in a word, he creates the spiritual elements of thought and the ma- terial elements of nature into organic unity, and thus speaks in symbols, instead of propositions. When, for example, Ben Jonson says, Slaughter bestrid the streets and stretched himself To seem more huge ; and when Coleridge says, The scorpion, falsehood, Coils round in its perplexity, and fixes Its sting in its own bead ; here, we see, the thought is incorporated, consubstantiated with the image; and if we undertake to disembedy the thought into a proposition, we shall inevitably lose it. If this be a just account of symbolic writing, we shall find very little of it in Festus. For synibols, he gives us mere similes; uses the facts and forms of nature, not to enibody, but only to il- lustrate his meaning ; nay, he often seems to use the illustration rather for its own sake, than for the sake of the thing illustrated; he has a morbid hunt- ing after analogies, and is perpetually tormenting truth and nature to get them. Accordingly, we have never seen a book so stuffed with figures, and rarely seen one so barree of imagination. He gives us thoughts and images, not in concres- cence, but in collation; instead of con- taining and expressing the thought, the image, if image it can be called, merely lies alougside the thought, as a kind of analogical illustration. His power is not synthetic, creative, but merely ag- gregative; the elements are not fused, or even welded, but only tied together. He has, indeed, a good degree of subtlety in detecting analogies, and an unheeding VOL. V.NO. II. Continued from p. 61. 9 124 Feslus. [Feb., vanity or fondness for using them, which often startles the reader on a first peru- sal, hut is pretty sure to weary him on a second, and disgust him on a third. This is shown in his constant use of the word like, as though he saw a resemblance be- tween the thought and the figure, but could not identify them; so that, instead of having the one in the other, we have the one and the other. Take, for illus- tration, this passage from Wordsworth The most alluring clouds which mount the sky Owe to a troubled element their forms; Their hues, to sunset ; Or this, from Ben Johnson: Morn riseth slowly, as her sullen ear Had all the weights of sleep and death hung at it: She is not rosy-fingered, but swoln black; And her sick head is bound about with clouds As if she threatened night ere noon. Or this, from Shakspeare Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, Cancel, and tear to pieces the great bond Which keeps me pale In these passages, the thought is given in the image, as the soul in the body; the two are perfectly organized together, so that in graspingone we get them both. Now, compare with these the following passages from Festus: And thy love ever hangs about my heart, Like the pure pearl-wreath which enrings thy brow. * * * *. * * * Truth and falsehood meet in seeming, like The leaf and shadow on the pools face. $ 5 * * * * * This same sweet world, Which thou wouldst deem eternal, I shall see Destruction suck back, as the tide a shell. * 5 5 5 * The wild-flowers tendril, proof of fee- bleness, Proves strength; and so we fling eur feel- ings out, The tendrils of the heart to bear us up. It will be seen at once that, in the former passages, the image is used to express, in the latter to illustrate the thought; in those, the two are grown together; in these, they are merely laid together; there we have a coalescence, here a mere analogy, between them. We will sub- join two more passages from Festus, to illustrate our meaning still further. Sometimes the thought (of God) comes swiftening over us, Like a small bird winging the still blue air And then again, at other times, it rises Slow, like a cloud which scales the sky, all breathless, And just over head lets itself down on us. Sometimes we feel the wish across the mind Rush, like a rocket tearing up the sky, That we should join with God, and give the world The slip. The next is from the heros reply to the Muse, whom he encounters on the planet, Venus, where the author is manifestly in the very torrent, tempest, and whirl- wind of his passion, and therefore would naturally be as poetical as he possibly could. Speaking of the great bards of Greece and Romp and his own master- land, the herQ goes on to describe them as men, In whose words, to be read with many a heaving Of the heart, is a power like wind in rain ; Who, like a rainbow clasping the sweet earth, And melting in a covenant of love, Left here a bright precipitate of soul, Which lives forever through the lives of men, Flashing by fits like fire from an enemys front Whose thoughts, like bars of sunbeams in shut rooms, Mid gloom all glory, win the world to light Who make their very follies like their souls, And, like the young moon with a ragged ed ~,e, Still in their imperfection beautiful Whose weaknesses are lovely as their strengths, Like the white nebulous matter between stars, Which, if not light, at least is likest light: Men whom we build our love round like an arch Of triumph, as they pass us on their way To glory and to immortality Men whose great thoughts possess us, like a passion Through every limb and the whole heart; whose words 1847.] Fe8tus. 125 Haunt us, as eagles haunt the mountain all; Thoughts which command all coming times and minds, As from a tower, a wardenfix themselves Deep in the heart, as meteor-stones in earth, Dropped from some higher sphere. Thus the author frequently tumbles out a huge rabblement of thoughts and fig- ures, in such a way, that, while grasping the one, we lose the other; the body be- comes a mere corpse and the soul a mere ghost in our embrace. He often stimu- lates the mind, indeed, but seldom feeds it; is always provoking the desire of something, but withholding the perform- ance; rarely brings the mind anything to lay hold of and rest upon, as an ex- ternal, objective support, but keeps it in a paroxysm of effort to balance and stay itself on its own shadow. In a word, it ~s not things, but his perceptions, that he delights in showing us; and objects seem of no value to him but for the analogies he can find or fancy between them. What we have been saying of particu- lar. passages, holds equally true of the work as a whole. It has no vitality, no organic unity; is at best but a string of beads, the thing that connects being no part of the things connected: nothing grows out of what has gone before, or grows into what comes after; the parts do not vitally cohere at all, do not come along in living continuity, but only in a sort of mechanicaljuxtaposition. Though the work abounds in changes and shift- ings beyond almost any other, it has no real progress; is always gyrating, never advancing: and, so far as we see, it makes little difference whether we begin at one end and read towards the other, or begin in the middle and read towards both ends, or begin at both ends and read towards the middle. The book, in short, is in no sense an organization of ele- ments, but simply an aggregation of frag- ments; of fiagments, too, not drawn to- gether by any mutual affinity, but held together from without ; the parts con- taining within themselves no reason why they are there, and not elsewhere, or why they are so, and not otherwise; but bun- dled up without order, or method, or con- sistency, and differing from a work of art, as a chaos differs from a world. Though after reading it we have a vague recollection of many things, we have no impression of the work as a whole. It has no more unity of interest or of effect, than of time and place; the only unity it can boast is in the paper and binding. We cannot make the parts stand together in our thoughts, cannot make them blend into one result. As the work is but a succession of disjointed members, with- out any living power to harmonize and unite them, so, of course, it seems to the retrospect unusually crowded with mat- ter, as things scattered seem more nu- merous than composed ; we remember many parts, because there is nothing but parts, no whole, to be remembered. A genuine work of art might contain much more matter, and yet seem, in the recol- lection, to contain less, because we should think of it as one and entire; forget all the parts, and retain the whole. And the parts are often no better in themselves than in their relations to oth- ers. As the whole is but a collection of incoherent passages, so particular pas- sages are often but collections of incohe- rent thoughts. When he would, apparent- ly, make us believe him absorbed in some single passion or purpose,a condition which would be apt to bring all his move- ments into sympathy and unanimity, he cannot, or will not, keep true to our state of mind through the same speech, or even the same sentence. There is a he- terogeneousness in consecutive thoughts a mutual repulsion between themso that they will not lie together in the mind; lest the effect should not be start- ling and original enough, he heaps toge- ther incongruities. We will give a few specimens, though the book is so full of theni that we hardly know what ones to select. The first is from the hero: Oh! I was glad when something in me said, Come, let us worship beauty! and I bowed, And went about to find a shrine, but found None that my soul, when seeing, said enough to. Many I met with where I put up prayers, And had them more than answered; and at such I worshipped, partly because others did, Partly because I could not help myself; But none of these were for me, and away I went, champing and choking in proud pain; In a burning wrath that not a sea could slake. Truly, there is no composition in these statements. If he wanted to worship beauty so much, and found plenty of shrines where his prayers were more 126 Festur. [Feb.7 than answered, and where he could nev- er worship enough, why did he conclude none of them were for him; why wor- ship so reluctantly, and finally tear him- self away, brimful of wrath and ven- geance? In another place, the hero be- gins one of his most brilliant speeches by saying: Merit or demerit none I see In nature, human as material; In passions or affections, good or bad. A little further on, however, he declares: Why, Conscience is The basest thing of all; its life is passed In justifying and condemning sin; Accomplice, traitor, judge and headsman, too. And shortly afterwards, he breaks out: Oh! everything To me seems good, and lovely, and im- mortal; The whole is beautiful; and I can see Nought wrong in man or nature. Here we learn, that, though there be good and bad passions and affections, yet there is no merit or demerit in them; that, though all things are morally indif- ferent, conscience is the worst thing of all; that, though there be no such thing as right or wrong, everything is good and beautiful; and that, though conscience is the worst of all things, yet there is no- thing wrong in man or nature. The next specimen is from the same person, describing to one of his lady-loves the be- ings and objects he has encountered on some of his excursions with Lucifer: There is no keeping back the power we have; He bath no power, who bath not power to use. Some of these bodies whom I speak of are Pure spirits; others, hodies soulical, For spirit is to soul as wind to air. We confess ourselves unable to inter- pret this passage; as nearly, however, as we can judge, the logic of it is this: He hath no power, who cannot use it; therefore, he who bath power, cannot help using it. But perhaps the meaning is: He who bath power, cannot keep from using it; therefore he who can keep from using his power, bath none. So much for the logic of this profound remark; its truth, we presume, can be made apparent in this way: If we have power to walk, then we cannot help walking; or, if we can help walking, then we have no pow- er to walk. The logic of the second re- mark we take to be this: spirit is to soul as wind to air; therefore, some of these bodies are pure spirits, others soulical bodies. Such, we say, appears to be its logic; its meaning, we presume, will b& obvious enough to every one at a glance. Now, what shall be said of an author that produces, or of a public that praises,. such stuff as the above, under the name of poetry? But does any one say there is much in the book that has no merit but its truth, and no excuse but nature ? Then we answer, these things are utterly false and unnatural; they are not true to anything whatever, unless to the authors divine insanity of dreams : and even if they were ever so natural, it is not tho business of art to dish us up the offal and dregs of nature. Nothing but a diseased craving for the notoriety of fools or mad- men; nothing but a restless desire to at- tract attention by provoking ridicule and contempt, could ever induce men or boys to talk like the dramatis personn of this book: and we do not see how any on~ could give such a representation of them, unless he had forsaken truth and nature, or been forsaken by them; that is, un- less he had become a liar or a lunatic. The book is, if possible, still more re- plete with rhetorical than with logical incongruities. His exquisite perception of analogies often leads him to see them where there are none to be seen. Thus, Lucifer, speaking in heaven, says: What is the dark abyss of fire, and what The ravenous heights of air oer which I reign, In agony of glory, to these seats ? What does he mean by ravenous heights of air? We cannot make the words hang together into an image at all. Does he~ mean that the heights of air are greedy, or that they are black ?that they have the stomach or the plumage of the raven? Again, in the same speech, addressing the Almighty, he says: Father of spirits, as the sun of air We cannot perceive any resemblance be- tween the relation of the sun to air, and that of God to his creatures. In another place, Festus, after relating several things that have happened to him, goes on: 1847.] FCSZ US. 127 At last came love, not whence I sought nor thought it, As on a ruined and bewildered wight Rises the roof he meant to have lost for- ever: Now, is not that a queer explanation of the coming of love? That love often steals upon us when and where we nei- ther expect nor desire it, we know very well from experience; and we can easily understand how a bewildered man might stray under the roof he meant to shun; but we cannot conceive how on a be- wildered wight rises the roof he meant to have lost. Again, the hero, speaking of himself and his lady-love, says: And we Grew like each other, for we loved each other; She, mild and generous as the sun in spring, And I, like earth, all budding out with love. So then, it seems she grew like the sun in spring, and he like the earth in spring, and yet they grew like each other. What a difference there must have been be- tween them! In the description of the evil spirit of the universe impersonate, it is said: Perdition and destruction dwelt in him, Like to a pair of eagles in one nest. Why, this is like setting a grand object before us, and then throwing a mote into the eye to aid our vision of it. The de- scription goes on: Hollow and wasteful as a whirlwind was His soul; his heart as earthquake, and en- gulphed World upon world. How was his heart like an earthquake, if it swallowed world upon world? Festus somewhere expresses his dread of old age thus: I hate the thought of wrinkling up to rest; The toothlike aching ruin of the body, With the heart all out, and nothing left but edge. Is toothlike aching ruin but another ex- pression for wrinkling up to rest? Or, are they two distinct things, which meet together in old age? What can he mean by saying that when a mans heart is all out, there is nothing left but edge? Is a man made up altogether of heart and edge ? But perhaps edge is some one of the intestines which we are not acquaint- ed with. Elsewhere, the hero assigns, as his reasons for cafling upon God, That the feeling of the boundless bounds All feeling, as the welkin doth the world. This we cannot understand enough to criticise it. It seems to us, like many other parts of the book, to contain a great deal of expression where, nothing is ex- pressed. We will add a few more speci- mens, without attempting to analyze them. The first is from a lady, calling attention to his piano: Hush its tones; They melt the soul within one, like a sword, .~1lbeit sheathed by lightning. In the next, the voice of one singing is described as A soft rich tone, a rainbow of sweet sounds, Just spanning the soothed sense. Is not this somewhat like setting Niaga- ra to music, and playing it on a fiddle? Here is a description of patience under grief: She never murmured at the doom which made The sorrow that contained her, as the air Infolds the orb whereon we dwell. The following is from the heros account of the author, or rather, the authors ac- count of himself: All things talked thoughts into him. The sea went mad, And the wind whined, as twere in pain, to show Each one his meaning; and the awful sun Thundered his thoughts into him; and at night The stars would whisper theirs, the moon sigh hers. This is the first time we recollect to have heard of the sun, moon, and stars address- ing, or seeming to address, themselves to the ear. But especially, as the sun does not ordinarily appear at all in a thunder- shower, we do not see how he could ap- pear to do the thundering. The author frequently runs an idea through several successive figures, until the readers thoughts, dandled about from figure to figure, lose both the idea and themselves in a sort of poetical bag: 128 Festus. [Fe b., This is a snakelike world, And always hath its tail within its mouth, As if it ate itself, and moraled time; The world is like a childrens merry-go- round; What men admire, is carriages and hob- bies. Here is another: Thus saith the hard to his work: lam Thy god, and bid thee live, as my God me: I live or die with thee, soul of my soul! Thou earnest and wentst, sunlike. from morn to eve; And smiledst fire upon my heaving heart, Like the sun in the sea, till it arose And dashed about its house, all night and mirth, Like Oceans tongue in Staffas stormy cave. Thou art a weakly reed to leon upon; But, like that reed the false one filched from heaven, Full of immortal fire. Lest there should not be enough, we will add one more, still finer: The hards aim is to give us thoughts his art Lieth in giving them as bright as may be. And even when their looks are earthy, still, If opened, like geodes, they may be found Full of all sparkling, sparry loveliness. They should be wrought, not cast; like tempered steel, Burned and cooled, burned again, and cooled again. A thought is like a ray of lightcomplex In nature, simple only in effect; Words are the motes of thought, and no- thing more Words are like sea-shells on the shore; they show Where the mind ends, not how far it has been. Let every thought, too, soldier-like, be stripped, And roughly looked over. The dress of words, Like to the Roman girls enticing garb, Should let the play of limb be seen through it, And the round rising form. A mist of words, Like halos round the moon, though they enlarge The seeming size of thoughts, make the light less. This rather beats the passage in the play: Hamlet. Do you see yonder cloud, thats almost in shape of a camel? Polonius. By the mass, and tis like a camel, indeed. hamlet. Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius. It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet. Or, like a whale? Polonius. Very like a whale. In this way the author frequently goes on comparing, and comparing, and com- paring a thing, until there is nothing but comparisons to be seen. Reading such stuff is like looking into a broken mirror, which so breaks, and scatters, and mul- tiplies the image, that the eye gets be- wildered, and takes no impression at all; one piece of the mirror, by itself, might he good for something, but all of them together are worse than none. In the examples we have given, the author seems to have thrown in figure after figure, not because they suited his pur- pose, but because he had them in his mind, and wanted to dispose of them. Often his thoughts and illustrations dark- en and perplex each other, because his mind gets so captivated by some slight analogy between them, as to lose sight of the many differences, in which another mind can hardly help losing the analogy. It is this thing, among others, that makes the book so difficult to read. Though one of the shallowest books we have ever seen, it is one of the hardest to under- stand. We cannot follow the meaning, superficial as it is, because the author keeps diverting us from it; throws in so many inaptitudes and impertinences, that, before we reach the end of a thing, we have totally forgot the beginning. The imagery is in no wise taken up, and assimi- lated and incorporated with the idea, but glued, or nailed, or plastered on ; and thus overlays and hides what it should have been made to express. Perhaps we shall not have a better place than this to point out certain pas- sages in the book which we are utterly at loss how to class, or how to character- ize. The first is from the heros speech at the centre of the earth, expressing his desire to return to the surface: Thee, agy world, thee, universal heaven, And heavenly universe! thee, sacred seat Of intellective Time, the throned stars, And old oracular Night, by night as day To me thou caust not but be beautiful! Whether the sun all-light thee, or the moon, 1847.] Festus. 129 Embayed in clouds, mid starry islands round, With mighty beauty inundate the air ; Or when one star, like a great drop of light, From her full,fiaming urn hangs trenzu- bus, Yea, like a tear from her the eye of night, Let Jail oer natures volume as she reads ; Or when, in radiant thousands, each star reigns In imparticipable royalty, Leaderless, uncontrasted with the light Wherein their light is lost, the sons of fire, Arch element of heavens; when storm and cloud Debar the mortal vision of the eye From wandering oer thy thresholdmore and more I love thee, thinking on the splendid calm Which bounds the deadly fever of these days. The next is from the same person, allud- ing, obviously, to his early doings in the way of poetry Oh! to create within the mind is bliss; And, shaping forth the lofty thought, or lovely, We seek not, need not heaven: and when the thought, Cloudy and shapeless, first forms on the ?nind, Slow darkening into some gigantic make, How the heart shakes with pride and fear, as heaven Qua es under its own thunder ;1 or as might, Of old, the mortal mother of a god, ~Vhen first she saw him lessening up the skies. And I began the toil divine of verse, Which, like a burning bush, doth guest a god. One more passage, we presume, will suf- fice. It is from the Muse, giving Festus an account of a sunbeam she seems to have spent a day with: And but this morn, with the first wink of light, A sunbeam left the sun, and, as it sped, I followed, watched, and listened what it said. Here follows the sunbeams speech,which we omit on account of its length. Well, the Muse kept eaves-dropping about the sunbeam, until it came where a boyish bard sate suing night and stars for his reward, when, lo The sunbeam swerved and grew, a breath- ing, dim, For the first time, as it lit and looked on him; His forehead fadedpale his lip, and dry Hollow his cheek, and fever fed his eye. Clouds lay about his brain, as on a hill, Quick with the thunder thought and light- ning will. His clenched hand shook from its more than midnight clasp. Till his pen fluttered like a winged asp, Save that no deadly poison blacked its lips: Twas his to life enlighten, not eclipse. The young moon laid her down as one who dies, Knowing that death can he no sacrifice, For that the sun, her god, through natures night, Shall make her bosom to grow great with light. Still he sate, though his lamp sunk, and he strained His eyes to work the nightness which re- mained. Vain pain! he could not make the light he wanted, And soon thoughts wizard ring gets dis- enchanted. When earth was dayed, was marrowed, the first ray Perched on his pen and diamonded its way ; The sunray that I watched; which, proud to mark The line it loved as deathless, there died dark Died in the only path it would have trod, Were there as many ways as worlds to God; There in the eye of God again to burn, As all mens glory into Gods must turn. Now, will any one have the goodness to tell us what all this means? The lines have under meanings ? But have they any upper meanings? On the whole, we reckon there is no meaning in them; that the whole thing is mere nonsense or mere glory, done up in a wrappage of transcendental mud. One article of our authors creed is, believe thou art in- spired, and thou art ; and surely nothing but the most invincible faith in his own inspiration could ever have induced him to perpetrate such passages as the above. Being, and believing himself to be, in- spired, he was of course bound to utter whatever came into his mind, or into the place where his mind ought to be, pre- suming it to be very true and very deep, even though he could not himself under- stand it. Well, we are rather inclined 130 Feslus. [Feb,, to think he was inspired, but with such a conceit, and affectation, and lust of ori- ginality, that he spontaneously rejected truth and sense, and took to falsehood and nonsense, as offering him a wider field, and less competition. But our author is armed at all points; and we know very well that whatever censure we may aim at him on this score must inevitably rebound upon ourselves. Hear him: All rests with those who read. A work or thought Is what each makes it to himself, and may Be full of great dark meanings, like the sea With shoals of life rushing; or like the air, Benighted with the wing of the wild dove, Sweeping miles broad oer the far western woods, With mighty glimpsesof the central light Or may be nothingbodiless, spiritless. According to this principle, unintelligible jargon is just as good as anythingnay, better, because it sets no limit or re- straintto the readers perceptions. XVhere there is nothing to be seen, of course one is at liberty to see whatever one chooses. There is this great advantage in total darkness, that one finds in it nothing but what he brings to it ; and such is the plan upon which much of this book seems to have been written. Other au- thors seem to have thought that the mind was to feed, not on itself, but on some- thing out of itself; that it was to grow and thrive by assimilation, not by intro- spection; and that it was to rise by lay- ing hold of something without and above itselfnot by pulling away at its own ears. They therefore regarded truth, beauty, nature, as something objective and external to the mind; something that the mind was to go out after, and submit to, and learn from. Accordingly they aimed at giving the reader some- thing to grasp and understand; objects to see, and light to see them by; in a word, to teach him, and feed him, as they had been taught and fedinstead of sur- rounding him with darkness and vacuity, where all things should be just what he made them to himself; and where his mind might snuff back its own exhala- tion s, and project, and realize, and enjoy its own figments, and fancies, and dreams, and passions, with no objects to check its freedom, or tame its self-will, or humble its pride, or rebuke its vanity. Of course, therefore, their writings are not full of great dark meanings, as of nothing, according to the state of mind the reader happens to be in; the very objects they bring before him cut off his vision of transcendental infinitudes; and they do not give him the satisfaction of feeling that he finds nothing in them but what he brings to them. But men are liable to err; that is, unless they be inspired, at least with confidence in their own inspiration. But our author has other ways to attract attention besides wading in the mud, and one of the chief iswalking on stilts. We have never seen a book so filled with all sorts of extravagances and exag- gerations. He does not merely step, but strides from the sublime into the ridicu- lous; rushes over the line in a perfect gallop. From his representations, one would think he considered works of na- ture, like works of art, to be just what each one made them to himself. As he finds nothing in natural objects but what he brings to them, so, of course, he finds the same things in them all; that is, sees the same great dark meanings every- where. This extreme subjectiveness, this perpetual substituting of his own feelings, and fancies, and sensations, and conceptions, for external objects, is incom- patible with everything in the shape of truth and nature. To say that a man perceives the same things everywhere, is, to say he has no perceptions what- ever; at least, no true ones. He who sees all things to be of the same shape, and size, and color, and quality, of course sees nothing as it is. This is not seeing things, but only dreaming themmaking a world for ourselves, instead of accept- ing the one God has made for us; and things dreamed, of course are of no con- sequence, save to him who dreams them, nor even to him, save while he is dream- ing them; and he who goes about dream- ing awake, and substituting his dreams for things, is what we call a lunatic, not a poet. To he sure, we ought not, and we mean not, to blame the lunatic for uttering his lunacy; but we do mean to blame sane people (if, indeed, they be sane) for calling his utterings poetry. We digress. To return to the work before us. There is n6 calmness, no repose, no equanimity about it. Scorning the modes- ties of nature, the author is perpetually working himself into a spasm, a very paroxysm of poetry. Free, natural, spon 1847.] Fesius. 131 taneous movements are not original and surprising enough; so he goes into con- vulsions, and writhings, and distortions, and feats of ground and lofty tumbling. To outsing all others, he strains his voice into a monotonous squall; lest his work should not throw all others into the shade, he colors everything till it glares; that he may overtop all competition, he runs everything up as high as he possihly can, and so of course runs them all up into a dead level. Thus his work is chiefly made up of the pinnacles of things; taking its start where nature leaves off, and ending in a wearisome flat of superlatives. Diamonds, double- refined stars, and unfadino~ rainhows, heavenly harmonies, and paradisaical fra- grances, agonies, ecstacies, suns risen on midday, darkness organized, seventh heavens, and central hells, creatures girded with lightning and shod with sun- beams, eyes revolving lightning, and words revolving death and fire ;these, and such like rarities, form the staple of the hook. We will suhjoin a few exam- ples in this kind. Here is the heros account of a scene between himself and one of his lady-loves: I came and knelt beside her. The electric touch solved both our souls together. Then comes the feeling which unmakes, undoes, Which tears the sea-like soul up by the roots, And lashes it in scorn against the skies. Twice did I madly swear to God, hand clenched, That not even He nor death should tear her from me. Then first we wept; then closed and clung to,,ether; And my heart shook this building breast, - of my Like a live engine booming up and down. She fell upon me like a snow-wreath thawing; Never were bliss and beauty, love and woe, ilaveled and twined together into madness, As in that one wild hour. In the next, the same person is describing his feelings towards another of his fair friends, speaking of himself in the third person singular. She did but look upon him, and his blood Blushed deeper,even from his inmost heart; For at each glance of those sweet eyes a soul Looked forth as from the azure gates of heaven; She laid her finger on him, and he felt, As might a formless mass of marble feel While feature after feature of a god Were being wrought from out of it. She spake, and his love-wildered and idolatrous soul Clung to the airy music of her words, Like a bird on a bough, high-swaying with the wind. He looked upon her beauty, and forgot, As in a sense of dreaming, all things else; And right and wrong seemed one, seemed nothing; She was beauty, and that beauty every- thing. He looked upon her as the sun on earth, Until, like him, he gazed himself away From heaven, so doing; till he wept, Wept on her bosom, as a storm-charged cloud Weeps itself out upon a hill. Here is something from the hero about himself: God bath endowed me with a soul that scorns life An element over and above the worlds: But the price one pays for peril is moun- tains high. There is a sense beyond the rock of death A woe wherein God bath put out his strength A pain past all the mad wretchedness we feel, When the sacred secret hath flown out of us, And the heart broken open by deep care The curse of a high famishing spirit, Because all earth but sickens it. Here is something more about himself: Enough shall not fool me. I fling the foil Away. Let me hut look on aught which casts The shadow of a pleasure, and here I bare A heart which would embrace a bride of fire. Pleasure, we part not. No. It were easier To wring Gods lightning from the grasp of God. What are years to me? Traitors! that vice-like fang the hand ye lick Ye fall like small birds beaten by a storm Against a dead wall, dead. I pity ye. Oh! that such mean things should raise hope or fear; Those Titans of the heart, that fight at Heaven And sleep by fits on fire; whose slightest stir s An earthquake. Here is something rather grand about his own poetry: 132 Fe8lus. [Feb., His words Felt like the things that fall in thunders, which The mind, when in a dark, hot, cloudful state, Doth make metallic, meteoric, ball-like. He spake to spirits with a spirits tongue, Who came compelled by wizard word of truth, And ranged them round him from the ends of heaven. And here is something about old age: Yet some will last to die out thought by thought, And power by power, and limb of mind by limb, Like lamps upon a gay device of glass, Till all of soul thats left by day and dark; Till even the burden of some ninety years Hath crashed into them like a rock; shat- tered Their system, as if ninety suns had rushed To ruin earth,or heaven had rained its stars. We could fill pages with just such passages, but we presume these are enough. Even if he begins with a good thought, well expressed, he is pretty sure to run itinto the groundbefore he gets through. Here is an instance: Who can mistake great thoughts? They seize upon the mind, arrest and search, And shake it bow the tall soul as by wind Rush over it, like rivers over reeds, Which quiver in the currentturn us cold, And pale, and voiceless, leaving in the brain A rocking and a rio ingglor ious, But momentarymadness, might it last, And close the soul with heaven as with a seal. Assuredly nothing is less poetical than this lost of exaggerationthis fanati- cism of effect. There is no poetry in it, because there is no truth. It is utterly false; false to nature and to the human mind; false to all that is within, and all that is around us. It results, at best, in meie tumidities, which may, indeed, look very plump and solid at first, but which, under a little scarifying, at once collapse into the merest platitudes. The truth is, there are real differences in things; dif- ferences of color, of size, and of quality; to make them all of the same color, is to discolor them all; to represent them all alike, is to misrepresent them all; and a universe of superlatives is but a uni- verse of nothings. Besides, by always attempting thus to force a grand effect, our author, as might be expected, strikes so hard and so often as to stun the very sensibilities on which the effect depends. Our minds are susceptible in proportion as they are delicate; and in proportion as they are delicate, are they disabled for going by all attempts to force them along, Accordingly, true poetry is modest and reserved; implies more than is expressed; means more than meets the ear ; espe- cially avoids making what is inexpressi- ble ridiculous, by attempting to express it: and, by shunning all extremes; by keeping hack much that is thought and felt; by shadings, softenings, and con- cealings, so that part is seen, imagined part ; in a word, by observing the harmo- nies and proportions of things, it sends our thoughts beyond itself to that nature of which it is the offspring and the repre- sentative. Nature seems to work very much on the principle of offering as little as possible to the eye, and leaving as much as possible to the thoughts. Ac- cordingly, in most of her productions, and in all of her best productions, there is a manifest inclination to roundness, as though she knew this to be the form which unites most matters with least show. Where this modesty of nature is violated, and everything exposed to the eye.flattened out, so to speak, into visi- bilityof course there is nothing left for the mind and the feelings to do. Probably no poet has been praised so much by the judicious as Shakspeare; and all, who have praised him under- standingly, have praised him, because he was true to nature and to lifetrue to facts and things as they appear to the common sense and feeling of mankind. Doubtless much of his excellence as a poet was due to his singular purity of heart; his freedom from everything like vanity and selfishness; his willingness to make his character everything, himself nothing; to keep behind his subject, in- stead of getting upon it. Had he been less humble and receptive, he would have been less productive; had he turned his thoughts inward upon themselves, rather than outward upon nature, and preferred his own consciousness of truth and right to all external embodiments of them, his works would, no doubt, have seemed as important to himself as they do to us, and as insignificant to us as they did to himself. On the other hand, 1847.] Festus. 133 many of our authors literary vices pro- bably spring from the bad moral state of his mind. He has, we should say, got up so high in his self-esteem, as to be- come vertiginous; and his vertigo of course prevents all just visions of the objects around him. His mind seems to have fed on itself, on its own feelings, and fancies, and conceptions, until it has become inflated into a want of docility and deference; a contempt for all rule, and precedent, and example, and author- ity. Claiming to oversee everything, to be above it, or on an equality with it, he of course has no reverence, nothing to shame his personal peculiarities into the back-ground of his works; and he sinks into littleness, because he finds no objects to awe down his passions, while they call up his powers. We know not whether this be more the authors fault or his mis- fortune. It is the fault of the age; and we intend these remarks not so much for him as for the class he represents; the radicals and ultraists of the time; men who seem to regard everything as folly but their own inventions; who, though they have the law before them, sanctioned by much time and interpreted by long experience, prefer to be, or to make, a law unto themselves; and who seem bent on substituting their own theories, which are of no consequence to us, for facts, which are of no consequence to them. XVe know not how to account for our authors constant, unparalleled extrava- gances, except by supposing his vanity so intense, that, the moment he has drawn attention to a thing, he cannot choose but step between, and enjoy the gaze. He seems unwilling to see or show anything as it, or as others see and show it. He cannot endure to share the credit of his work with nature. He must have a truth altogether his own, else he will none of it; lest, as in Shak- speare, we should forget the giver in the gift. So inordinate is his passion for originality, that he will even embrace absurdity and falsehood to compass it. He therefore suffers no object in nature to pass him, until he has discolored and disfigured it with the marks of his own ingenuity; cannot bear to part with the gift until he has spoilt it by writing it all over with the givers name. We must say a few words in regard to our authors versification, if, indeed, he can be said to have any versification. Poetry is justly regarded as the most comprehensive and catholic form of com position. It combines the greatest num- ber of elements, and therefore addresses the greatest number of susceptibilities; and what addresses the greatest number of susceptibilities in the individual mind, of course addresses the greatest number of minds. In this respect poetry approaches, more nearly than any other species of writing, to nature, none of whose works are addressed to the reason alone, or the feelings alone, or the senses alone, hut to them all alike, and at once. She everywhere speaks to us in a synthesis and concrescence of many elements, and therefore speaks to all our faculties of sense, and thought, and feeling, at the same time. It seems, indeed, to be a general law of things, that all truth, all life shall come to us in forms and com- binations addressed equally and simul- taneously to all the elements of our being. Hence Christianity entered into nature, so to speak, clothed itself in natural forms, in order to reveal itself to us; nay, perhaps it had to be thus embo- died in order to reach us; and of course it had to reach us in order to raise us; had to become like us in order to assimi- late us to itself. It thus comes to us in the most complex, catholic expression an expression as comprehensive as hu- manity itself, and covering all the sensu- ous, intellectual, social, moral, and reli- gious susceptibilities of our nature. In like manner, poetry, as the word itself implies, is a synthesis and concrescence of many elements; and among these elements, not the least important is that of verbal harmony. Thought, image, feeling and music enter alike into the structure and substance of poetry; and if either element be in excess or defi ciency, the work is proportionably imper- fect. Thus the whole structure is homogeneous, accordant, consentaneous; and the head, the heart, the eye, the ear, all our susceptibilities of sensuous and spiritual communication, are moved and satisfied together; and perhaps none of them will move to much purpose, save in a concert of them all. Accordingly, Milton speaks of a poetical frame of mind, as thoughts which voluntary move harmonious numbers ; that is, a state of mind in which the thoughts spontaneously flow into numerous verse, as the only audible expression of that rhythmical tendency which seems to pervade and govern all the higher movements of our nature. Thus the true poet is at once a painter and a musi 134 Festus. [Feb., cian; expressing thought and feeling both pictorially and musically at the same time; blending, creating the ele- ments and functions of light and sound, of imagery and melody, of vision and hearing, into one movement and one result. In poetry, however, imagery and melody bear much the same relation to thought and feeling, as body does to soul; the former, though essential to the true, full expression of the latter, are subor- dinate to the latter. Thought and feel- ing, to he effectively expressed, have to be embodied to the senses; and imagery and melody are their fittest embodiment. But the test of a good hody is, that there be neither so much nor so little of it as to attract particular attention; that there he enough of it to hold, and yet not so much as to hide, the spirit which it en- shrines; that, in a word, the soul be neither lost out of it, nor buried up in it. In like manner, the test of good expres- sion in poetry is, that there be neither so much nor so little as to divert the mind from what is expressed; that there he enough of it to keep the thought for us, and yet not so much as to keep the thought from us. Something too much of this. Popes verse has been justly censured for its creamy smoothness, its monoto- nous regularity. Though perfectly load- ed down with thought, and not particu- larly deficient in imagery, it has an excess of sweetness which operates to the readers annoyance. We cannot call the versification harmonious, for the melody is pushed into disproportions, and therefore into disharmony with the other elements, so as to hinder rather than help a just appreciation of them. It is as if one part in a musical concert should be played so loud as to droxvn rather than complete the harmony of the other parts, and thus prevent that abandonment of mind to the whole, which forms its ap- propriate effect. Still worse, however, is it with a species of so-called poetry the work of certain melodists or musical grammarianswhich it is now very much the fashion to admire and rehearse, especially among those who have got so spiritual as to see all paradise in mere vibrations of air ;poetry in which the true order of the poetic elements is re- versedthought made subordinate to music, instead of music to thought sense the vehicle of sound, instead of sound the vehicle of senseand which, being designed altogether for the ear, has little imagery and less thought, and con- sists merely of articulate wind, ingenious- ly done into verse. However, it is very popular, especially with the female and juvenile public; so, Heaven defend that we should speak disrespectfully of it. We will only add, that, being hut lip- deep in its origin, it is of course hut ear- deep in its effects; so that all it can do is, to tickle the hearing awhile, and then die. Such is not the fault with our author; no one can charge him with excess of melody. His versification is monoto- nously irregularit is as ragged and jagged as a cross-cut saw. With all other great poets, harmony has been the rule and discord the exception; with him, this order seems reversed: as others indulge in discords to keep their harmony from tiring, so he seems to indulge in harmonies to keep his discord from tiring. He had resolved, we should think, that his manner should be as original as his matter; and knew not how to carry out his resolution, save by choosing what everybody else had re- jected. We trust he will he safe from the annoyances of imitation. His style has neither the rhythm of verse nor of prose; nay, it has not the rhythm of any- thing, unless of chaos or bedlam. We should suppose he had cultivated his musical ear in filing and rasping cast- iron plates. We had not imagined that such a crude, awkward, bungling, un- couth, grotesque piece of versification could he wrought out of the English lan- guage. How his Pegasus could have traveled such a long, rough, rugged jour- ney, without jarring its teeth all out, is beyond our comprehension. He even seems to affect what is ugly and offensive in language; goes out of his way to get it; sacrifices grammar and perspicuity to compass it; as though he were under a fascination of deformity, and supposed that ugliness, if pushed far enough, would become beautiful and attractive. But, seriously, his versification is alto- gether the worst we have ever seen ; it is madness, without any method; imper- tinency, without any reason mixed with it. His irregularities are so far from relieving the otherwise monotonous movement, that, as we said hefore, they form a monotony by themselves: dis- cords are the most prominent element in the work; are constantly grating on the readers ear, distracting his attention, diverting his thoughts. The mind is neither allowed to trot, nor amble, nor pace, nor gallop; all movements are 1847.] Fe.,tus. 135 jumbled in together; and no sooner does the mind get started in any one of them, than it is jerked off into another. The verse is thus a perpetual tantalization of the ear, a constant succession of expec- tations and disappointments; no sooner does the ear set itself to enjoy music, than the music is snatched away from it; no sooner does the ear set itself to do without music, than the music is thrust upon it. Thus continually plucked on and off, with too much music to let it sleep, and not enough to keep it awake, the ear is held in just that state which is most vexatious and distressing. Such a versification would have been fatal to the best of thinkers ; Shakspeare would have sunk beneath it, Milton could never have stood up under it: in short, there never was an author whose matter was good enough to redeem such a style; nor, we may add, was there ever an author whose style was good enough to redeem such matter. Judging merely from the specimens we have given, our readers may be sur- prised to hear that there is some genuine poetry in the book. It seems hardly cre- dible that any one, capable of true poetry, should ever indulge in such absurd stuff as we have been quoting.. But as no man is wise at all hours, so, perhaps, few men are foolish at all hours. The truth is, no book can be accurately judged from mere specimens; for the viewing of a thing by poets of course brings us at once into the regions of inequalities. Without attempting to ex- plain how such different waters could flow from the same spring, we will sim- ply assure the reader, that there are good passages in the book; several that would do honor to a second or third-rate poet, and some even that might not disgrace a first-rate poet. We will produce a few of the passages which strike us as most wor- thy of honorable mention. The first is from the heros reflections at midnight: All things are calm, and fair, and passive. Earth Looks as if lulled upon an angels lap Into a hreathless, dewy sleep; so still, That we can only say of things, they be. The lakelet now, no longer vexed with gusts, Replaces in her breast the pictured moon, Pearled round with stars; sweet imaged scene of time To come, perchance, when, this vain life o erspent, Earth may some purer beings presence bear; Mayhap even God may walk among His saints, In eminence and brightness like yon moon, Mildly outbeaming all the heads of light Strung oer nivhts proud, dark brow. How strangely fair Yon round, still star, which looks half suffering from, ./lnd ha 11 rejoicing in, its own strongfire, .Miaking itself a lonelihood of light. How can the beauty of material things So win upon the heart and work upon the mind, Unless like-natured with them ? Are great things And thoughts of the same blood ~ The next is from the heros account of his interview with the Angel of Earth, of whom he says, The shadow of a cloud upon a lake, Oer which the wind hath all day held his breath, Is not more calm and fair than her dear face. Twas on a lovely summer afternoon, Close by the grassy maze of a deep tarn, Nigh half. way up a mountain, that we stood, I and the angel, when she told me this. Above us rose the gray rocks; by our side Forests of pines, and the bright breaking wavelets Came crowding, dancing to the brink, like thoughts Unto our lips. Before us shone the sun. The angel waved her hand ere she begun, ~1s bidding earth be still. The birds ceased singing, The trees from breathing, and the lake smoothed down Each shining wrinkle, and the wind drew off. Time leant him oer his scythe, and, listenin went The circling world reined in her lightning pace A moment; Ocean hushed his snow-maned steeds, .qnd a cloud hid the sun, as does the hand .~1 medit ative face. Here is another passage of the descrip- tive kind from Lucifer, which strikes us as very clever: Layer on layer God made earth, fashioned it, and hard- ened it Into the great, bright, useful thing it is. Its seas life-crowded, and soul-hallowed lands He girded with the girdle of the sun; Veined it with gold and dusted it with gems, Lined it with fire, and round its heart.fire bowed 136 Fesius. [Feb., Rock-ribs unbreakable; until at last Earth took her shining station as a star, In heavens dark hail, high up the crowd of worlds. And here is one still better, from the Parson I now, an early riser, love to hail The dreamy struggles of the stars with light, And the recovering breath of earth, sleep- drowned, Awakening to the wisdom of the sun, And life of light within the tent of hea- ven ; To kiss the feet of morning as she walks In dewy light along the hills, while they Unveil to her their loveliness. Besides occasional passages like these, the book contains a goodly number of detached thoughts and images, not un- worthy to be remembered, and some of which, if properly read, will be apt to make themselves remembered. We will add such of these as most readily occur to us. When we have truth, she is so cold And proud we know not what to do with her; We cannot understand her, cannot touch; She makes us love her, but she loves not us, And quits us as she came, and looks not back: Wherefore we fly to fictions warm em- brace, With her relax and bask ourselves at ease And in her loving and unhindering lap Voluptuously lulled, we dream at most On truth. I loved her for she was beautiful; And that she seemed to be all nature And all varieties of things in one: Would sit at night in clouds of tears, and rise All light and laughter in the morning; yea, And that she never schooled within her breast One thought or feeling, but gave holiday To all. Millions never think a noble thought; But, with brute hate of brightness, bay a mind Which drives the darkness out of them, like hounds; Throw but a false glare round them, and in shoals They rush upon perdition. To learn How to detect, distrust, despise mankind; To ken a false, factitious glare mid much That shines with seeming saint-like purity; To gloss misdeeds; to trifle with great truths; To pit the brain against the heart, and plead Wit before wisdom ;these are the worlds ways: It teaches us to lose in crowds what we Must after seek aloneour innocence.~~ What ist to die? I cannot hold the meaning more than can An oaks arms clasp the blast that blows on it. We live in deeds, not years, in thoughts, not breaths, In feelings, not in figures on a dial. Grciat thoughts are still as stars; and truths, like suns, Stir not though many systems tend round them. I have studied my own life, And know tis like to a tear-blistered letter, Which holdeth fruit and proof of deeper feeling Than the poor pen can utter, or the eye discover. The poets pen s the true divining rod Which trembles towards the inner founts of feeling, Bringing to light and use, else hid from all, The many sweet, clear sources which we have Of good and beauty in our own deep bosoms. We live not to ourselves; our work is life In bright and ceaseless labor as a star Which shineth unto all worlds but itself. There s a something in The shape of harps, as though they had been made By music. There are several songs in the book, some of which, though marred by the authors usual extravagance, are very touching and beautiful. We have room to extract but one Oh! if we eer have loved, lady, We must forego it now: Though sore the heart be moved, lady, Wlien bound to break its vow. Ill alway think on thee, And thou sometimeson whom, lady? And yet those thoughts must be Like flowers flung on the tomb, lady. Then think that I am blest, lady, Though aye for thee I sigh; In peace and beauty rest, lady, Nor mourn and mourn as I. 1847.] Feslus. 137 From one we love to part, lady, Is harder than to die; I see it by thy heart, lady, I feel it by thine eye. Thy lightest look can toll Thy heaviest thought to me, lady; Oh I have loved thee well, But well seems ill with thee, lady. Though sore the heart he moved, lady, When hound to hreak its vow; Yet if we ever loved, lady, We must forego it now. With this and another equally fine, per- haps finer, beginning, Oh, the wee green neuk, the sly green neuk, The wee sly neuk for me, of course we have not a word of fault to find. For this strange medley, where we thus have a little divinity and a great deal of dirt, a few sunbeams scattered in amidst heaps of rubbish and mud, we know not how to account, except that the author, though capable of good things and beautiful things, has no sense or per- ception of fitness, or order, or propriety. He seems to have poured out whatever came into his mind; to have uttered everything he could, however unfitly; as though he thought it all inspired, sure enough, so that he could use no judg- ment or election in the matter. Perhaps we cannot do better than apply to him some remarks of Ben Jonsons touching certain of his contemporaries: I deny not, says he, bnt that these men, who always seek to do more than enough, may sometimes happen on something good and great; but very seldom: and when it comes, it doth not recompense the rest of their ill. It sticks out, per- haps, and is more eminent, because all is sordid and vile about it; as lights are more discerned in a thick darkness than a faint shadow. Had Jonson written with a special eye to our author, he could not have given a better description of him. So much for the pretensions of this work as a poem. Though containing some poetry, it has not the least title, nor the least shadow of a title, to be called a poem. Viewed, indeed, as a literary pro- duction of any sort, it is altogether raw and crude; crude alike in the conception and the execution; crude as a whole, and crude in the details; at least, the excep- tions, like Gratianos reasons, are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek them all day ere you find them; and when you have them they are not worth the search. Because he had a few good thoughts, the author seems to have taken for granted that he could have no poor ones; that, to quote his own words, his soul was like the wind-harp, and sounded only when the spirit blew. Acting on this principle, he obviously mistook certain agreeable sensations, arising, probably, from a healthy state of the digestive, or nervous, or veinous system, for supernatural visit- ings. It is well known that authors of his class are greatly addicted to inspira- tions of this kind. They are constantly putting forth their glad animal move- ments as divine imbreathings; and the result is, any quantity of revelations, or utterances fresh from the limbo of sensual emotion, that is, from the fools paradise. To hear such people talk about inspira- tion, reminds us of a certain philanthro- pist we have read of, who, feeling the buttons of his pantaloons give way dur- ing one of his preachments, fancied that the chains were falling from the hands of oppressed millions. However, if any of the wise ones insist on calling Festus a poem, we will not quarrel with them we will only say,. it seems to us a mon- strous mass of crudities, or rather, one monstrous crudity. A few remarks, touching the morality and religion of Festus, will close this article. Theologically speaking, the hook is in no wise a development of an idea or principle into a coherent, original system, but an eclecticism of whatever is most absurd and offensive in several systems: Calvinism, Fatalism, Universalism, Swe- denborgianism, Pantheism, and Ration- alism. Our author, as he informs us in the person of Festus, is an ominist and believer in all religions. And he believes in them all, not merely as essays or ap- proximations towards the absolutely true religion, but as fragments thereof, yet to be reunited into their original whole; and he probably designed his work as an effort towards this reunion. In justice to him, however, we ought to state, that he re- gards Christianity as, on the whole, the largest and best of those fragments. Nevertheless, he attributes no essential, objective truth to any of them, but thinks that All are relatively true and false, As evidence and earnest of the heart To those who practice or have faith in them. [Feb., 138 Fe8t us. Accordingly he does not hold steadily to any one of them, but goes about culling and collecting whatever he finds true in them all, or as many as he thinks he has mastered. As might be expected, there- fore, the book is a tissue of theological contradictions, which it is utterly impos- sible to follow ; the reader seems, indeed, to understand them for a while, but pre- sently finds himself involved in perplexi- ties which he can get over only by not trying to understand them. Under this surface, however, of contradictions, there runs a tolerably uniform spirit which may he best defined, perhaps, as subjective transcendentalism. It is to this spirit that our remarks will be directed. The doc- irines of the book, if, indeed, it can be said to have any, are altogether beneath criticism; they are so exceedingly absurd, that no mind accessible to reason will be likely to understand them, o~, if it under- stauds them, will be in any danger from them. Even in respect of its spirit, the work, as it con6entrates and utters the filth of the time, so it derives its chief im- portance from the tendencies of the time. We called the spirit of Festus sub- jective transcendentalism, to distinguish it from a kind of objective transcenden- talism which is generally thought in- volved more or less in all morality, and rcligion, and even science. Doubtless there is something, both in nature and revelation, that transcends experience; that is, transcends the powers and percep- tions of sense. The things we see force upon us a knowledge of things that can- not be seen. Nobody, we presume, be- lieves there is nothing in a dog or an oak but the visible structure; on the contrary, one can hardly help regarding the visible structure as the residence of something invisible. Thus, in the objects of sense the mind recognizes something akin to itself, yet perfectly distinct from itself; and nature seems replete with vital powers and principles suspended and developed in material forms. Indeed, we can hardly think of truth, life, law, otherwise than as things spiritual and invisible, under- lying and informing visible, material things. The mindrecognizes these things, because like-natured, congenerate, with them ; perceives truth and life, because itself is veriform and viviformas the eye receives light in virtue of its luci- fo rmity. Nay, the objects that we see contain something that transcends not only the senses but the understanding; something mysterious, inexplicable, inex haustible: for, in nature, everything is re- lated by some inherent virtue to every other thing; and science has never yet exhausted the contents of a single fact. This, then, is what we mean by objec- tive transcendentalism. It is the trans- cendentalism taught by Plato and Cole- ridge; and is the opposite of that barren, lifeless materialism, which not merely conditions our knowledge on the percep- tions of sense, but limits it to them; and according to which nature is not a sys- tem of things pervaded and informcd by living, creative powers and principles, but only a succession and juxtaposition of phenomena. Here the mind is obviously taken out of the regions of truth, and life, and law, and shut up in a prison of matter and mechanism. On this ground there can be no such thing as morality or reli- gion at all; right, duty, justice, are words without meaning; law means necessity and government is but a set of municipal regulations, where no man can possibly do wrong, because might is the very thing that constitutes right. Nay, onthis ground, there cannot, properly speaking, be any such thing as science; for science aims, not so much at facts, as at the laws that determine them, and uses the former as exponents of the latter. But according to certain old-fashioned ideas, trdth, life, law, though transcend- ing the perceptions of sense, are never- theless truly and essentially objective, and must be known objectively or not at all. Embodied in the visible facts and forms of nature and Scripture, they steal access through our senses to our minds; but we know and can know nothing of them, save as they are thus embodied. To learn them, in short, the mind has to resort and submit to the visible facts and forms in which they are objectively presented; that is, the mind has to receive them from without, and can in no wise produce them from itself. Deferring and submitting to those facts and forms, the mind continu- ally learns more and more of their con- tents, as it becomes more and more capa- ble of them; has something solid and permanent to rest upon, and is thus saved from the captivity and thraldom of theories and abstractions. Hence we may often hear a man of sense and experience, who has learnt enough of things to know he has not exhausted them, saying to a con- ceited, glib-tongued theorist: My dear sir, please give me some facts; a handful of these will outweigh a cart-load of your theories. And he is right in speaking 1847.] Festus. 139 thus; for facts are many-sided; present the elements of truth in their harmony and co-existence ; and so express a mul- ijiudinous meaning which it is not in the power of theories and abstractions to con- vey. Indeed, it is by recognizing truth, beauty, good, as existing without, that the mind unfolds something within corre- sponding to them; it is by receiving and obeying law as an objective reality, that the mind develops it as a subjective prin- ciple: and if the mind presumes to reject the external embodiments of truth and law, to dispense with the facts in which they are objectively disclosed, and goes into itself in quest of them, it will only substitute its own notions and feelings for them. Here, then, the mind is obvi- ously directed to external sources, and dependent on external objects; has its centre out of itself; finds peace and strength by moving in harmony with the order it is placed amidst; is concerned to reform itself, rather than its whereabout; to shape itself to truth and right, instead of misshaping truth and right unto itself; is the creature and pupil of God, and nature, and society, not the author or censor of them; has something to aspire to and learn from, an opportunity to erect itself above itself: and the natural result is, reverence, docility, obedience, self- renunciation. At present, however, the world is favored with a set of teachers who have discovered that the things we have been speaking of have only a subjective origin and existence. The scope of their in- structions is, that if we would find truth, beauty, good, we must introvert our thoughts, go into ourselves, and prosecute voyages of discovery among our own sentiments and conceptions. For facts, they substitute consciousness; for exter- nal objects, states of mind: and as, ac- cording to the old system, truth, life, law, underlie visible facts and forms, and so transcend perception, so, according to this, they underlie thought and feeling, and so transcend introversion. Instead of facts, therefore, we are to take con- sciousness as the exponent of them; the proper guide to a knowledge of them. We are to admit, indeed, the outward ex- istence of what is seen and temporal, but the things that are unseen and eternal have no reality but within us. Thus, in respect of external objects, this system differs from the materialism alluded to above, only in making us substitute our- selves for what the other teaches us to voL. v.~o. is. 10 deny. The old materialism, therefore, is not nearly so bad as this; for the one is lifeless and barren, produces nothing; the other produces what is far worse than nothing, is prolific of whatever is loath- some and diabolical, of unspeakable pride, and conceit, and vain-glory, and self- sufficiency. According to this system, God is re- vealed to us, not in what He has made and said, but in what we chance to think and feel; and as no two minds have the same thoughts and feelings, and even those of the same mind are constantly changing, of course no two individuals have the same God, nor any one indi- vidual the same God two consecutive days. In other words, God is but a crea- tion of the mind; heaven but a state of the mind ; the passage to heaven lies through ourselves ; our own spirits are the Door; and the Way, the Truth, and the Life is to be found in our own hearts. Or rather, on this ground, we have and can have no God at all, but are under the sweet necessity of deifying our own pas- sions and conceptions; all our worship, reverence, obedience are due to the divine, ineffable, transcendental Me; and when we are weary and heavy laden, we need but come to this same Me, and it will give us rest. In short, every man is to be, or to make a truth, a law, a religion, a God, a Saviour, a heaven, for himself; is to fence himself, if possible, entirely with in himself, and fence everything else entirely out of himself; must refuse to stand on the earth, and hang self-balanced on his own centre; must scorn to be up- held by any external support, and assert the inalienable right to hold himself up by his own breeches. Therefore it is, that the leading trans- cendentalists among us have become so stale, and sapless, and barren. Claiming to be sufficient for themselves, despising facts, renouncing all objective trusts, cut- ting themselves off from external re- sources, and isolating themselves alto- gether within themselves ; without sym- pathy, and without docility; ambitious to produce, but scorning to be replenished from without; carrying their head so high, in short, thmtt no streams can flow into them, they of course run themselves dry, and wither up in the solitude of their own self-sufficiency. As they began by refusing to be taught and influenced by the past, so they have lost their power to teach and influence the present. Lest their light should owe something to th9 140 Festu8. [Feb., surrounding atmosphere, they enclose it in an exhausted receiver. They fail of originality, because they date everything from themselves, and, in their overween- ing self-confidence, put forth as original such impressions as most men have, though few are so conceited as to publish them; for, after concluding there is no divinity but within us, the next step is, to conclude that whatever comes from within us must be very divine. They give out as truth whatever seems true to them, though science or experience may have a thousand times proved it false. Ignorant of other mens knowledge, they fancy themselves to have made discoveries, be- cause they have not docility enough to learn what was known before. Most of what they glory in as original is as old as sin; and about the only thing to be learnt from them is their own indocility. Such, then, is the moral and religious spirit in which nearly the whole of Festus is written. This subjective transcendentalism runs through the work as a sort of undercurrent, occasionally emerging to the surface in expressions like the following: Oh there is naught on earth worth being known, But God and our own souls, the God we have Within our hearts. Tis but the sense and soul We have of God within us, that can serve us. Tis man aye makes His own God and his hell. Heaven is no place, Unless it be a place with God, all.where. It is the being goodthe knowing God The consciousness of happiness and power. In all of us God hath his agony; ~Te are the cross and death of God, and graYe. But this spirit forms the support, not the surface of the book; is rather everywhere tacitly assumed than anywhere openly expressed. All the characters agree in presupposing it as the root and basis of their thoughts; it is the common sub- stratum of all their notions and senti- ments; appears not so much in their words as in the breath their words are made of; in short, it is the soul of the work, which, though itself unseen, gives cast and complexion to what is seen. It is involved in the authors avowed pre- ference of thoughts to things, of feelings to facts; in his manifest inclination to speak as one having authority, in the very things where he has least right to speak at all; in his attributing a divine origin and sanction to his own instincts and impulses, putting forth his amatory motions and carnal appetites for such virtues and affections as came only by grace, the slow, silent growth of religiouR doctrine and discipline; in his regarding external objects and announcements as but occasions to develop the innate wis- dom of the heart, and so freely sub- stituting his own sentiments and concep- tions for the objects and announcements that occasioned them; in his elevating the spontaneous promptings of nature to the rank of objective truth, presuming everything to be good which gives him pleasure, everything bad which his incli- nation rejects; framing a religion for himself out of his own desires an& inven- tions; making Revelation derive its au- thority from the heart to which it is ad- dressed; subjecting whatever comes as duty to his own judgment, thus making himself a law unto it, instead of receiving it as a law unto himself. Thus, as might be expected, our au- thors moral and religious creed is all of a piece with his literary creed; the spirit of the work, in these respects, is insepara- bly part and parcel with the same intense subjectiveness which we charged upon it as a work of art; and is equally fatal to the authors claims as an artist and as a moralist. As in books he finds no mean- ing, so in nature and Revelation he finds no truth, no law, no God, but what he brings to them. He has discovered that the thoughts we think subsist the sar~ie in God, as stars in heaven. As, with him, external facts and objects derive all their significance from the mind that con- templates them, so of course there is nothing in them for him to learn. If, therefore, a Revelation comes to him, in- stead of receiving it in order that he may study and know its contents, he receives it only because and so far as he already understands and approves them; instead of submitting his mind to the Written Word in faith, to be regenerated and sanctified thereby into a knowledge of the truth, he subjects the Written Word to his Me, and makes it say whatever the Me thinks it ought to say, or else has nothing to do with it: that is, his faith is in no wise in the Author of the 1S47.J Pestus. 141 gift, but only in his own judgment of what is given; and he values it, not as a fountain of doctrine, but as a support to his own inventions ; marvelously de- lighted of course to find Heaven pro- claiming his own thoughts, and disclosing to him his own wisdom, and presuming that, as he had anticipated the matter of Revelation, so he could supersede the form in which it was revealed. Thus he just reverses the old order of things; makes his perceptions the test and mea- sure of truth, instead of making truth the test and measure of his perceptions. Hence the peculiarly vicious and vitiating tendency of his book; the sen- suality of its love, the irreverence of its religion, the licentiousness of its morals, the vulgarity of its manners. From the principle that every man is a revealer unto himself, that external objects are but mirrors for self-contemplation, and that his own heart is to him the only source of truth and good, he very natu- rally infers that everything is true and good which comes from his heart. Ac- cordingly, his attitude towards Revelation is rather one of patronage than of depend- ence; and its effect is, not so much to correct him as to persuade him he needs no correction: from the example of its authors, he only infers the right to speak as they did, and so undertakes to rival them in their own mission. As he sees no nieaning but his own in external ob- jects, he of course sees in them any meaning he happens to choose, and thus holds them responsible for whatever thoughts and feelings he chances to have in their presence. Studying things not to learn 4om them, but to find in them what he already knows, or thinks he knows, he of course perverts and falsifies everything he studies; if he anywhere gets an element of truth, he at once turns it into a lie, by detaching it from its harmony and co-existence with other elements. Going to Scripture, for ex- ample, brimful of something which he chooses to call love, and there finding the Creator set forth as a God of love, he concludes that love, and especially his love, is a very divine thing, sure enough, fresh from heaven; abstracts this attribute from the others, deifies his own abstrac- tions, and then, for the God of love, sub- stitutes and worships his miserable deifi- cation of love. This pestilent stuff was first spawned from Tophet upon Germany, then transferred from Germany to Eng- land, and finally from England to America. Having thus gone the rounds, it is to be hoped it will now return to its own place. And our author everywhere attributes to his characters, from the highest to the lowest, the same subjectiveness which he practices himself. Thus, he speaks of God as loving only his own spirit, and as worshiping himself eternally in the great glass of things. In the self-same spirit are all his love-scenes written. His lovers everywhere appear occupied, not with the object of their passion, but with the passion itself; in each others beauty they seem to see only the beauty of their own emotions; are always ad- miring and talking about their heavenly sentiments; do not so much love each other, indeed, as love the exquisite feel- ings they have of each other; at once conceiving the objects very divine, to give them so much pleasure, and them- selves very divine, to take so much pleasure in them. Hence we have any quantity of such stuff, as would far bet- ter become the regions of prostitution than the bowers of chaste affliction, dignified with the name of love, and set forth as a social religion. Such a repre- sentation of love is really but an apo- theo4s of lust, and ought to be so re- garded. Let it be once settled, indeed, that our own hearts are paramount objects of trust, our proper guides to truth and wisdom, and there is no end to the delu- sions and deviltnies that will have pos- session of us; reason itself will be bribed to support the wrongs of passion; the light we have from nature will be turned into darkness; and the candle of the Lord within us, instead of being lighted by truth, will melt away in the enthu- siasm of self-conceit. Assuredly, if we wish to find truth, beauty, good, we had better look out of ourselves, nay, almost anywhere rather than in ourselves; seek- ing them within our own hearts, we shall only be drawn to love their opposites indeed, our very seeking them there im- plies a secret preference of their oppo- sites; and the very wish to find them would prompt us to look far elsewhere. Undoubtedly, in some sense, though it might puzzle anybody to tell what, there is truth in the maxim, that in our age we ought to remember and revere the dreams of youth; but in such sense as it is im- plied throughout Festus, and general- ly used by transcendentalists, it is one of the falsest and worst maxims ever given. For, if the human heart contains, the 142 Fe 81 US. [Feb., genns of the noblest plants, it also con- tains the germs of the vilest weeds; the plants require patient, skillful culture, the weeds grow fast enough of themselves; and who knows not that the cultivation of the former involves the careful uproot- ing and extinguishing of the latter? The ignorance of childhood is indeed beauti- ful, because coupled with innocence ; and to be innocent, is a kind of wisdom: but it is hardly in our nature to pass directly from innocence to virtue ; and to recover us from the depravity we fall into, re- quires a far higher wisdom than we fall from. It is from a feigned or fancied rever- ence for what they call the dreams of their youth, that divers people have come to prefer the unrectified, undisciplined promptings of nature to the wisdom which comes only by experience, which is in- culcated upon us and conveyed into us from without, the last and best fruit of a meek, patient, teachable, obedient spirit. Hence the exquisite doctrine, that na- ture does never wrong, it is society which sins; and the equally exquisite practice of arraigning and condemning the State and the Church for the crimes men commit against them, or in spite of them; of setting aside whatever human wisdom, instructed by Revelation, by Pro- vidence and by time, has established for the better ordering and edifying of our lives, to make room for the vain theories and paradoxes of beardless transcendent- al preachers and lecturers, whose only sanction for what they say, is the posi- tiveness, the effrontery, and the contempt of authority with which they speak. So- ciety, in all its forms, of course involves government, authority, subordination, as its organic law; and an external juris- diction of any sort is better than being left to what are sometimes called our di- vine instincts and intuitions. Assured- ly, truth and law, if they be anything at all, are something objective and perma- nenta standard which we may all recog- nize, and whereby we are all to be tried are above us all, bind us all, are the com- mon school-masters of us all; we are theirs, not they ours, and it is by consent- ing to be theirs that we are to make them ours; they exist for us, not by us, come to us, not from us, to exact our allegiance, not to crave our allowance; they are em- bodied and revealed to us in the institu- tions into which we are born, from which we draw the aliment of our higher being, which are the very atmosphere and breath of our spiritual life, and through which the awful spirit of human reason a thing that is rather over us than in usby a well-ordered doctrine and dis- cipline gradually passes and grows into an individual possession. It is by loy- alty to those institutions that our man- hood truly unfolds itself, that we become partakers and inheritors of the Divine Wis- dom, which, working through nature and Providence, founded and fashioned them; it is by revering and obeying the forms in which truth and law are thus embodied, that they become assimilated and incor- porated into the substance of our minds, building us up into the strength, and beau- and majesty of their own being: and of our transcendental prophets who go about appealing from those institutions to the dreams of their youth and the innate wisdom of their own hearts, what hall we say, but that, in the words of an old writer, describing certain fanatics of his time, they clothe their own fancy with the Spirit of God, and their own inven- tion with the gift of revelation. On the whole, we suspect the dreams of our youth and the innate wisdom of our own hearts are but fond conceits, under which such people caress and try to accredit the instigations of Satan, conceiving them to be the dreams of their youth, because they have forgotten all the dreams their youth ever had, and presum- ing them to be from heaven, because they know not, and will not be taught, whence they are. At all events, if we are to con- sult the wisdom of childhood, let us go where the ignorance of childhood is unit- ed with the docility of childhood; let us have babes and sucklings f* our ora- cles ; instead of going to those who, with the ignorance of childhood, unite the ar- rogance and audacity of depraved man- hood; and whose reverence for the dreams of their youth only prompts them to carry foreheads of brass, where it is alike the instinct of childhood and the wisdom of manhood to be gentle, rever- ent and submissive. It is this spirit which, married to phi- lanthropy and theology, has produced and is producing such interesting fruits among us. Scarce a day passes with- out some additional proof of its nialig- nant energy. Hence the detestable sen- timentalism which eats the soul out of men, and replaces it with boundless con- ceit; and which inspires them with such a marvelous affection for all mankind, that they make it a matter of conscience 1847.1 Feslu8. to lynch or assassinate the character of whoever questions their theories and re- jects their reasonings. Hence, divers people, smitten with the beauty of their own sentiments, and calling their passion benevolence, go about parading and ex- hibiting their fine feelings,the very thing, by the way, which, if they had them, they would be sure not to do, and compound for their neglect of pri- vate, particular duties, with professions of universal philanthropy. To discharge ones private duties, costs much labor and makes no noise; to spout uni- versal benevolence, brings great notorie- ty and costs nothing. People commis- sioned to reform the whole world, of course have to deny themselves the plea- sure of minding their own business. To stay at home, and take care of their fami- lies, would defraud Providence of their patronage. No law or gospel, hitherto promulgated, is good enough for them; their consciences are so enormously big, ns to transform all that has hitherto been called virtue into crime; their own reason and humanity are so loud, that they can- not be made to hear anything else. Chris- tianity aims to regenerate and rectify the inner man; but no religion comes up to their ideal, unless it goes to disorganize society, and regenerate the social rela- tions. How often have we heard them say, that if the Bible tolerates slavery or capital punishment, the Bible itself cannot be tolerated. Thus they appeal from everything to themselves; will not allow Heaven to reveal anything out what their reason can endorse ; the voice of nature as expressed in laws and institutions, which have survived all the innovations of time, is drowned in the thunders with which they proclaim the truth from their own minds. To attain their ends, they seem will- ing to sacrifice everything but their ma- lignant passions. The innate wisdom of their own hearts instigates them to preach sedition, treason, and sacrilege, against all that is sacred and venerable in society; even the hallowed ashes of the dead are, not exempt from their infu- riated desecration; pushing their theories into personalities, they have found that even Washington, a name synonymous with whatever is best and noblest in hu- man character, was a thief, a liar, and a murderer. Their philanthropy has got so intense that it has to vent itself in the dialect of hell; in their excess of love, they have scraped together, for benevolent 143 uses, a vocabulary that would disgrace the lowest fish-women of Billingsgate; some of them have fed on the milk of humanity, until they have come to unite in their characters all the meanness of a puppy with all the ferocity of a tiger. They seem to value their theories, in pro- portion as they contradict the oldest and deepest sentiments of mankind; since, on this principle, the wisdom of all past time can the more easily he convicted of folly in their presence. To establish the su- premacy of their own reason and con- science, they must discredit all other tri- bunals; to discredit them they must of course differ from them; and the more they differ from them, the more they seem to have risen above them; for difference, with them, always argues a superiority in their favor: and the only discipline they submit to is one that teaches every man to esteem himself wiser than all other men. Hence their morbid preference for whatever is most eccentric, outlandish, and bizarre in morals. To be original, they clothe their philanthropy in the most extravagant, un- natural, and monstrous forms; their sym- pathies are expended on condemned cri- minals and despised prostitutes; what has hitherto been revered as justice, they decry as murder; what has hitherto been abhorred as crime, they pity as misfor- tune; the greatest crime, with them, is, to reverence the laws and magistrates that are set over us; instead of obeying the powers that be for conscience sake, they hold it a matter of conscience to scoff, and blaspheme, and defy them. That any way of doing good has been long tried and found successful, as far as human depravity will permit anything good to succeed, is their strongest reason for opposing it; the better it is, the more furious they are against it, because, for- sooth, it leaves the less work for them to do, and the less need of their counsels. The same principle which leads them to array their own judgment against the combined wisdom of all past time, of course makes them intolerant of every- thing that obstructs the realization of their schemes. They have such a lust of reform, that they cannot endure to let anything go unreformed; must revolu- tionize all things, lest the world should not be sufficiently indebted to their bene- ficence; must destroy everything that ex- ists to make room for the monuments of their genius, and that they may have ample room and verge enough to 144 Festus. [Feb., establish their own righteousness. Their redundancy of conscience only operates to make them fearless of doing evil ; and yet this is the very thing which a truly conscientious man is most fearful of do- ing; for it is characteristic of good men to refrain even from meddling with what they know to be bad, presuming it to be the best the circumstances will admit, and fearing lest, in their short-sighted innova- tions, they may make it worse. Having experienced the infirmity and insufficien- cy of their reason, such men naturally distrust their own wisdom, and accept a higher in its stead. It is by such expe- rience and such distrust that men be- come truly wise; for in this state of mind they can recognize,in what they have inherited, sources out of which to rein- force their feeble powers, and thus be- come strong to do good by receiving the good that has been done for them. But our philanthropists are obviously incapable of any such experience; and if they were ever so capable of it, they would not stoop to learn from so vulgar a teacher as experience. Scorning to trade on any but their own individual stock of wisdom, they of course be- come bankrupt in everything but self- confidence. Their affections are so en- grossed with their theories, that they can- not stop for so trifling a consideration as persons; they are laboring for the great- est happiness of the greatest number; this happiness depends on the adoption of their systems; and there are no arts too mean or too wicked to be employed in furtherance of this cause: to promote the good of all mankind, they invade the sa- credest rights, and outrage the holiest ties of life; convert their tongues into daggers, their words into venom; go about butchering reputation; and glory in stabbing and murdering the best feel- ings of our nature. There are certainly evils enough in the world; but all of them put together are not so bad as the spirit with which these men go about to remedy them; the self-worship, the moral and religious subjectiveness, which all their proceedings tend to encourage, would blast all the virtues that adorn, and fos- ter all the vices that degrade human na- ture; and many of them are known to exemplify in their own characters the worst tendencies of their system. All that is best and purest in human character comes out in the exercise of the private affections; and nothing is so desolating to these affections as universal philan- thropy. It is vain to say such men act from conscience, for conscience is a self-an- nulling principle; implies a conviction of our own frailty, and a recognition of a wisdom superior to ours; spontaneous- ly looks to an external law, stays itself upon authority, and prefers to walk by the light of prescription; shuns original, and seeks approved methods of doing good ; and is so far from proclaiming its charities to others, that it even hides them from itself. As conscience begins with a conviction of our own guilt, and a reference of moral evil to individual depravity, so it prompts us to correct the inward sources, rather than the outward occasions, of wrong; to seek the refor- mation of individuals, rather than of in- stitutions; to convince men of their mis- deeds, rather than of their misfortunes; to inspire them with sorrow for their transgressions, rather than with anger at the law for punishing them; in a word, to make them better and happier where they are, instead of encouraging them to wait for better circumstances, and saddle their crimes upon society. The conscience which inculcates upon men an oblivion rather than a confession of their own guilt, and to criminate the occasions rather than rectify the sources of their evil-doings, may be of a great quantity, but is of a most wretched qual- ity. It is this conscience which, charg- ing mens crimes upon their circum- stances, is seeking to prevent vice by tak- lug away the freedom without which virtue cannot exist. The truth is, the people in question are actuated by the worst form of selfishness, the offspring of that old depravity whose darling, sin is pride that apes humility; a selfishness which is all the worse for proceeding upon an inordinate love, not of our interest, but of our own opinions; which makes men envious of all the virtue and happiness hut what they can take to themselves the credit of producingthus causing them to look with an evil eye upon all the blessings they have not had a hand in bestowing, and upon all the lights they have not been the means of kindling; which prompts them to call the evil of their own doing, good, and the good that others do, evil; and, if they cannot have things their own way, to make them as bad as they can,a selfishness which, under the name of moral courage, casts 1847.] Feslu8. 145 off all reverence, spurns at all authority, and, glorying in non-resistance to every- thing but law, sanctimoniously abjures carnal weapons, and supplies their place with moral violence, and so puts all its valor into the tongue, and reinforces it- self out of the worst passions of our na- ture. So much for the philanthropists. We cannot stop to give them their deser- vings now. Perhaps they will hear from us again. Married to theology, the spirit in ques- tion has been prolific of results still more worthy of attention,results which, though less apparent, strike deeper, and therefore are more malignant. Casting off prejudice and prescription, looking up only to their own judgment, and drawing all their authority from within, certain men have become wise and good altoge- ther beyond what is written; have come to prefer God as revealed in their reason, to God as revealed in the Scriptures. Hence the execrable custom which these men have, of sitting in judgment on Reve- lation, and of subjecting it to their arro- gant and impious eclecticism, gravely endorsing such parts as accord with their notions, and rejecting such as they do not happen to approve. Respecting cer- tain portions of Scripture, the Rev. Mr. virtually says, and from the pulpit, too: This is none of Gods word; my reason tells me better; God would not, could not speak thus; these are the sen- timents of a barbarous age concerning Him. Respecting certain other portions, his virtual position is: This is undoubt- edly true; my reason assures me it is divine; I know it came from God, be- cause it has the approval of my con- science, the voice of God within me. Such is the style in which the savans of the time habitually speak and write. The Bible, as it is, has something to say about the stern, awful beauty of justice, sets forth the fearful as well as adorable ma- jesty of law; but these men will know no religion but humanity. By judicious analysis,and selection, and recomposition, leaving out old errors and absurdities, as the ofi~pring of a fiercejudicial spirit, they extract from the Bible a religion which must supersede the one hitherto taught, and which is to live and move and have its being in a sea of unadulte- rated love. Thus we are taught to seek religion within ourselves; to erect our reason into a sovereign tribunal, a last appeal; to adjust and reform Revelation into accordance with our own judgment; to receive its contents, not because they come attested and authenticated by mira- cles and works which no man could do, but simply because they seem to us good and true; wherein our only difficulty is, we have to assume that we are compe- tent to judge what is good and true, which is the very thing we are not competent to do, and which it is everywhere the of- fice and aim of Revelation to teach us we are not competent to do. There is obviously no occasion for God to speak to those who already know whatHe ought to say; and His speaking to them tends, not to humble them in view of His wis- dom, but to elate them in view of their own. Claiming to have seized the spiritual sense of Scripture, these sapient philoso- phers are marvelously fond of dissecting the form, of taking the life out of the or- ganization in which it is given, and put- ting it into a form better suited to their enlightened notions. In this way they think to dispense with the body, and to retain the pure soul of divine truth; and all who prefer to keep the soul in the body they denounce as formalists ; as altogether behind the age; and as op- posed to all progress. Of course they never trouble themselves with the ques- tion, whether, in thus divorcing the spirit and the form, they may not lose them both; indeed, it is quite possible they do this on purpose to get rid of them both, and that there may be no permanent, stubborn facts to contradict their doctrines or hinder the reception of their ideas. But for this fixed, objective embodiment of truth, their own inventions could ob- viously have free course. It seems not to have occurred to them, and yet per- haps it has occurred to them, that though they may keep the body awhile without the soul, they cannot keep the soul with- out the body; nay, their very efforts to get rid of the body seem to argue that it has already lost its soul to them, and is beginning to stink in their refined nos- trils. However, under the name of the disembodied spirit of Christianity, they can easily smuggle in their own notions and feelings. When a mans father is dead and gone, of course he can only see him in his minds eye, where it is not so easy for another to test his perceptions. Where there are no objers to be seen, a man can locate his own conceptions with all imaginable facility ; and if others see [Feb., 146 Festus. nothing but vacancy there, he can accre- dit his visions on the ground of his supe- rior insight; he Has lights where other eyes are blind, As pigs are said to see the wind. But really all this is not submitting our- selves to the written word, but substitut- ing ourselves for it; not so much con- sentingto receive, as claiming to originate a religion. When people thus erect themselves above Revelation, we may be assured that they are so far from being elevated, that they have not risen high enough to see what is above them; that instead of having attained to superior light, they are altogether below the re- gion of light. Equally ignorant of all, such men of course think themselves equally masters of all ; conceive that they know the whole, for the simple rea- son that they know nothing. He who presumes to oversee Revelation, shows that he has not seen, and cannot, or will not, see anything of it whatever; that he has not even the eye to see it with, or if he has, will not use it. In thus perpetu- ally deferring to the god within them, and declaring themselves independent of external guides and sources, these men simply publish their own arrogance and insolence. We care not what appear- ance of modesty and humility they may put on, at heart they are as proud, selfish, conceited, and impudent, as Satan him- self; or, if there be none of the devil, then there is much of the donkey in them; for the stupidest brutes and the most enlightened demons agree in equal- ly lacking docility and reverence. Their appealing from all acknowledged and ac- credited standards of truth and good, to their own reason and conscience, only proves that the voice of reason and con- science is utterly stifled within them; that they are but clearing up the ground to let loose their own will and pleasure; and that the freedom they preach is but for a license to riot in the luxuries of self- assertion. Assuredly, if men cannot find anything this side of heaven to reverence, they will find nothing to reverence there; if they have any docility, they can learn from the powers that be; if they have no docility, they will not learn from the Power that ordained them, but will only use His name to accredit their own abo- minable conceit!~. To seditious, refrac- tory spirits all authority of course seems tyranny; and the only condition upon which they will consent to be governed, even by the Almighty, is, that He will be their humble servant, and let them do precisely as they have a mind to. Thus, the same principle which instructs men to appeal from all earthly tribunals to God, will instruct them to appeal from God to their own reason. We know of nothing more offensive, not only to religion, but even to good taste, than the habit these men have of eulogizing the Scriptures. This habit they seem to have caught from Rousseau, that great high-priest of the synagogue of Antichrist. With them, as with him, it springs, not from reverence, but from the intensest vanity; not because they regard the Scriptures, but because they wish for the votes of such as do re- gard them ; for no one who properly regards them will dare to eulogize them. Men seldom pronounce funeral orations until they have buried the subjects of them. In like manner, the worst hus- bands, for example, are generally loudest in praising their wives; their praises are but the fig-leaves to their infidelity; and of course their fig-leaves only serve to betray them. Why, the greatest ruffians and murderers that ever polluted the earth have sought impunity for their butcheries in sounding the praises of their victims! Eulogy implies some equa- lity between the author and the object; and the author is generally understood to share the honor he confers. Where the eulogy is volunteered, we take for grant- ed the author is but seeking to distin- guish himselfmaking capital out of the virtues he celebrates. It is not so much an acknowledgment as an appropriation of merit. The truth is, the puffs which these men inflict on the Scriptures are but the offspring of a supercilious patron- age; eulogy is the price they pay for im- punity in sacrilege ; they glorify the Bible merely to compound for their dese- cration of it. By gratuitous endorsement and laudation of the Scriptures, they seem to acquire a right to nullify as much of them as they please; by adding their sanction to what God has revealed, they seek to purchase the prerogative of add- ing Gods sanction to their own inven- tions. Their aim is, not so much to ex- alt as to partake the supremacy of Reve- lation. In this way they can keep up the show of modesty while indulging their impudence and audacity, and thus gratify their vanity both ways at once. The self-same spirit which prompts them 1847.] Festu8. 147 to eulogize, also prompts them to criticise, since each of these serves alike, in its place, to approve their keenness of appre- ciation ; indeed, the right to eulogize in- volves, in some sort, the right to criticise. In short, theirraptures and rhapsodies over the Scriptures are designed merely to co- ordinate their own inspiration; they spring not from love of what is revealed, but from lust of the authority that revealed it; they extol its wisdom but to establish their own; laud the Apostles, not so much to confirm, as to usurp, their com- mission; commend the Prophets, merely to accredit their own prophesyings. Hav- ing mastered Revelation, having climbed to where they can overlook, and endorse, and patronize it, they are of course qua- lified to discriminate, and select, and win- now, and bolt, and improve, and complete it, or even to supersede it, and substitute revelations of their own in its stead. They would not depreciate the authors of the Bible ;by no means. They only aspire to an equality with them. From the example of Him who spoke as never man spake, they merely infer their own right and duty to enter into competition with Him ;thats all. This intense subjectiveness in religion of course involves an equally intense individualism. Christianity has always been accounted a religion of means and media; it supposes that man has strayed away from his Maker, and that some mediation is required to bring him hack; that he is somewhat fallen from his first estate, and has to climb up over many steps, in order to recover it; that, in short, it needs a ladder with several rounds to aid his ascent. That it might come to us in the form of a practical dis- cipline, Christianity organized itself into a Church, on the ground that many men have to grow up together in order for any one to grow; as law and order are brought home to us, and rein- corporated with the substance of our minds, by being embodied in the state. This social organization evidently sup- poses that each individual is to be subor- dinate to the whole, and that in and through this subordination he is to find the life which the whole is appointed to preserve and impart. Whatever now passes for Holy Scripture, has been transmitted to us by and through the or- gans of this consecrated body: has been adjudged to the place it holds by human, or rather, by ecclesiastical authority. Here we have a somewhat complex mediatorial system, such as seems adapt- ed to the state of fallen man. But to men who have not faflen, this scheme of religious polity is obviously useless. No such means are required to purify those who are already pure; and the pure in heart can see divine truth better perhaps without any media than with them; men who are already in heaven need no lad- der to help them thither. Accordingly, unfallen menand they are becoming rather plenty just nowmanifest their perfection by revolting from this organ- ization and setting up for themselves, and professing allegiance only to God and their own reason. What other men gladly accept as media, these men justly reject as obstructions to the wisdom that cometh from above. This, then, is what we mean by religious individualism. Such is the ground virtually assumed by that saint and apostle, the Rev. Mr. alluded to above. The scope of his the- ology is: God and I are enough; there is no occasion for anything to mediate between us; I will offer all my worship immediately to Him, and receive what- ever blessings I want immediately from Him; I need no Church, no Bible, no Saviour, and I declare myself independ- ent of them; to be sure, they may have been necessary once, before the dawn of modern illumination, and may be so still to some whom the day-spring from on high bath not visited: but I have reach- ed a point of view where they may pro- fitably be dispensed with; God and I are enough; and in my case the rays of heavenly light would only be intercepted by all such channels ~of communication. Well, the Rev. Mr., after all, is but the representative of a class; he is just like many others, only rather more so and perhaps the astonishing beauty of his conclusons will throw them back upon a reconsideration of the principles which they hold in common with him. These subjective, transcendental phi- lanthropists and theologians seem to have been commissioned expressly to prepare the way for Festus. We confess we like not the style of denunciation which we have adopted towards them. In using it we have but followed their example; but their example, in whatever aspect viewed, is one which no sane man can desire to emulate. We have done it merely to show them that they are as vulnerable as they are violent; that they are as open to denunciation as they are given to denouncing. It is for their sake, 148 Gen. 2Winfield Scott. [Feb., not for the books, that this article is written; that the work concentrates and embodies all the wisdom diffused among them, is our sole reason for noticing it; but for them the hook never would have troubled us, and we never should have troubled our readers with this review. Well, the book, as was to have been ex- pected, has had a great run; the author has got his notoriety, the publishers have got their money, the public have got what they have paid for, and we have got our article written. Incorrigible transcend- entalists and hopeful young men and maidens, literary freshmen and coxcombs and dotards, those who are too hard to admit, and those who are too soft to ex- clude anything that offers itself, those who have transcendental eyes and those who have no eyes at all, those who can see everything where there is nothing to be seen, and those who can see nothing where there is everything to be seen, in short, all who are above and all who are below appreciating what is sober, and solid, and judicious, and sponta- neously take to whatever is grotesque, and mawkish, and monstrous, and extra- vagant, have devoured the book with all imaginable greediness, and have doubt- less become the emptier for what they have swallowed. GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT.* TuE recent departure of this gallant soldier for new scenes of war, lends ad- ditional interest to the narrative of his past life and services, and we shall be do- ing good service to thoseand they are almost the whole peoplewho are looking with anxious yet not apprehen- sive interest to his reappearance on the field of battle, heretofore so signally fields of triumph for his country and himself. The volume in which this biography is embodied was published several months ago, and has already attained a large circulation; this is as it should be, for it is a modest, well-digested narrative, in a vivid, yet not ambitious style, of some of the most interesting chapters in our past history chapters in which Winftelc.1 Scott is facile princeps, for he it was who gave their direction and fortunate issue to most of the great events commemo- rated in these chapters. General Scott was born in Petersburg, Virginia, in June, 1786, and is coeval, therefore, so to speak, with the Constitu- tion of the United States, which has ever been with him an object of such reve- rence, that no exigencies of war, or other extremities, have tempted, or could, we firmly believe, tempt him to any act in violation of its letter or spirit. Educated with a mothers vigilant and affectionate carefor his father died when he was only four years oldhis mind and dispo- sition were early trained to gentleness and truth, in the fear and the love of God his Heavenly Father, who had no longer a father upon earth. Scott was designed for the profession of the law, and in 1806, having completed his course of study, he was admitted to the bar of Virginia, and rode the circuit during two terms. lie then determined to pursue his profession in Charleston, S. C.for now he was wholly an orphan, his mother, too, being deadbut finding that a years previous residence in the State was required, Scott returned to Virginia, but not to the pursuits of the law. The aggressions of the European powers upon our rich and defenceless commerce, and especially the attack upon the U. S. frigate Chesapeake, had roused the ardent spirits of the land and turned their hopes and aspirations to the career of arms. A bill to increase the army was passed by Congress in the winter of 1807-8, and Scott was appoint- ed a captain of light artillery. But the rumor of war passed offalbeit Scott, who was warmly in feeling with that party headed by Jefferson and Madison, believed and openly maintained that the dignity and honor, not less than the true interests, of the nation, required resist- ance by arms to the aggressions of Eng- land. Such, however, was not the deci- sion of the country or the government, and Scott was, in 1809, ordered to Lou- isiana, where Gen. Wilkinson then held command. Forthis commanderof whose TaE LIFE OF GENERAL WINFIELD Scorr, by Edw. R. Mansfield, Esq. New York: R. Barnes & Co.

General Winfield Scott 148-157

148 Gen. 2Winfield Scott. [Feb., not for the books, that this article is written; that the work concentrates and embodies all the wisdom diffused among them, is our sole reason for noticing it; but for them the hook never would have troubled us, and we never should have troubled our readers with this review. Well, the book, as was to have been ex- pected, has had a great run; the author has got his notoriety, the publishers have got their money, the public have got what they have paid for, and we have got our article written. Incorrigible transcend- entalists and hopeful young men and maidens, literary freshmen and coxcombs and dotards, those who are too hard to admit, and those who are too soft to ex- clude anything that offers itself, those who have transcendental eyes and those who have no eyes at all, those who can see everything where there is nothing to be seen, and those who can see nothing where there is everything to be seen, in short, all who are above and all who are below appreciating what is sober, and solid, and judicious, and sponta- neously take to whatever is grotesque, and mawkish, and monstrous, and extra- vagant, have devoured the book with all imaginable greediness, and have doubt- less become the emptier for what they have swallowed. GENERAL WINFIELD SCOTT.* TuE recent departure of this gallant soldier for new scenes of war, lends ad- ditional interest to the narrative of his past life and services, and we shall be do- ing good service to thoseand they are almost the whole peoplewho are looking with anxious yet not apprehen- sive interest to his reappearance on the field of battle, heretofore so signally fields of triumph for his country and himself. The volume in which this biography is embodied was published several months ago, and has already attained a large circulation; this is as it should be, for it is a modest, well-digested narrative, in a vivid, yet not ambitious style, of some of the most interesting chapters in our past history chapters in which Winftelc.1 Scott is facile princeps, for he it was who gave their direction and fortunate issue to most of the great events commemo- rated in these chapters. General Scott was born in Petersburg, Virginia, in June, 1786, and is coeval, therefore, so to speak, with the Constitu- tion of the United States, which has ever been with him an object of such reve- rence, that no exigencies of war, or other extremities, have tempted, or could, we firmly believe, tempt him to any act in violation of its letter or spirit. Educated with a mothers vigilant and affectionate carefor his father died when he was only four years oldhis mind and dispo- sition were early trained to gentleness and truth, in the fear and the love of God his Heavenly Father, who had no longer a father upon earth. Scott was designed for the profession of the law, and in 1806, having completed his course of study, he was admitted to the bar of Virginia, and rode the circuit during two terms. lie then determined to pursue his profession in Charleston, S. C.for now he was wholly an orphan, his mother, too, being deadbut finding that a years previous residence in the State was required, Scott returned to Virginia, but not to the pursuits of the law. The aggressions of the European powers upon our rich and defenceless commerce, and especially the attack upon the U. S. frigate Chesapeake, had roused the ardent spirits of the land and turned their hopes and aspirations to the career of arms. A bill to increase the army was passed by Congress in the winter of 1807-8, and Scott was appoint- ed a captain of light artillery. But the rumor of war passed offalbeit Scott, who was warmly in feeling with that party headed by Jefferson and Madison, believed and openly maintained that the dignity and honor, not less than the true interests, of the nation, required resist- ance by arms to the aggressions of Eng- land. Such, however, was not the deci- sion of the country or the government, and Scott was, in 1809, ordered to Lou- isiana, where Gen. Wilkinson then held command. Forthis commanderof whose TaE LIFE OF GENERAL WINFIELD Scorr, by Edw. R. Mansfield, Esq. New York: R. Barnes & Co. 1S47.] Gen. Winfield Scott. 149 connection with Burr in what was deemed a traitorous enterprise, Scott had the opportunity, during Burrs trial in Rich- mond, to form a distinct opinionthe young captain of artillery entertained little respect. Wilkinson, who needed support, at first tried to conciliate the young officer, who could ~~rite~speak and fight well, but failing therein, he resolved to ruin him. Scotts indiscretion soon fur- nished a pretext, and he was arrested and tried by a court martial, mainly for words spoken disrespectfully of his supe- rior officer, in violation of the rules and articles of war. On this charge he was found guilty, and sentenced to one years suspension: then came another charge, imputing a fraudulent withholding of a small sum of money paid to him on account of clothing, & c., for his com- pany; but of the allegation of fraud the court, without hesitation, acquitted him. This year of suspension was to him a year of benefit, for he passed it in Rich- mond with his early friend Benj. Wil- kins Leigh, in close and assiduous study of military works and all others connected with his new career. Not a stain, nor sha- dow of stain,was left uponhis name by the result of this trial; for his offence was one of patriotism, however indiscreet,when he denounced his commander as unworthy of public confidence, as he believed him to beand the opinion of the nation, it may, we think, now be added, ratified the distrust expressed by Captain Scott. After rejoining his command, Scott went through the ordinary routine of a soldiers duty in time of peace, till 1812, when war was declared against Great Britain. In a few weeks after the decla- ration, Scott was appointed Lt. Colonel of the 2d regiment of artillery, and marched immediately to the Niagara frontier, so soon to become the theatre of his fame, though not without first tasting of adversity. At the battle of Queenston, at which he was a volunteer, and which, but for the backwardness of the militia to stand by and succor their companions, his skill and gallantry would have con- verted into glorious victory, Scott, after displaying great resources as a soldier, was finally compelled to surrender to greatly superior numbers, and, with the whole of his small force, become prisoner of war. He, with his fellow-captives, was sent to Quebec, whence, upon being exchanged, he soon after embarked for Boston. But before this occurred, one of those scenes in which the decision of character of Scott, and his impartial love for the soldiers who, with him, were serving their country, was strikingly dis- played. When the prisoners were embark - ed on board the transport to be conveyed to Boston, they were mustered on the deck by British officers, acting under the express commands of Sir George Pro- vost, and every man whose tongue, in answering to his name, betrayed his Bri- tish birth, was set apart to be sent to England as a traitor, there to be tried and executed. As soon as Scott, who was in the cabin, became aware of what was go- ing on, he sprang to the deck; and, find- ing his men ranged in ranks, and answer- ing to the roll. called by the British officer, he forbade his soldiers to make fur- ther answer. Already twenty-three had been selected and set apart for a shameful death. Silence followed Col. Scotts command, and no threats of the British of- ficer could induce the men again to speak. Scott, amidst constant interruptions from the British officer, then addressed the twenty-three selected menencouraged them to be of good cheer, and solemnly pledged himself to them, that if a hair of the head of one of them was touched be- cause of their having served in the American army, retaliation should be made upon British prisoners in the hands of the Americans. These twenty-three men, all Irish, were, nevertheless, put in irons, and sent to England; but they bore with them the pledge of a gallant soldier, who, they knew, would not fail them; and accordingly, his first care, on landing at Boston, was to repeat all the circumstances to the Secretary at War, and the effect of this report, immediately communicated to Congress, was, that a law was passed vesting the President of the United States with the power of retaliation, (March 3d, 1813,) and two months after, at the capture of Fort George, Scott having made many prison- erstrue to his pledge to the Irish sol- diers sent in irons to Great Britain selected twenty-three of his prisoners, and confined them to abide the fate of the twenty-three naturalized Americans. In making this selection Scott was careful not to include a single Irishman. This step led to the confinement on both sides, as hostages, of many men and officers, the lives of all of whom were of course dependent upon the fate of the original twenty-three. The British authorities saw the peril, and, it may be presumed, the injustice of 150 Gen. Winfield Scoit. the step they had taken, and not one of these prisoners was tried or harmed. There is a poetical justice, rare in real life, in the sequel of this story, which is thus told by his biographer: In July, 1515, when peace had been some months concluded, and Scott (then a Major General) was passing along on the East River side of the city. of New York, he was attracted by loud cheers and bustle on one of the piers. He approached, and great was his delight to find that it was the cheers of his Irish soldiers, in whose be- half he had interfered at Quebec, and who had that moment landed in triumph, after a confinement of two years in British pri- sons He was quickly recognized by them, hailed as their deliverer, and nearly crushed by their warm-hearted embraces! Twenty-one were present, two having died natural deaths. Scott, although then on the point of em- barking for Europe, and suffering still from the effects of the wound received at the bloody battle of the Niagara, imme- diately wrote to the War Department, recalled the case of these men to notice, and claimed for them their arrears of pay and the bounty of land to which they were entitled. The claims in both re- spects were admitted and satisfied. As soon as exchanged, Scott again sought active service, and appeared as adjutant-general of the army under Ge- neral Dearborne, on the Niagara fron- tier, in the spring of 1813. His first act was in leading the advanced column of the attack, which so completely succeed- ed, on the 27th May, on Fort George, at the mouth of the Niagara river. The enemy was driven from the work and the field; and but for repeated and peremp- tory orders of recall from his superior, Scott would probably have captured the whole British force. The fort, the colors of which had been taken down by Col. Scott himself, became the head-quarters of the American troops, and in command of it Col. Scott was left when the main body of the army went down the St. Lawrence, in the summer of that year, to attack Montreal. The whole summer passed without any attack from the Bri- tish, and, burning for active operations, Scott was permitted by General Wilkin- son to turn Fort George over to General McLure of the N. Y. militia, and to join the main army at Sackets Harbor; marching to the mouth of the Genesee river, where the commander-in-chief pro- LFeb., mised that transports should meet him. In this, however, Scott was disappointed, and he was compelled to march over roads almost impassable along the whole distance from Niagara to the St. Lawrence. Leaving his column near Utica, under the command of Major Hind- man, Scott hastened forward himself, reached the St. Lawrence at Ogdensburg on the 6th Nov. in time to take part in the descent, and was appointed to com- mand the advance guard; and owing to his being in advance, had no part in the indecisive battle of Chrystlers field, or the events which took place in the rear. He did, however, encounter and over- come severe resistance at the Hoophole- creek, near Cornwall, where he routed a nearly equal British force under Colonel Dennismaking many prisoners and pur- suing the fugitives till night; and also at Fort Matilda, erected to guard the narrowest part of the river. He took the fort, its commander and many of his men. But with victory within his grasp- for there was no force between Scott and Montreal which could have arrested his march six hours, and no garrison in Montreal that could have obstructed his entryhe was doomed, and the nation was doomed, to disappointment by the incompetency and the quarrels of two of its Generals Wilkinson and Wade Hampton: Wilkinson ordering a retreat because Hampton would not join him with his detachment, and Hampton refus- ing to join, because, as he alleged, pro- visions were insufficient; the campaign closed in disaster. But it was brilliantly redeemed by that of the following year. On the 9th March, 1814, Col. Scott was promoted to the rank of brigadier, and immediately joined Gen. Brown, then in full march from French Mills to the Nia- gara frontier. Brown, who was an able but self-taught commander, perceiving the need of instruction and discipline, left the camp expressly for the purpose of giving the command to Gen. Scott, and enabling him to carry out a system of instruction and discipline with the troops as they assembled at Buffalo. For more than three months this duty was assidu- ously and most successfully discharged by Gen. Scott. Now it was that the knowledge of the art of war, which he had so sedulously acquired during his year of suspension, came into play. He personally drilled and instructed all the officers, and then in turn superintended them as they in-. 1847.1 Gen. Winfield Scott. 151 structed the soldiers. By assiduous Ia- tillery, to say to McNeils battalion of the bor, he succeeded, at the end of three 11th infantry : The enemy say we are months, in presenting in the field an army good at long shot, but cannot stand the skillful in mancuuvres, and confident alike cold iron. I call upon the Eleventh in- in their officers and in themselves. When stantly to give the lie to the slander. all was ready for action, General Brown Charge ! And they did charge ; and, resumed the command. The army was aided by Leavenworths battalion, they crossed over to Canada in two brigades, quickly put the enemy to rout, before the Scotts and Ripleys, the former below, 21st of Ripleys brigade, which was has- the latter above Fort Erie, which almost tening to take part in the battle, or any immediately surrendered,and then march- portion of that brigade, could get p. ed to attack the main British army, lying Justly, indeed, did General Brown, in behind the Chippewa river, under the his official report of the battle, say command of General Riall. On the Brigadier-General Scott is entitled to morning of the 4th Julyauspicious the highest praise our country can be- day Scotts brigade, several hours in stow: to him, more than to any other advance, fell in with the 100th regiment, man, am I indebted for the victory of the British, commanded by the Marquis of 5th July. The fight was fierce and Tweedale, and kept up a running fight bloody in an unwonted degree, the killed with it till it was driven across the Chip- on both sides amounting to 830, out of pewa. Scott encamped for the night be- about 4,000 engagedmore than one in hind Streets creek, about two miles from five. This actionwhich was chiefly the British camp, behind the Chippewa; valuable for the good effect it produced with a level plain extending between, upon the feelings of the nation, by prov- skirted on the east by the Niagara river, ing that in the open field, and hand to on the west by woods. On the Sth,a hand, our troops were equal at least, and bright, h?t day,the morning began with in this instance had proved themselves skirmishing in the woods, between the superior, to the best troops of England N. Y. Volunteers, under General Porter, was followed in just three weeks by an- and the British irregulars; and it was other, yet more decisive of the courage not till 4 oclock in the afternoon, and and discipline of the American army just as Scott, despairing of bringing on that at Lundys Lane. Gen. Riall, un- an action that day, was drawing out his known to General Brown, had been brigade on the plain for drill, that General largely reinforced by Gen. Drummond Brown, who had been reconnoitering on from below; and when, on the morning of the left flank, and perceived that the main the 26th July, Gen. Scott, in advance, as body of the British army was moving for- usual, was on a march to attack Gen. ward, rode up to General Scott, and said, Rialls forces, he suddenly came upon the The eneniy is advancing: you will British troops, which, reinforced that very have a fight; and without giving any day by Drummond, were themselves bent order, such was his reliance upon Scott, on attack. Scott had with him but proceeded to the rear to bring up Ripleys four small battalions, commanded, respect- brigade. Scott immediately prepared for ively, by Brady, Jessup, Leavenworth, action; and there, on the plain of Chip- and McNeil and Towsons artillery, pewa, with his own brigade only, con- with Capt. Harris detachment of regu- sisting of the 9th, 11th, and 25th regts. lar and irregular cavalry,the whole eol- of infantry, with a detachment of the uum not exceeding 1300 men. With 22d, Towsons company of artillery, this small force, Scott found himself in and Porters volunteers,in all 1900 presence of a superior body. His posi- rnen,encountered, routed, and pursued tion was critical, but it was precisely one a superior force of some of the best regi- of those where promptness and decision ments of the British servicethe Royal of action must supply the want of hattal- .~cots, the 8th and 100th regiments, a ions. Dispatching officers to the rear detachment of the 19th dragoons, another to apprise Gen. Brown that the whole of the Royal Artillery, and some Cana- British army were before him, Gen. Scott dian Militia,in all 2100 men. Here it at once engaged the enemy, who all the was that the discipline so laboriously while believed they had to do with the taught by Scott, in the camp of instruc- whole of Gen. Browns army, not at all tion, told; and this it was that enabled expecting that a mere detachment of it huim, as at a turning point of the battle he would venture upon the apparently des- did, in a voice rising above the roar of ox- perate course of encountering such 152 Gen. Winfield Scott. [Feb., greatly superior numbers as the British knew they had in the field. The battle began about half an hour before sunset, within the spray, almost, of the everlast- ing Falls of Niagara, and beneath the halo of its irradiated bow of promise and of hope. It is recorded as a fact, that the head of our advancing column was ac- tually encircled by this beautiful bow, and all took courage from the omen. The battle raged with unequal fortune and desperate valor, till far into the night. When Miller made his famous and deci- sive charge upon the battery of the Bri- tish, which was the key of their position, darkness covered the earth; and Scott, who knew the localities, piloted Miller on his way, till the fire from the battery revealed its position completely. Scott then resumed the attack in front, while Miller gallantly stormed and carried the battery, and held it against repeated charges from the oft-rallied, but as oft- dispersed, British troops. Twice, mean- time, had Scott charged through the British linestwo horses had been killed under himhe was wounded in the oide and about 11 oclock at night, on foot and yet fighting, he was finally disabled by a shot which shattered the left shoul- der, and he was borne away about mid- night from the battle,his commander, General Brown, having been previously, in like manner, carried away wounded from the field. The honors of the field belonged to the American arms, although, from the want of horses, they could not carry off the British cannon, captured with so much gallantry by Miller. But the American troops retired to Chippewa, and thence to Fort Erie, where they were soon be- sieged by Gen. Drummond. Scott was absent, suffering under his wounds; but the spirit and the discipline with which his efforts and his example had inspired the army, failed not, though he was no longer with them, and after being belea- guered near 60 days, Gen. Brown, who had sufficiently recovered to resume the command, made a sortie, on 17th Sept., in which he defeated the troops in the trenches, captured and destroyed their works, and so effectually overthrew all that it had cost long weeks to accom- plish, that the British commander, Gen. Drummond, withdrew his troops, and soon after the American army went into winter-quarters at Buffalo. This was virtually, in this region, the end of the war; for peace was negociated at Glient at the close of 1814, and was ratified ear- ly the ensuing Spring. Scott, who had been carried to Buffalo, where he was most kindly and cordially received and watched over, as soon as he could bear the motion, was borne in a litter from place to place by the citizens themselves, who would not commit to mercenary hands the care and comfort of a gallant soldier, still. disabled by his wounds, until he reached the house of his old friend Nicholas, at Geneva. But his great desire was to reach Philadel- phia, in order to avail himself of the emi- nent skill of Drs. Physick and Chapman; for the possibility of being so crippled, for life, as to be incapable of further ser- vice to his country, was to Scott an in- tolerable thought, and hence he sought the best surgical aid. He therefore,. by slow progress, reached Philadelphia, everywhere welcomed and honored on his route as the suffering representative of the army on the Niagara, which had won imperishable laurels for the country and itself. At Princeton, where he hap- pened to arrive on the day of the annual Commencement, the Faculty, students and citizens all insisted on his taking part in the ceremonial; and, pale, ema- ciated, and weak as he was, that he should be present during a part, at least, of the public performances. He was fain to comply; and when, in the close of an oration on the public duties of a good citizen, in peace and in war, the youth- ful and graceful orator turned to Scott, and made him the personification of the civic and heroic virtues which had just been inculcated, the edifice rang with applause, womans gentle voice mingling in with the harsher tones of the other sex. The Faculty conferred on him the degree of A. M., which his early training and literary pursuits, not less than his public services, rendered wholly appro- priate. On approaching Philadelphia, he found the Governor of the State, Snyder, at the head of a division of militia, with which he had marched out to receive him. Baltimore being still menaced by the British, Gen. Scott, at the earnest request of the citizens, consented, all wounded as he was, and incapable of exertion, to assume the command of the district, and in such command the tidings of peace found him. After declining the post of Secretary at War, proffered to him by President Madison, and aiding in the painful and delicate task of reducing the 1847.] Gen. Winfield Scott. 153 army to a peace establishment, he was sent by the government to Europe, both for the restoration of his health and pro- fessional improvement. He was more- over commissioned to ascertain the views and designs of different courts and pro- minent public men respecting the revolu- tionary struggle then commenced in the Spanish American colonies, and espe- cially those of England respecting the island of Cuba,all at that time subjects of solicitude at Washington. How he acquitted himself of these commissions, may be inferred from the fact, that, by order of President Madison, a special let- ter of thanks was written to him by the Secretary of State. After two years spent in Europe, where he associated with the most distinguished men in all the walks of life, attended courses of pub- lic lectures, and visited and inspected the great fortresses and naval establishments, Scott returned to the United States, and was assigned to the command of the sea- board, making New York his head-quar- ters; and there, for twenty years, except with occasional absences on duty in the West, he remained. The gratitude of the country for his war services was tes- tified in various shapes. Congress voted him a gold medal, and passed resolutions of thanks, in which he was not only complimented for his skill and gallantry at Chippewa and Niagara, but for his unf form good conduct throughout the war a compliment paid by Congress to no other officer. The gold medal was pre- sented by President Monroe. Virginia and New York each voted a sword to him; which, for Virginia, was presented by Governor Pleasants, for New York, by Governor Tompkins. He was also elect- ed an honorary member of the Cincin- nati, and numberless States named new counties after him. In the long interval of comparative in- action which followed the close of the war, Scotts services were availed of by the gen- eral governmentfirst, in that most pain- ful task of reducing the army to a peace establishment, which necessarily imposed upon the General the responsibility of deciding between the merits and fitness of many gallant men, who had stood with him unflinching on the red fields of bat- tle. But in the discharge of this, as of every other duty to his country, Scott acted with a single eye to its honor and welfare. Neither the relations of gen- eral friendship, nor the influences of vari- ous sorts, brought to bear from without, were suffered to warp his firm mind. He was there for his country, and in conso- nance with what he thought its clear in- terests, was his course throughout. The next important benefit rendered, and which, perhaps, was not the least of all the many he was capable of rendering, was to translate from the French, pre- pare, digest, and adapt to our service, a complete system of military tactics. In the execution of this trust, his previous military studies gave him great facilities and advantages; and the system thus introduced, carried into effect by those jewels of the nation, the West-Point Ca- dets, has recently proved itself at Palo Alto and Fort Brown, Resaca de la Pal- ma, and Monterey. The frankness of his nature, and his high sense of subordination, and ever- present and active respect for the spirit as well as letter of the Constitution of his country, involved him, about the year 1817, in an unpleasant controversy, first with General Jackson, and second, as a consequence of the first, with De Witt Clinton. The particulars of the controver- sy have passed from memory, and it is not our purpose to revive them. In the life- time before the presidency of Gen. Jack- son, a very complete and soldierly recon- ciliation took place between Gen. Scott and himself. But we may add, in the way of c.aution and reprobation, that the whole difficulty arose from the unjustifi- able and ungentlemanly repetition of some observations, made at a private din- ner table by Gen. Scott. Another controversy arose between Gen. Scott and Gen. Gaines, on the sub- ject of brevet rank, on occasion of the appointment of Gen. Macomb to the command of the army, after the death of Gen. Brown. The government did not sustain the views taken by Gen. Scott of the rights of brevet rank, and this officer, in consequence, tendered the resignation of his commission, not from any mere personal feelings, but because he thought that in his person a great military princi- ple was violated. Happily, Gen. Jack- son (then become President) would not act upon the proffsred resignation; and in order to allow time for reflection, and at the same time to prevent any damage to the service from an open collision on points of duty between Gen. Scott and his official superior, a furlough of one year was sent to him. Scott took ad- vantage of the furlough to revisit EurQpe, and on his return, under the earnest ad- 154 Gen. Winfield Scott. [Feb., vice of his friends, and, as is believed, with the unanimous approval of his brother- officers, Scott withdrew his resignation, and reported himself for duty. The Secretary of War, Major Eaton, in ac- knowledging Gen. Scotts letter, frankly and honorably says: It affords the de- partment much satisfaction to perceive the conclusion at which you have arrived as to your brevet rights. None will do you the injustice to suppose that the opinions declared by you on the subject are not the result of reflection and con- viction: but since the constituted au- thorities of the government have, with the best feelings entertained, come to conclusions adverse to your own, no other opinions were cherished, or were hoped for, but that on your return ta the United States you would adopt the course your letter indicates, and with good feel- ings resume those duties of which your country has so long had the benefit. The General was ordered in conclusion to report himself at once for duty to Gen. Macomb. He was assigned anew to the Eastern Department, and there remained till called by the Black Hawk wat in 1832 to take command of that. It was in this command that Scott had the opportunity of showing himself a hero of humanity, as he had before shown himself a hero in the battle- field. The Asiatic cholera in this year first reached this continent, and, sweeping with rapid but irregular strides from point to point, it manifested itself most fatally on board the fleet of steamboats on Lake Erie. in which Gen. Scott, with a corps of about 1,000 regulars, embarked for Chicago. They lhft Buffalo in the beginnin~ of July. On the 8th, the cholera declared itself on board the steamboat Sheldon Thompson, in which Gen. Scott and staff, and 220 men were embarked, and in less than six days one officer and fifty-one men died, and eighty were put on shore sick at Chicago. It was amid the gloom and the terror of this attack from an unknown disease, or only known by its fatal approaches, that Gen. Scott displayed those att~ibutes of moral courage, of genuine philanthropy, which should weigh so much more in the scale of national gratitude, than the exercise of physical couragethat quality com- mon to our race in the battle-field. From cot to cot of the sick soldiers, their General daily went, soothing the last mo- nients of the dying, sustaining and cheer- ing those who hoped to survive, and for all, disarming the pestilence of that formi- dable character of contagion which seemed to render its attack inevitable, and almost synonymous with, death, by showing in his own person that he feared it not. Of the numbers whom his heroic self-confidence and generous example, in such circumstances, saved from death, by dissipating their apprehensions, no human estimate can be made; but such deeds and such devotion are not unmarked by the eye of Providence, and cannot be without their reward. Of the 950 men that left Buffalo, not more than 400 sur- vived for active service. On leaving Chicago, with this diminished com- mand, Scott proceeded as rapidly as pos- sible to the Mississippi, and there joined Gen. Atkinson at Prairie du Chien, who, in the battle of the Badaxe, had already scattered the forces of Black Hawk. In spite of all the precaution adopted by Scott and Atkinson, the cholera was communicated anew to the army assem- bled at Rock Island, and great were its ravages. Here again, as on board the steamboats, when the malady first ap- peared, Scotts self-sacrificing care and solicitude for his men were unceasing. A brother-officer, an eye-witness of what he relates, thus describes the Generals course of conduct: It exhibited him not only as a warrior, but as a man; not only as the hero of battles, but as the hero of humanity. . . . The generals duty, under the circumstances, clearly was to give the best direction he could for proper attendance on the sick, and for preventing the spread of the dis- ease. When he had done this, his duty was performed, and he might have left the rest to his medical officers. But such was not his course. He thought he had other duties to perform ; that his personal safety must be disregarded to visit the sick, to cheer the well, to encourage the attend- ants, to set an example to all, to prevent a panicin a word, to save the lives of others, at the risk of his own. All this he did faithfully, and when he could have no other motive than that of doing good. Here was no glory to be acquired; here were none of the excitements of the battle- field; here was no shame to be avoided, or disgrace to be feared, because his arrange- ments and directions to those whose part it was to battle with disease, had satisfied duty. It was far into September before the dread disease was extirpated from the camp, and then commenced the negotia- tions with the Sacs and Foxes; this was 1847.] G!en. Wii~field Scott. 155 concluded by Scott with consummate skill, and resulted in the cession, for a valuable consideration, of the fine region which now constitutes the State of Iowa. Another treaty was made on the same terms by him with the Winnebagoes, by which they ceded some five million acres of land east of the Mississippi and be- tween the Illinois and Wisconsin, now constituting a valuable portion of the Territory of Wisconsin. In reference as well to his successful negotiations as to his humane conduct under the calamity of pestilence, the then Secretary of War, Gen. Cass, wrote thus to Gen. Scott: Allow me to congratulate you upon the fortunate consummation of your ardu- ous duties, and to express my entire ap- probation of the whole course of your pro- ceedings, during a series of difficulties re- quiring higher moral courage than the operations of an active campaign under ordinary circumstances. Scarcely had Scott reached home and his family in New York, when he was detailed by President Jackson to a new, important and most delicate duty, that of maintaining at home the supre- macy of the United States against South Carolina nullification. He immediate- ly proceeded to Washington, and there, in personal interviews with the Presi- dent and the cabinet, becoming fully pos- sessed of their views, and hiwing fully ex- pressed to them his own, he was invest- ed with very ample discretionary power to meet the perilous crisis. In no scene of his life, perhaps, has Gen. Scott exhibit- ed more thorough patriotismmore en- tire devotion to the laws and Constitution of his countrymore anxious, and skill- fully-conducted efforts to arrest that dir- est of calamities, civil warmore self- commandmore tact and talentthan while stationed at Fort Moultrie, in Charleston Harbor, and face to face, as it were, with nullification in arms. A single drop of blood shed at that moment might have deluged the nation in blood and yet the laws of the United States, made in conformity with the Constitu- tion, Scott was sworn and commissioned to uphold, defend and enforce: the point of difficulty was to avert the blood- shed, and yet maintain the laws; and he came off entirely successful in both under circumstances, that history will do justice to, as those who remember the fearful apprehensions of that day, did at the time, and still do. VOL. V.NO. II. 11 His next field of public service was in Florida, where the Seminolesin posses~ sion of the everglades, and having taken our troops at unawaresowing to the want of adequate preparation by the ad- ministration, although timely warned of the danger by the gallant Clinchseemed for a time to set the whole efforts of our country at defiance. On the 20th Janu- ary, 1836, General Scott was ordered to the command of the troops in Florida, and he displayed his habitual prompti- tude in obeying the order. He was am prised of the will of the President at 4 oclock in the afternoon, and asked when he could set forth; this night, was the reply. But a days delay was required to draw up the requisite instructions and he left Washington on the 21st. We enter not here into an examination of the steps taken and plans devised by General Scott, to bring to a rapid and sure termination these disastrous and dis- creditable hostilities, nor into the man- ner or the motives of his unmilitary recall and of the subsequent investigation of his conduct by a Court of Inquiry; these are among the historic archives of the nation. Our only concern here with them is to say, that this court unani- mously approved his conductpronouno- ed the plan of his Seminole campaign well devised, and added that it was prosecuted with energy, steadiness, and ability; and so in regard to the Creek war, which at the same time fell upon his hands, the court found that the plan of campaign adopted by Major-Gen. eral Scott, was well calculated to lead to successful results; and that it was pro- secuted by him, as far as p~cticable, with zeal and ability, until he was re- called from the command. Mr. Van Buren, who had now become President, approved the finding of the court, and the nation at large ratified the verdict. Public dinners were tendered to General Scott by the citizens of New York, of Richmond, and of other places, ~ll of which however he declined; and was in the discharge of the ordinary duties of his station, when the patriot troubles broke out in 1837 on the Canada frontier. For two years these troubles agitated this country and seriously me- naced its peace. To no man in so great a degree as to General Scott is it indebt... ed for the preservation of that peace. 1* honor and patriotism, his approved mili- tary service, his reputation and his bear- ing as a soldier, gave great effect to 156 Cen. Winfield Scott. [Feb;, his frank and friendly expostulations with the deluded American citizens, who supposed they were acting patriotically in taking part with the Canadian revolt- ers; and by kindness and reason, com- bined with much skill and assiduity, in discovering and tracing the ramifications of the patriot lodges, he was enabled to prevent any outbreak that might com- promise our country with Great Britain. H is return from the Niagara frontier was greeted with compliments at Albany and elsewhere, and all felt that a great national good had been accomplished by this gallant soldier. In 1838, another difficult and painful service was confided to General Scott, that of removing the Cherokees from the homes of their fa- thers, beyond the Mississippi. Here, he was as successful as in all previous pub- lic service: tempering humanity with power, and operating more by moral in- fluence than force, be effected this most trying object in a manner that secured the gratitude of those whom he was, act- ing for his country, obliged to wrong. It was this service, connected with his subsequent pacific arrangement of the north-eastern boundary difficulties, that drew from the lamented Channingthat apostle of human rightsthis fine tri- bute: To this distinguished man belongs the iare honor of uniting with military energy and daring the spirit of a philanthropist. His exploits in the field, which placed him in the first rank of our soldiers, have been obscured by the purer and more lasting glory of a pacificator, and of a friend of mankind. In the whole history of the intercourse of civilized with barbarous or half-civilized communities, we doubt whether a brighter page can be found than that which records his agency in the removal of the Cherokees. As far as the wrongs done to this race can be atoned fer, General Scott has made the expiation. In his recent mission to the disturbed borders of our country, he has succceded, not so much by policy as by the nobleness and generosity of his character, by moral influences, by the earnest conviction with which he has enforced upon all with whom he has had to do, the obligations of pa- triotism, justice, humanity and religion. It would not be easy to find among us a man who has won a purer fame; and I am happy to offer this tribute, because I would do somethingno matter how littleto hasten the time when the spirit of Chris- tian humanity shall be accounted an essen- tial attribute and the brightest ornainent to a public man. This is justly said and most justly ap- plied. In 1839, Scott was again deputed by the government to keep the peace, and, soldier as he is, to use all his great influ- ence to prevent the occurrence of war. The dispute respecting the contested boundary on the north-eastern frontier had become exasperatedMassachusetts and Maine on one side, and New Bruns- wick on the other, had in some degree taken the matter into their own hands, and hostile bands stood facing each other; a single indiscretion among them might have precipitated war beyond the possi- bility of its being averted. Happily a friendship formed on the field of battle, in years long past, between Gen. Scott and Gen. Sir John Harvey, the Governor of New Brunswick, contributed to smooth the difficulties between the two nations. Gen. Scott having overcome the first great obstacles in soothing the irritated feel. ings of the American borderers, made over- tures to Sir John Harvey for the mutual withdrawal of troops from the disputed territory; and Sir John frankly acceded to them, saying in his letter of the 23d March, 1839, to Gen. Scott, My reli- ance upon you, my dear General, has led me to give my willing assent to the pro- position which you have made yourself the very acceptable means of conveying to me. The menacing position of affairs was now effectually changed into feel- ings of recipiocal forbearance, and Dan- iel Webster finally accomplished, by the treaty at Washington, the good work so satisfactorily commenced by the Paci- ficator, Scott. Subsequently, the gratitude and admira- tion of large portions of the country designated Gen. Scott as a candidate for the Presidency, and many States, in the preliminary convention of nomination, voted for him, but another obtained the vote. In all this matter Gen. Scott was passivenot seeking and not declining the high officebut holding himself, as he always does, liable to the call of his countrymen, to serve them in whatever capacity they may think his services needed. He is now once again on the field of warmature in mind, rich in know- ledge and experience, robustin health, and patriotic, considerative, and law-abiding as in the past. The circumstances un- der which this command was conferred upon him, honorable alike to him and to the Executive, of themselves dissipate 1847.] The Sea and the Shipwrecked. 157 the poor jests in which, in the thoughtless- ness of security, some inconsiderate peo- ple have indulged, because of an over- frank, literal and common-place expres- sion. The glorious fact of Scotts heroic life, his brilliant deeds of arms, his more ennobling acts as a statesman and paci- ficator in peace, cry aloud against such wanton injustice to a great name; and the future will yet vindicate that name which, it may be affirmed with entire confidence, will never be allied with dis- honor, oppression, or defeat. Mortal, indeed, he is, and he may die by the for- tune of war, but, living or dying, his life will be consistent to the last; and as it has been in the past, so will it continue to the endself-sacrificing, devoted first and always for his country; and striving everywhere, and at all times, for the su- premacy and preservation of its laws and its Constitution. Such is WINFIELD SCOTT, to whom all eyes are now turned, as the head of our armies in Mexico; and whose career, thus far, is honestly, impartially, and eloquently set forth in the volume here referred to. THE SEA AND THE SHIPWRECKED. BY EARLDEN. The Jack-tar, with his hat in his hand, delivereth a speech in behalf of his shipwrecked comrades: GRANT us your hearts, kind people; and withal Grant us your open hands. For who will spare To give his small and individual mite To the poor sailor? Are there any, think ye, Of all that fill, in hard and daily use, The occupations of this common life, That can in toil and peril aught compare With wanderers of the ocean? Do but think, And let imagination aid your thoughts, How many and what fearful shapes of death We still must meet whose life is never sure. Look on us, cribbed and cabined with disease, In hot unwholesome closeness couching us, Or in rude hammocks swinging to the gale, And coldly sprinkled with the salt-sea foam. 0, do but see us in a fragile bark, A plankno moretwixt life and wild destruction, Tossed like an acorn in the midnight storm, While the loud wind sweeps through the whistling shrouds, Strain the high masts, and on the spongy dark Streams the torn canvas, and th unruly billows In rage and fear above each other rise To look upon our ruin. Or, behold Beneath the steep and equatorial sun Our ship becalmed upon the rotting deep, Our bodies baked, and black with fevered thirst, While weltering creatures in the waveless slime Batten around us. Then, present, again, To your quick minds a vessels lonely crew, Careering round the dim and frozen pole, Where no sun rises. 0, with freezing ears, Long months beneath the light of the cold stars, Hear the harsh grating of the dull green ice, And see around the huge bergs slowly move Their jagged edges gainst the pale, gray sky.

Earlden Earlden The Sea and the Shipwrecked 157-158

1847.] The Sea and the Shipwrecked. 157 the poor jests in which, in the thoughtless- ness of security, some inconsiderate peo- ple have indulged, because of an over- frank, literal and common-place expres- sion. The glorious fact of Scotts heroic life, his brilliant deeds of arms, his more ennobling acts as a statesman and paci- ficator in peace, cry aloud against such wanton injustice to a great name; and the future will yet vindicate that name which, it may be affirmed with entire confidence, will never be allied with dis- honor, oppression, or defeat. Mortal, indeed, he is, and he may die by the for- tune of war, but, living or dying, his life will be consistent to the last; and as it has been in the past, so will it continue to the endself-sacrificing, devoted first and always for his country; and striving everywhere, and at all times, for the su- premacy and preservation of its laws and its Constitution. Such is WINFIELD SCOTT, to whom all eyes are now turned, as the head of our armies in Mexico; and whose career, thus far, is honestly, impartially, and eloquently set forth in the volume here referred to. THE SEA AND THE SHIPWRECKED. BY EARLDEN. The Jack-tar, with his hat in his hand, delivereth a speech in behalf of his shipwrecked comrades: GRANT us your hearts, kind people; and withal Grant us your open hands. For who will spare To give his small and individual mite To the poor sailor? Are there any, think ye, Of all that fill, in hard and daily use, The occupations of this common life, That can in toil and peril aught compare With wanderers of the ocean? Do but think, And let imagination aid your thoughts, How many and what fearful shapes of death We still must meet whose life is never sure. Look on us, cribbed and cabined with disease, In hot unwholesome closeness couching us, Or in rude hammocks swinging to the gale, And coldly sprinkled with the salt-sea foam. 0, do but see us in a fragile bark, A plankno moretwixt life and wild destruction, Tossed like an acorn in the midnight storm, While the loud wind sweeps through the whistling shrouds, Strain the high masts, and on the spongy dark Streams the torn canvas, and th unruly billows In rage and fear above each other rise To look upon our ruin. Or, behold Beneath the steep and equatorial sun Our ship becalmed upon the rotting deep, Our bodies baked, and black with fevered thirst, While weltering creatures in the waveless slime Batten around us. Then, present, again, To your quick minds a vessels lonely crew, Careering round the dim and frozen pole, Where no sun rises. 0, with freezing ears, Long months beneath the light of the cold stars, Hear the harsh grating of the dull green ice, And see around the huge bergs slowly move Their jagged edges gainst the pale, gray sky. 158 The Sea and the Shipwrecked. [Feb., All this, good sirs, fair maidens, have we borne, Myself and these ;and now at last were wrecked On this our native shore, which should have been More kindly to her children. 0, be moved With touch of pity, gentles, and bestow Some meed of charity; nor evermore Forget the storm-worn mariner. So may God, Who saved us from the tempest and the sea, Reward your mercy! [Money Jiung into the old sailors hat.] I thank you, now, for my comrades; ay, in the name of all the poor sailors in the world. Wont you have a song i They made me spokesman, you see; but its a hard thing to make a reglar speech, though its all fixed aforehand. But I think may be we can all sing a catch to suit ye; though the salt waters hardly out of our mouths yet. Come, boys, stand by for the chorus! SONG. I. III. Ho! heave the anchor !high, my boys! Yoheave! Oheave! Yeho! The morning breaks, our canvas shakes, The sea-born breezes blow! For we will leave the lazy land, And sc& n the pillowed sleep, Fling wide our sail to sun and gale And ride the rocking deep! Cuostus. 0, who so brave as they that dare With the sailors bold devotion! For we court the battle and the storm, And our home is the rolling ocean; 0! our life is peril, toil and want, And our grave is the rolling ocean! II. The land is fadinglet it fade! Though there our sweethearts be, Well woo the deep where wild winds sweep More constant is the sea! And if theres one will weep and sigh, It shall not be in vain ; For she will prove of sweeter love When we come back again. 0, who so brave, & c. Lo! land is lostthe skys above, The sea is all around; And now are we, as the billow free, Or the breeze thats never bound! Then stretch, my boys, another sail; Ye winds, blow swift and strong! Ho! Ho! the wave shall be our slave To bear our flight along! 0, who so brave, & c. Iv. Behold the heavens are still and lone, And water is the world; But weve no fear, for God is here, And our countrys flag unfurled Then, strife or storm, well die beneath The starry streamer brave; And own at last, where we are cast, The sailors boundless grave! CHoRus. 0, who so brave as they that dare With the sailor~s bold devotion! For we court the battle and the storm, And our home is the rolling ocean; 0! our life is peril, toil and want, And our grave is the rolling ocean!

Song 158-159

158 The Sea and the Shipwrecked. [Feb., All this, good sirs, fair maidens, have we borne, Myself and these ;and now at last were wrecked On this our native shore, which should have been More kindly to her children. 0, be moved With touch of pity, gentles, and bestow Some meed of charity; nor evermore Forget the storm-worn mariner. So may God, Who saved us from the tempest and the sea, Reward your mercy! [Money Jiung into the old sailors hat.] I thank you, now, for my comrades; ay, in the name of all the poor sailors in the world. Wont you have a song i They made me spokesman, you see; but its a hard thing to make a reglar speech, though its all fixed aforehand. But I think may be we can all sing a catch to suit ye; though the salt waters hardly out of our mouths yet. Come, boys, stand by for the chorus! SONG. I. III. Ho! heave the anchor !high, my boys! Yoheave! Oheave! Yeho! The morning breaks, our canvas shakes, The sea-born breezes blow! For we will leave the lazy land, And sc& n the pillowed sleep, Fling wide our sail to sun and gale And ride the rocking deep! Cuostus. 0, who so brave as they that dare With the sailors bold devotion! For we court the battle and the storm, And our home is the rolling ocean; 0! our life is peril, toil and want, And our grave is the rolling ocean! II. The land is fadinglet it fade! Though there our sweethearts be, Well woo the deep where wild winds sweep More constant is the sea! And if theres one will weep and sigh, It shall not be in vain ; For she will prove of sweeter love When we come back again. 0, who so brave, & c. Lo! land is lostthe skys above, The sea is all around; And now are we, as the billow free, Or the breeze thats never bound! Then stretch, my boys, another sail; Ye winds, blow swift and strong! Ho! Ho! the wave shall be our slave To bear our flight along! 0, who so brave, & c. Iv. Behold the heavens are still and lone, And water is the world; But weve no fear, for God is here, And our countrys flag unfurled Then, strife or storm, well die beneath The starry streamer brave; And own at last, where we are cast, The sailors boundless grave! CHoRus. 0, who so brave as they that dare With the sailor~s bold devotion! For we court the battle and the storm, And our home is the rolling ocean; 0! our life is peril, toil and want, And our grave is the rolling ocean! 1847.] The hack-Horse Wot Wouldnt Go. 159 THE HACK-HORSE WOT WOULDNT GO; OR, HOW TIlE YANKEE DII) THE YORKSHIREMAN. Rap! rap!! rap!!! No answer. Three more raps and two kicks. Hullo! whos there? Whats the row ? Toomble oop, Benson, toomble oop ! And Fred Peters tumbled in. Eeeeeyow! Tisnt church time yet, and I yawned awfully. Noa, but were goaing to York, you know. Oh! Ah! Ye-es. And it began to dawn upon my somewhat obftiscated intellect that we were to be at York in time for the Cathedral service, which begins at 10 A. at. It was now half- past 6, and we were in Leeds, twenty- one miles distant. Under this pressure 1 did toomble oop, and set about my toi- let vigorously. Fred Peters was a right good fellow, half Yankee, half Yorkshire. I believe he was born in the good city of Gotham, but his dialect was precisely that of the Ridings. Adopted at first partly out of fun, partly as an aid in business, (at that time we New Yorkers were suffering for the sins of the Pennsylvania defaulters and Mississippi repudiators, and John Bull was very shy of us,) this peculiar modification of the vernacular had be- come his natural mode of speech, and he seldom used any other. We were sworn cronies, though in very different lines, he being learned in all mysteries of broadcloth, I a moderately learned and decidedly equestrian Cantab. Business had brought him, and pleasure me, to the north of England: our temporary head- quarters were, as above hinted, at Leeds. And now breakfast and other matu- tinal operations being successfully com- pleted at half-past 7, we were ready to start. Our vehicle was one of the Shem, Ham and Japhet Buggies, by Sidney Smith commemorated. The horse was a wiry dark bay, with a hammer head, never-resting ears, and no tail to signify. There were good points about him, hut he had an aspect of unmitigated rowdiness that strongly reminded me of the bhoys on the 3d Avenue. And this souvenir of my beloved city moved meno, kept me from moving; for I stood contemplating the fiery (and fired) steed in ecstasy of admiration. Handsome horse, that ! said Peters. Never mind, were not proud. (A Cantab never is, if you will take his word for it.) In we jumped; I took the rib- bons, of course, and off went rowdy at a good round pace. FYTTE THE SECOND(Being Fight the First.) One mile to Tadcaster. How far is that from York ? Two moiles further. Not so bad that. Eighteen miles inhow much, Fred ? One hour and twenty-nine minutes. Plenty o toime; youd better pull up a little. Singularly enough the horse had come to the same conclusion just at that mo- ment, for he began shaking his head with great rapidity, and decreasing the velocity of his legs in a corresponding ratio until he came to a walk. To this we had no objection; indeed, it was the very thing we intended. But after about fifty yards he came to a positive stand- still. Even in this we were willing to acquiesce for a reasonable time, and al lowed him sixty full seconds for repose, after which I intimated the propriety of advancing. But the usual suggestions were quite lost upon our animal. Whip, reins and voice, equally failed to educe any symptoms of locomotion. Oill lead him, quoth Peters, the best natured of men, and out he leaped. For some twenty yards the horse conde- scended to proceed; then he stood stock- stiller than ever. Coom along, old horse! Coom wi ye! (Here the horse backed a trifle.) Coo-om! poor fel-low! Ah! Benson, hell nayther be driven nor coaxen, and Fred, for once in his life, looked like giving it up. For my part I essayed alternately every term of endearment and objurga- tion, all to no purpose. The brute re

Carl Benson Benson, Carl The Hack-Horse Wot Wouldn't Go 159-163

1847.] The hack-Horse Wot Wouldnt Go. 159 THE HACK-HORSE WOT WOULDNT GO; OR, HOW TIlE YANKEE DII) THE YORKSHIREMAN. Rap! rap!! rap!!! No answer. Three more raps and two kicks. Hullo! whos there? Whats the row ? Toomble oop, Benson, toomble oop ! And Fred Peters tumbled in. Eeeeeyow! Tisnt church time yet, and I yawned awfully. Noa, but were goaing to York, you know. Oh! Ah! Ye-es. And it began to dawn upon my somewhat obftiscated intellect that we were to be at York in time for the Cathedral service, which begins at 10 A. at. It was now half- past 6, and we were in Leeds, twenty- one miles distant. Under this pressure 1 did toomble oop, and set about my toi- let vigorously. Fred Peters was a right good fellow, half Yankee, half Yorkshire. I believe he was born in the good city of Gotham, but his dialect was precisely that of the Ridings. Adopted at first partly out of fun, partly as an aid in business, (at that time we New Yorkers were suffering for the sins of the Pennsylvania defaulters and Mississippi repudiators, and John Bull was very shy of us,) this peculiar modification of the vernacular had be- come his natural mode of speech, and he seldom used any other. We were sworn cronies, though in very different lines, he being learned in all mysteries of broadcloth, I a moderately learned and decidedly equestrian Cantab. Business had brought him, and pleasure me, to the north of England: our temporary head- quarters were, as above hinted, at Leeds. And now breakfast and other matu- tinal operations being successfully com- pleted at half-past 7, we were ready to start. Our vehicle was one of the Shem, Ham and Japhet Buggies, by Sidney Smith commemorated. The horse was a wiry dark bay, with a hammer head, never-resting ears, and no tail to signify. There were good points about him, hut he had an aspect of unmitigated rowdiness that strongly reminded me of the bhoys on the 3d Avenue. And this souvenir of my beloved city moved meno, kept me from moving; for I stood contemplating the fiery (and fired) steed in ecstasy of admiration. Handsome horse, that ! said Peters. Never mind, were not proud. (A Cantab never is, if you will take his word for it.) In we jumped; I took the rib- bons, of course, and off went rowdy at a good round pace. FYTTE THE SECOND(Being Fight the First.) One mile to Tadcaster. How far is that from York ? Two moiles further. Not so bad that. Eighteen miles inhow much, Fred ? One hour and twenty-nine minutes. Plenty o toime; youd better pull up a little. Singularly enough the horse had come to the same conclusion just at that mo- ment, for he began shaking his head with great rapidity, and decreasing the velocity of his legs in a corresponding ratio until he came to a walk. To this we had no objection; indeed, it was the very thing we intended. But after about fifty yards he came to a positive stand- still. Even in this we were willing to acquiesce for a reasonable time, and al lowed him sixty full seconds for repose, after which I intimated the propriety of advancing. But the usual suggestions were quite lost upon our animal. Whip, reins and voice, equally failed to educe any symptoms of locomotion. Oill lead him, quoth Peters, the best natured of men, and out he leaped. For some twenty yards the horse conde- scended to proceed; then he stood stock- stiller than ever. Coom along, old horse! Coom wi ye! (Here the horse backed a trifle.) Coo-om! poor fel-low! Ah! Benson, hell nayther be driven nor coaxen, and Fred, for once in his life, looked like giving it up. For my part I essayed alternately every term of endearment and objurga- tion, all to no purpose. The brute re 160 The Hack.-Ilor8e Wot Wouldnt Go. [Feb., mained obstinately statuesque. As my friend, Dr. Whistle of Trinity, might have said, no fortuitous concourse of itinerants was ever more deaf to the au- thoritative mandate of a policeman than the Yorkshire Rosinante to our persua- sions. He could not be induced to move on at any price. Confound you to all eternity ! I ex- claimed at last; and springing up, 1 began to flagellate the refractory one in every part reachable. Clear the track, Fred And he did, in good time for himself, for just as I had completed my circuit of cas- tigation, the subject of it made a hunter- like bolt, tearing away tugs and traces as if they were paper, and leaving the buggy to its destiny. As I make it a principle always to stick to the reins, I found myself flying through the air in a very erratic curve, the locus of which it would require a better analyst than my- self to determine. Even in this emer- gency, however, I retained sufficient presence of mind to draw one rein hard, by which means the horse was landed in a road-side gully, before he could drag me more than three or four leaps, and I escaped without further injury than a slight rent in my tweeds. As for I~eters, he sat down on a big stone and laughed inextinguishably. It does not take long to get a horse out of a ditch. I had had hunting experience enough to understand those sort of things. The next step was to head him towards our vehicle, which was no sooner done than he started off at a rate that bade fair to carry him back to Leeds in less time than he had come from it. And now 1 should have been compelled to let go the reins in self-defence, but lo! in his head- long career he caught sight of the bug- gy, whereat he brought up all stand- ing, shied right round and resumed his immobility. Once more I exhausted all my powers of persuasion to induce an advance, but as to making him move one step buggy-ward, you might as well try to make a French novelist believe in vir- tue and honor, or a Loco-Foco listen to reason. Vainly did I remonstrate with him more Hibernico, first with the butt-end of my whip and afterwards with my boots: it was an utterly fruitless ex- penditure of leather. Well, said I at last, if Mahomet wont go to the mountain the mountain must come to Mahomet ; so we laid hands on the buggy and dragged it bodily up to the horse; then, having tied up the traces & p~& J~r& (w~ (which may here be translated for the benefit of those not cu- riously learned, with an old suspender) we each took one side of his head and, by a great triumph of art, coached him over the remaining mile. And thus we made our entry into Tadcaster at 10 A. M., Sunday morning. Almost every one was at church, and we led along our goodly steed nearly five minutes, through a not very promising street, without discerning, as Pat says, ere a Christian, not aiven a pig, shure. At the end of that time we became aware of a large bundle of pots coming down upon us at the rate of six miles an hour, and as the ambulatory mass of pewter drew nigher we distinguished a small boy in the centre of it. I say, boy ! Zurr ! and the pot-boy pulled up in about as much time as it would have ta- ken a locomotive to perform the same feat. Where does this road go? It goa boath ways, zur, it do. And that one ? That doant go nowhere, zur. Hm-----m. Any inn here ? Yes, zur, there be the Roizin Zun, and the Zwan wi one neck, you know, and the Zwan wi two necks. And which is the best ? Whoy, zur, feyther he bikes the Zwan wi two necks: Gi belongs to the Roizin Zun mysel! Vera good tap the Zun, zur. Well, which is the way to the Sun ? Memory and imagination are equally incompetent to convey an adumbration of the bewildering answer we received, compared with which the celebrated Dutch direction, First you must go up a high hill, and then down a low hill, & c., was a very model of lucidness. We looked dubiously at the boy, the horse, and each other. ~~V~That~s to be done, Peters ? Fred replied by warbling a stave of the Pilot : Fear not, but troost in Pro-o-o-vidence, Whereer thou chawnce to be. Heres a penny for you, my lad. Be a good boy, and go to church. Come up, Bucephalus ! Fortes fortuna. After ten minutes eccentric perambulation we brought up opposite the door of the Rising Sun. Hillo, house! hub ! But the house didnt feel itself called on to answer. 1847.] The Rack-Horse Wot Wouldnt Go. 161 Hillo.o! Anybody in ? Neigh ! quoth a horse somewhere, (not our horse; he wouldnt deign to do anything of the sort.) Troy em again, Benson! Giv em an Indian whoop, now. So I gave them a pretty good imita- tion of one, which had the desired effect, for there emerged from the stable a pon- derous hostler, with a red waistcoat, red cravat, red hair and unutterably red face. I thought it must he the rising sun himself put into knee-breeches for the occasion. Can we have a horse and chaise here to go on to York ? 0, ye be goning further zur, be ye ? Yes! Put up that horse and take care of himhes thorough-bred. Aw! indeed! Gi should na ha thought it from the look of him. And the canny Yorkshireman scanned at a ra- pid glance the points of our impracticable. Well, he is. A valuahle animal that. Take good care of him, and mind! Dont you get behind him. He kicks. This was said quite at random, but it proved too true in the end. FYTTE THE THIRD. What a glorious cathedral, Fred! and what chauntino~ so late. ~. Its a pity we were Oim thinking we wur in toime for the best of it. I wish we could import such a building our way. Strikes me it would benefit our utilitarians a trifle. Ye may say that, mon. Tall half-and-half that was at the Queens Head ! And the cheese not small nayther. What a nice little horse this is! (we were inspired by John Barlycorn, and in very good humor with everything.) If we only had him to take us all the way to Leeds ! Moy heart quails just to think o droiving that other one. Well, you must summon up your fiftytude, as Pat says, for heres Tad- caster; (ke-ip! pay along pony!) and heres the Rising Sun, as large as life and twice as natural. Hows the thorough- bred, hostler ? Hes doin vera well, zur. He must be turning over a new leaf then (sotto voce.) And the buggy ? All roight, zur. We paid our shot, and bestowed a munificent largess on our rubicund friend. Now, Peters, we must have a division of labor. Do you take the whip and Ill see to the reins. Fred looked as if he thought the divi- sion hardly a fair one to himself. Never was man more mistaken. Hardly had I gathered up the ribbons when our horse, always in extremes, like a modern refor- mer, dashed off at four minute pace, pull- ing in a way that threatened to haul me straight over the dash-board. For eighteen miles we scarcely spoke a word. The state of things seemed too good to be true. I twisted the reins round my hand and held well on, giving vent to an occasional yell as the pace exhila- rated me; Peters smoked a Principe in satisfied silence. At the eighteenth mile- stone I began to tremble, fearing that this might be the precise amount of which our animal was capable. But again we were agreeably disappointed. On he flew with undiminished speed, and ~mer- rily we dashed into Leeds, just as they were lighting the lamps. Through many a startled suburb Thundered his flying feet; He rushed into the goodly town, He rushed up the long white no, not white, but particularly black and dirty street in which the York road terminated; and we auspicated our entry by pulverizing a donkey-cart which wouldnt clear the track. Both donkeys, so far as our comet-like velo- city permitted us to ohserve, escaped un- hurt, but the cart must have been past carpentry. Coom out o way, Tam- my, or theell be run over ! I felt a slight jar; it was caused by our off hind hub knocking over a small child, who continued a rotary motion for some sec- onds, and finally disappeared down a yawning cellar. Humanity prompted us to stop, but you might as well have tried to pull up the black horse that carried off Lenore. Nor indeed, if feasible, would such a proceeding have been safe, for when the unmanageable was once stop- ped, not Horace Greely himself could set him going again. The long narrow street down which we had been locomoting, crossed at right angles a long wide onethe main street 162 The ilack-ilorse Wot Wouldnt Go. [Feb., of Leeds. On the right, lay the Albion Hotel, our quarters; I had a shrewd sus- picion that our steeds lay on the left. Anticipating a fearful struggle, I gradu- ally eased out the nigh rein as we ap- proached the critical corner and tighten- ed my pull on the off one corresponding- Jy. Peters, who saw what was passing in my mind, just at the decisive moment, seized my wrist with one of his hands and the reia with the other; so that our combined energies were directing the ve- hicle eastward. All this, it is hardly necessary, & c., passed in a less time, & c., & c., as Mr. James would say. A body acted upon by two forces will proceed in a line between them, (vide Whistles Mechanical Algebra, some page or other.) Agreeably to this fundamental law, horse and buggy con- tinued a straight-forward course, which there was nothing to prevent their doing indefinitely except a few houses. One half-second more, and we should have been ia a linen-drapers shop when as if restored to partial sanity rowdy brought up with miraculous suddenness. The velocity which hnd been regularly distributed through his limbs, was in- stantly transferred, as by magic, to his hind quarters. Elevating his heels to an extent that was more amusing to those around, than comfortable to those behind him, he broke one trace and both shafts, and entirely dissipated the dash- board. Factoque htc fine quievet, like Pious A~neas. I shied the reins right and left over the horses neck, and jumped out on the causeway (Americanice side-walk.) Where ye goaing ? quo Peters. Im going up to the Albion; you may do as you like. And leave the horse standing here ? In reply, I expressed a wish that the animal might stand there as long as was convenient to hm, and undergo a much more unpleasant operation afterwards. Having thus relieved my injured feel- ings, I was proceeding to crowd all sail for the Albion, when a stout lad came to the rescue. Pleaze, zur, Oi knows t auld horse. Oh, you do know him? well, I wish you joy of your acquaintance. Blongs V auld Measter Stoiles, zur. Shall Oi tawk him whoam ? Yes, take him away, and tell Mr. Styles to send in his bill and. It is unnecessary to repeat the conclusion of the sentence. Persons who are much excited sometimes talk inconsiderately. Aw, never fear, zur, t auld gentle- man 11 zead um in fast enough. FYTTE THE FOURTH. Next morning between the first egg and the second cup of tea, a small docu- ment was handed to me. I glanced at it, and handed it over to Peters, who read as follows: Leeds, July 2, 1843. Benson, Esq., to Ralph Styles, Dr., To horse and chaise to York, 1 0 0 To breakage and damage of horse, - - - 1 10 0 2 10 0 Received payment. Dear droive, rayther ! Wait a minute, Fred, my boy, till you see the other side of the ledger. Waiter! Pen, ink and paper ! The stationary was brought. What be that youre wroitin, Carl ? Read it, Fred ; and Peters read. Leeds, July 2, 1843. Ralph Styles, to Carl Benson, Dr. to Surgeons bill for damages inflicted by his horse, 3 3 Per Contra, By bill delivered, 2 10 0 Balance due Mr. Benson. 0 13 0 Recd payment. My Pylades looked half a dozen notes of interrogation. I rose and limped across the room. What is the matter wi you ? Am I very lame, Fred ? Awful ! Thatll do then. I inquired of the porter Mr. Styles locality~ and having ascertained that it was not farther ofF than a cripple might manage to hobble, gradually worked my way thither. In a small office sat a large man of the ordi- nary Yorkshire type. Zurvant, zur, said he, as I entered with an emphatic limp, and a ferocious aspect. Are you Mr. Ralph Styles? Be- cause, if you are, heres your billand heres mine. Aw! you be the chap that had my 0 horse yesterday, be you ? 1847.j Music in New York. 163 I am that unfortunate man. (0-oh! my leg !) Noice job you made of it. T horse has the heaves. Has the heaves, has he? Im glad of it, (crescendo,) I hope hell get the bots and a few more nice little complaints. I wish that horse was dead ! And down came my fist on the desk, nearly knock- ing the inkstand up into Mr. Styles nose. 0-oh! my leg, again ! and [ stooped down to rub the member in question. Zure, zur, I hope ye be na vera mooch hoort. Styles looked rather alarmed. I am very much hurt; shant be able to attend to business properly for three months, However, I wont say anything about that, but if you dont pay my doc- tors bill, Ill have satisfaction of you if theres any law in the land, that is. Ill teach you to give two quiet young gentlemen such a horse as that. And very quiet this young gentleman looked. Now, zur, Oi wants to do whats faier mysel, I does, but you caunt expect me in faierness to pay your doctors hill. But Oill tell you what Oi will do. Pay me hauf o moy bill and well be quits. Ah, you mean to say that youll take off half of your bill, if I take off half of mine, which leaves Na, Oi did na zay that, zur, Oill tawk off haul o moine and zay nothink about yourn, ye know. Hemem ! I leaned on the desk a few seconds in a thoughtful attitude. I dont want to go to law about a trifle. You mean to say that youll take off half of your bill and receipt it in full, if I say nothing about mine ? Zactly zo, zur. Here it is then ! and I planked a sovereign and two half crowns, while Mr. S. on his part made his original per- formance complete by adding to it the magic words Ralph Styles. And never had two words a more magic effect, for no sooner was the exchange made, and the important scrap of paper safely pocketed, than I cut an exuberant pigeon- wing, and followed it up by shooting across the little room at one glisade. Its astonishing how much better my leg feels, and I let off a few more capers. Styles looked on with a very puzzled expression. Oi doant understand this, said he at length, pray, zur, be ye hurt, or be ye not ? im not hurt, said I, thank Provi- dence, and no thanks to your horse. But let this be a warning to you how you put that brute before a Christian again, or therell be manslaughter some day. The Yorkshireman was utterly dumb- founded. My coolness had stumped him completely. For at least three minutes he gazed at me, open-eyed and open- mouthed Then broke forth, spite of himself, this most unwilling and mortify- ing confession, Well, I he done ! And so is CARL BENSON. MUSIC IN NEW YORK. SINcE the arrival of OLE BULL, three seasons ago, our city has been favored with a continuous succession of distin- guished solo players, and their concerts have become one of the chief sources of entertainment, and topics of conversation, with the most respectable portion of our public. Though the fortunate Norseman has returned, laden with spoil, like a Viking from a successful expedition, to his land of mist and snow, the Taberna- cle still resounds with the thunders of the Lion Pianist, or echoes to the ar- peggios of Sivosu, or the neat cantabile of BURKE; its stage, guiltless of carpet, knows yet the fragrance of rich bouquets, and its dingy ceiling trembles nightly with the roar of enthusiastic approbation. Our newspapers, too, discuss the merits of these players, and extol their skill with an earnestness displayed on no other subject connected with art; and our tea-tables and parlors are fertile in opin- ioiis and criticisms respecting them, of the most learned, profound, and at the same time brilliant, characterimaginable - Partly, perhaps, from the contagion of so much critical conversation, but chiefly because the subject seemed one of so general an interest, we have for some time anticipated that it would fall within our province to notice it; and, at length, after the last concert of SIvORI, we sat down intending to write a critique which should convey, at large, our views of the merits of these musical miracle workers. But, on consideration, this appeared a less easy matter than we had suppesed~

Music in New York 163-174

1847.j Music in New York. 163 I am that unfortunate man. (0-oh! my leg !) Noice job you made of it. T horse has the heaves. Has the heaves, has he? Im glad of it, (crescendo,) I hope hell get the bots and a few more nice little complaints. I wish that horse was dead ! And down came my fist on the desk, nearly knock- ing the inkstand up into Mr. Styles nose. 0-oh! my leg, again ! and [ stooped down to rub the member in question. Zure, zur, I hope ye be na vera mooch hoort. Styles looked rather alarmed. I am very much hurt; shant be able to attend to business properly for three months, However, I wont say anything about that, but if you dont pay my doc- tors bill, Ill have satisfaction of you if theres any law in the land, that is. Ill teach you to give two quiet young gentlemen such a horse as that. And very quiet this young gentleman looked. Now, zur, Oi wants to do whats faier mysel, I does, but you caunt expect me in faierness to pay your doctors hill. But Oill tell you what Oi will do. Pay me hauf o moy bill and well be quits. Ah, you mean to say that youll take off half of your bill, if I take off half of mine, which leaves Na, Oi did na zay that, zur, Oill tawk off haul o moine and zay nothink about yourn, ye know. Hemem ! I leaned on the desk a few seconds in a thoughtful attitude. I dont want to go to law about a trifle. You mean to say that youll take off half of your bill and receipt it in full, if I say nothing about mine ? Zactly zo, zur. Here it is then ! and I planked a sovereign and two half crowns, while Mr. S. on his part made his original per- formance complete by adding to it the magic words Ralph Styles. And never had two words a more magic effect, for no sooner was the exchange made, and the important scrap of paper safely pocketed, than I cut an exuberant pigeon- wing, and followed it up by shooting across the little room at one glisade. Its astonishing how much better my leg feels, and I let off a few more capers. Styles looked on with a very puzzled expression. Oi doant understand this, said he at length, pray, zur, be ye hurt, or be ye not ? im not hurt, said I, thank Provi- dence, and no thanks to your horse. But let this be a warning to you how you put that brute before a Christian again, or therell be manslaughter some day. The Yorkshireman was utterly dumb- founded. My coolness had stumped him completely. For at least three minutes he gazed at me, open-eyed and open- mouthed Then broke forth, spite of himself, this most unwilling and mortify- ing confession, Well, I he done ! And so is CARL BENSON. MUSIC IN NEW YORK. SINcE the arrival of OLE BULL, three seasons ago, our city has been favored with a continuous succession of distin- guished solo players, and their concerts have become one of the chief sources of entertainment, and topics of conversation, with the most respectable portion of our public. Though the fortunate Norseman has returned, laden with spoil, like a Viking from a successful expedition, to his land of mist and snow, the Taberna- cle still resounds with the thunders of the Lion Pianist, or echoes to the ar- peggios of Sivosu, or the neat cantabile of BURKE; its stage, guiltless of carpet, knows yet the fragrance of rich bouquets, and its dingy ceiling trembles nightly with the roar of enthusiastic approbation. Our newspapers, too, discuss the merits of these players, and extol their skill with an earnestness displayed on no other subject connected with art; and our tea-tables and parlors are fertile in opin- ioiis and criticisms respecting them, of the most learned, profound, and at the same time brilliant, characterimaginable - Partly, perhaps, from the contagion of so much critical conversation, but chiefly because the subject seemed one of so general an interest, we have for some time anticipated that it would fall within our province to notice it; and, at length, after the last concert of SIvORI, we sat down intending to write a critique which should convey, at large, our views of the merits of these musical miracle workers. But, on consideration, this appeared a less easy matter than we had suppesed~ 164 Music in New York. [Feb., The first principles of the musical art are as yet so imperfectly understood among us that we could only speak ex cathedra in questions arising from it, or with reference to truths unknown, and, to most persons, incomprehensible. We have, therefore, concluded to take advan- tage of the interest excited by the per- formances of OLE BULL, VIEUXTEMPS, Sivoni, DE MEYER, and the rest, and pre- sent our readers with an essay on music generally, by way of preface to a few ob- servations upon these soloists. Our mode of treating the subject will be seen to be somewhat novel; we are not so sanguine as to write in the hope of popularizing musit~: we simply wish to clarify the minds of those, already, to some extent, musicians, by bringing out into strong relief, those principles which they fre- quently apply without being conscious of their existence, and thus adding a reason to their faith. In short, to those who will follow us patiently through, we have the temerity to promise to develop to their apprehension, as we go on, a new and clear view of our subject; to lead them up, as it were, by a very easy, though narrow and overgrown pathway, to the summit of a height, whence they may survey the whole domain of this beautiful art at their leisure. 1. We begin by announcing this not very startling proposition, viz.: There is no music in a single sound, whatever may be its quality or character, whether it be high or low, soft or loud, pleasing or unpleasing to the ear. That is to say, there is no one sound in all the infinite variety of nature, which, taken apart and by itself, makes music. It follows, or rather is included in this, that there is no sound used in music, which, heard quite separate, and out of all connection with others, would produce music; it might be clear, rich, and of good substancea firm, full, beautiful sound; we might trace a resemblance in it to some one heard before, and so be affected by it, (of which anon) ; but, otherwise, it could convey to the mind nothing but the idea or image of itselfthat pure, sensuous impression, by which we should recog- nize it if repeated. For instance, let one go into a large orchestra where the in- struments, all tuned, are lying around, like sleeping spirits, and let him sound first a note of a violin, then of a clarionet, then of a horn, then of a contrabass; or let him sit before a large organ, pull out one stop after another, and sound it from its lowest note to the top of its compass,so long as he confines him- self to producing one single, continuous note at a time, he makes no music. Each separate note, when they are thus taken one by one, is musical, it is true; but certainly is not what we could call, ex- cept in the loosest conversational sense of the word, music. Some of them have a very marked and peculiar character for instance, the notes of the trumpet and piccolo; yet they are no more music than those highly poetic compound words, air-shattering and ear-piercing, cre- ated in the glow of the imagination, are poetry; indeed, they bear much the same relation to a passage in a symphony, that those compounds do to passages in which they occur; there being this difference, that the words mean somethingthey express qualities; whereas the sounds only paint images of themselves on the brain. 2. The same observations will apply to any combinations of single sounds. There is no chord or harmony that is mu- sic where it is neither preceded nor fol- lowed by other sounds or harmonies, and is not itself reiterated. Not itself reite- rated, we say, as we might have observed with respect to single sounds in the last paragraph; for the reiteration of either a single sound, or chord, introduces the element of rhythm, which, being, as it were, the substratum, or frame-work, of music, shapes the sound or chord into a musical, though monotonous figure. But, taken quite alone, chords and harmonies, like single sounds, are only qualities, ad- jectives, abstract thingsmeanings, we were about to addto prolong the anal- ogy with words, but they mean nothing; they only make ideas. Thus, let any one picture to himself a common chord: there it isan idea, indescribable, of fullness and completeness, existing in the memo- ry, isolated from all expression; fancy a seventh added: that is another idea, also indescribable, distinct from the for- mer, an idea of incompleteness, a sus- pense tending to a resolution, upwards or downwards, according to the kind of sev- enth we fancy. Each of these chords exists in the mind of any musician, and of most hearers, as well defined as if it were a visible body ;the difference be- tween them is as perceivable as that be- tween the tones of two voices or instru- ments, yet it is totally unlike that, being a difference arising from combination, and not affected by quality. They may 1847.] Music in New York. P35 be conceived of apart from pitch: thus we saya chord of the seventh, a com- mon chord, etc., using the names in a general sense, as we saya walk, a house. What we intend (to be more particular), is, that they are things, of which, though we never saw one, and cannot touch one, we have heard so many, that we can distinguish them without an effort, and have given them generic titles. The vibrations of air which make them being material, they, the relations of com- bined sounds, as well as sounds them- selves, are as much objects as waves of water; and have as many varieties, from the long swell of organ diapasons, to the swift and turbulent sea of the full or- chestra. 3. As neither single sounds nor har- monies are, by themselves, music, so, also, are not, and for the same reason, accidental successions of such sounds and harmonies; i. e., successions regu- lated by no purpose, and governed by no lawsmere solfaing, or sounding what- ever notes come first. To take the best instance of such succession that we can think of, the iEolian Harp: the tones are of the sweetest quality, and there is an unending flow of perpetually changing harmonies, according as the varying force of the current of air, in which the instru- ment is placed, divides the strings into double, triple, or more, vibrating portions; or, at intervals, blows the sound quite out, and then lets it steal in from some remote quarter, with those perfect cres- cendos and dying falls, which art can only rudely imitate. Yet there is no mu- sic, in the strict sense of the word: all is confused, wild, indistinct, having neither beginning nor ending, the mere sport of the airy element, playing among strings that answer to its invisible pressure, and give back unconscious sighings. Occa- sionally, as we listen, we hear scraps of broken melodies,so our fancy beguiles us,little, streaming adagios, that seem like dirges for fairy funerals; but, as we strive to catch them, the imperfect speak- ers will not stay :all is mere delightful incoherence. So, in looking at the clouds in a summer afternoon, we see lofty mountains change to palaces and castles, and cold ice-fields suddenly become warm and ruddy, as if they were lakes of molten gold; and, as in those Lolic breathings, we hear sounds, in quality and shading, more perfect than art can make them, so, then, we see colors which the pencil of Claude could never copy. It is a little remarkable that whenso much is said respecting the Music of Nature, we should hear so little of the Painting of Nature. For she is just as much a painter as she is a musician. Under her sovereign vital lamp, Day, and the sweet approach of even, and morn, the human face divine, and all the changing glories of the seasons, return to us with the returning year, and with them also return all their innumerable voices; the whole earth is at the same time, in one sense, a great picture galle- ry and concert chamber, wherein the eye is never tired with seeing, or the ear with hearing, and, in another sense, it is neither, for it furnishes us with no ideal picture or musical piece. True, the water is a mirror, we find sometimes impressions of fern leaves on rocks, the dry branches of forest trees, as they creak in the wind, not seldom give out notes that, like those of the Eolian harp, might be phrases in tunes; but we have no landscapes, car- toons, symphonies, or oratorios. It would be thought a curious notion if some writer on painting were to set to work to collect specimens of all the fos- sil impressions, all the rare devices that iron paints the minerals with, all the frost pictures on windows, and every such work of Natures pencil, not forgetting the stone in the British Museum which shows in its fracture a perfect likeness of Chaucer, and have them all engraved in a book, with resemblant leaves, trees, co- lors, portraits, and the like, selected from the works of the great masters of paint- ing, for the purpose of showing how they copied nature, and in what way the art of painting might be said to be founded in nature; yet this has been attempted in music, in the book entitled, The Music of Nature ; and such is the general in- distinctness of the prevailing ideas of music, in this country at least, that though the book has been more popular than almost any other relating to music that we can think of, being very readable, notwithstanding its manifest inferiority in every respect, no one has ever thought of laughing at the absurdity of its de sign. It is in the hope of substituting some more clear views in the place of this in- distinctness, which we should perhapsx err in attributing more to Mr. Gardiners book than to the natural aversion of the human mind to reflection, that we have Mu8ic in New York. [Feb., 166 undertaken the present discussion. As we read the lives of the great composers and study their immortal works, we find in their notions of their art no misapprehen- sion nor any such indistinctness, and we cannot but think that the first purpose of one who writes, ever so little upon music, now, should be to spread a knowledge of the true philosophy of it, and to clarify the minds of that large portion of our public who take pleasure in musical studies, so that they shall know what is the true office of music, and what to admire in it, without being blinded by that easily besetting sin, in all matters of taste, of affectation. But this is digressing. 4. We must be careful to distinguish also the impressions we receive from music per se, from those which are the effect of association of ideas. Not only single sounds, chords, and incoherent or accidental successions of them become linked, in our memories, with other im- pressions, but true musical forms also, and these last the more frequently, since they are more striking than other sounds, and less easily forgotten. And these ideas of sounds and forms are commingled with other ideas in all sorts of incongruous ways, so that by such as- sociations they lose entirely their original character, and become merely mediums, through which we may be reminded of almost anything. If a bird that had been taught to sing a piece of an air should happily get free, and afterwards hear the air whistled by some boy, rambling through the woods, we at once conceive, knowing how we ourselves should be affected, that though the air might be one of the gayest horn- pipes ever heard, it would not sound very pleasant to him; whereas, if he should by chance hear, through his cage- wires, any of the wild or melancholy cries of the forest, where he once flew about in freedom, we can easily fancy they would seem to him delightful music, and the contrast of his former situation, in which he minded only his own amuse- ment, with his present one, he being now kept imprisoned to amuse other peo- ple, would render him exceedingly down- cast in his mind, and quite unhappy. There is in souls a sympathy with sounds, And as the mind is pitched the ear is pleased With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord, in unison with what we hear, Is touched within us, and the heart re- plies. How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where memory slept. Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains. Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, That in a few short moments I retrace (As in a map the voyager his course) The windings of my way through many years. The Task. A good instance of the power of asso- ciation where musicial ideas are con- cerned, occurs to us, all the circumstan- ces ~of which happen to lie within our own knowledge. Our friend Q., while at college in a neighboring city, one sum- mer caught a cold in swimming, which brought on an abcess in his ear. He ap- plied leeches, warm water, & c., to no purpose; the pain increased, drove away sleep in spite of laudanum, which only makes him more wakeful; finally, after a week the most anguishing he ever ex- perienced, and when he had begun to have suicidal suggestions, the imposthume reached its culminating point, and he was relieved. While the crisis was ap- proachin g, and he was suffering such intolerable agony, the pitch of the afflict- ed ear gradually rose nearly half a note above that of its fellow, producing at every noise, the most horrible jar and discord in his head. Just at this time a military company from Boston came to the city, with the Brass Band,then new- ly formed, in full numbers; our friend would hear it spite of the pain and the discord, and the consequence was, such an uproar as has given him a prejudice against all brass bands ever since. He remembers distinctly the tune they play- ed, an air from the opening chorus in La Sonnambula; even to this day he hears it in two senses; if he thinks of the band, it disgusts him, if he forces himself to consider it as of itself, it is pretty and lively, and he likes it, but not so much as he does many others. This tune is also connected in his memory with the novel of Sir Andrew Wylie, which he tried to read at that time, as an opiate; they recriprocally remind him of each other; the novel he can never see 1847.] Music in Yew York. 167 the back of without a shudder, and has proach to their good taste to have pet never been able to read any of the writ- airs which they may sometimes be pleas- ings of Gait from that hourbut this in- ed to hear, and yet know to be, as music, ability he does not attribute wholly to the poor stuff; that they may enjoy Handel effect of that one disagreeable associa- in an oratorio or Beethoven in a sym- tion. phony, and at the same time be pleased In this instance the cause of the inter- with Arabys or the Wreckers Daughter, twining of the ideas was too painful an or I dreamt that I dwelt, or any trifles incident to be forgotten; but in a hun- the readers memory will suggest. dred thousand instances in every ones 5. Whether we were created with in- experience, the direct cause was, per- nate ideas respecting music, brought haps, never observed, perhaps not remem- with us from some other sphere, so that bered; at all events, nothing remains but we understand it at once, and can, from vague impressions of states of feeling the earliest moment that the soul per- which we must, at some time, have ceives, distinguish lively from sad, gentle passed through, and which have tinged from bold, and the like; or whether our the images of sounds with their color, power to understand it is born of asso- Educated as most of us have been, with ciation and experience, it is not worth only the lowest and most trivial forms of our while to inquire. The latter is the music, such as psalm tunes, dances, old- most convenient hypothesis, though there fashioned songs, associated in our minds are some minds like Mozarts, for exam- with all the experiences of life, nothing ple, which seem gifted with intuitive but a long study of better models can so perceptions, and, on the other hand, if disenchant us that we shall attain to a there be any innate ideas they must cer- relish of the art in its simple purity. And tainly be very much modified by associa- this study we must.undertake in a child- tion, for the Chinese ear is pleased with like spirit, not perversely persisting, as what to ours is intolerable dissonance, many do, in following our own taste, but and there are differences, less marked, striving to understand and love what the but still very plain, between the national world has acknowledged to be best in musics of almost any two countries, music, in order that we may by and by where one is not, as in this case, semi- feel it to be so of ourselves. How often barbarous. All the different varieties of do we hear persons, susceptible to the national melody, it may be observed, are sweet influences of the art, resolutely so many tributaries, some torrent-like, determining to know no more of it than gushing from mountains, others of a they happen to know already. We do gentler motion, springing up in plains, not want your scientific music, they but all flowing towards the main channel say, but give us a simple, natural air, of the musical art. So in painting, each and we like it. And then, in most nation almost, has its school, and in poet- cases, they instance some Scottish air, ry, each has its peculiar national style, that is neither simple nor natural, but but each of these arts forms, or in a cer- rude, uncouth, and hence striking; and, tam wider sense, all arts combined, form therefore, and from having been heard one broad river down which flow the from childhood, or under agreeable cir- rich thoughts of the great universal ge- eumstances, in the parlor or concert- niuses of all agesHomer, Dante, Shak- room, remembered with pleasure. With speare, Milton; Michael Angelo, Titian, these infallible critics, all attempt to Raphael, Rembrandt; Handel, Haydn, enlarge their sphere of enjoyment is Mozart, Beethoven and a thousand vain; the pearls of instruction are not to other illustrious names. It is these who be wasted on them; they know what direct the current, and make each art they know, and are content to know no what it is. more. 1~ut there may be many, who, And what is the direction of the having heard enough of good music to be- musical current ? the reader will be gin to understand it, are almost ashamed ready to ask. What is the true office to find themselves still liking so many and purport of the art which the great old familiar tunes, which they know to composers have thus directed? In brief, be without merit, and are exposed to the what is music? temptation of affecting not to like them We answer, it is that art by which the which is dangerous. These, our remarks soul is lifted above its ordinary life into respecting the effect of association may an ideal world, where it can express fan- assist; they may see that it is no re- des, passions, and emotions, peculiar to 168 Music in New York. [Feb., that world, through beautiful figures, symmetrical combinations and succes- sions, perceivable only by the ear. Some have derived this art from cries of pas- sion, the instructive utterance of joy, grief, and the like; of man and his co- animals; but for our own part, though we are not able to solve the mystery of its origin, we cannot think it was so narrow. We prefer to consider it as having its origin simply in the percep- tion of the beautiful and sublime insound. Resemblances may be traced in musical phrases to cries of passion, but they do not affect the bearer as such, when the whole of the music is listened to; they are on another planein the ideal world of sounda world whose first law is or- der, and where no natural sounds can be admitted without being translated suf- fering a sound changeby which their substance becomes totally different, like the body of Ferdinands father: Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Or to make another comparison: Fancy we are looking (the reader and our- selves) over a wide plain, covered with an innumerable undisciplined rabble, moving to and fro in all directions, and clad in all sorts of gaudy colors. Presently there comes a man in a wig, who makes cer- tain magical motions with his fingers, and out of the midst of this confusion and disorder there starts up a grave ma- jestical dance, which is taken up by set after set, till it seems as if the whole plain were crystalizing into beautiful moving figurescycles and epicylesof harmoniously-colored dresses, in which the form of the first dance is always pre- dominant, and of such peculiar regularity and resoluteness in its motion, that we cannot help admiring and being stirred by it. This, now, is somewhat the way in which natural sounds are used in mu- sic, and the scene may serve to repre- sent Handel composing a fugue. The individual sounds become, under his touch, of no consequence but as units in his combinations; it is these combina- tions alone that affect usthe creations of the composers mind. The man in the red coat there, who was before so conspicuous for his color and height, (we will call him C on the fourth string of the violinhe was a tall fellow in Handels day, though there are in ours many above him,) is now merely a mem- ber of a set, and quite another being; but if we fix our eye on him or any other one, we shall lose the main purpose of the whole, which is to carry through and make us ftel the grandeur of the dance. In fine, music is the natural song of man. All the voices of nature are but so many manifestations of the Infinite Pre- sence. It is the voice of the Lord which is upon the waters, the voice of the Lord which shaketh the wilder- ness ; man alone may praise Him with the psaltery and harp, with the timbrel and dance, with stringed instruments and organs. For as all living things, of whatsoever sort, utter each their separate songs, so may we conceive that the im- mortal soul, by its creative power, and in virtue of its authority to subdue the earth, fashioning to itself anew, and re- moulding, as if it were clay, the quality of sound, creates an utterance for the motions of its Diviner nature. This it does, not by imitating nature in her par- ticular manifestations, not by copying cries of passion, or the notes of birds, but by penetrating into her arcana, and using her general laws; finding out how sounds are made, and all their various relations and effects, and availing itself of all such discoveries to transport itself to a region where it may expatiate, free from this muddy vesture of decay. 6. The question how far, and in what way, music may imitate natural sounds an d objects, is one of the nicest the art presents; and is a point respecting which the unlearned are almost certain to hold erroneous opinions. The author of the Life of Haydn observes that, in music the best physical imitation is, per- haps, that which only just indicates its object; which shows it to us through a veil, and abstains from scrupulously representing nature as she is. This is very true; but it may be questioned whe- ther we should give the name of imita- tion to that which is at best but a remote reminding of nature. Perhaps it would be a clearer way of stating the matter to say, that the imitation of natural sounds and objects is admissible in music, on the same principle that admits the intro- duction of emblematical or allegorical figures into painting; for as that is mak- ing painting approach the line between it and poetry, so this copying sounds which are, as we observed, thingsis putting upon music an office like that of painting. 1847.] M~~ic in New York. 169 In the sense generally understood by superficial writers on the subject, there is not, and cannot be, such a thing as descriptive music. That is to say, mu- sic can never describe objects, motions causing sound, or certainly never sounds themselves, so that we shall see them. The contrabass, in the Creation, may flourish as much as it p leases, but it will never make us behold the tail of a le- viathan lashing the foaming wave,~~ nor even convey to our apprehension an abstract impression of leviathans tails lashing water; and critics, of Mr. Gar- diners calibre, may flourish in books and newspapers, on this side of the water or the other, and they never can make us see such things through music. When we hear the Creation we see no levia- thans, no tawny lions, nor flexible tygers ; we listen to beautiful, graceful, ever fresh and sparkling melody, and simple yet rich and various instrumenta- tion; we observe all those desciiptive passages, the gently sloping hills, the rain, the generous steed, the sheep, etc., and admire the great masters ingenu- ityand that is all. The Baron who suggested the subject wished Haydn to give the croaking of the frogs; we wish he had, that we might have seen one more resource of his inexhaustible inven- tion; they would have croaked very sweetly, no doubt, and in such a way that it would have been pleasant to hear them, but very little like their living prototypes. In Beethovens Pastoral Symphony we have this sort of ingenuity displayed in conjunction with a far deeper and more suggestive music than Haydns. This piece is an example of what is styled another kind of description, viz: that which describesnot sounds or objects but particular hues of feeling. The first movement is inscribed, this movement expresses the pleaswe felt on going into the country. And in truth, it;is almost as good as going into the counfry,to hear it, for it is at once melting and invigo- rating; joyful, yet also full of the me- mory of joys that are past ; it harmonizes with the inscription admirably, or indeed goes beyond it, being rather Pellico go- ing out of prison than merely an ex- cursion to the country; yet is it not accurate to call it descriptive, since it describes nothing. It would still be all that it is, (as pure music,) would still take the imagination and carry it through that phase of affecting beauty, as well without a title as it does with. So of the second movement, which, however, con- tains direct imitation, or emblems, the songs of the nightingale, cuckoo, and quail. The first part of the third move- ment, or scherzo, is truly descriptive, in the common sense of the word, it being evident what it means, (or rather,which is the only way music can describe in, being itself its own meaning.) It is inscribe the gaiety of the country people, and contains the essence of all the old contra- dances and jigs that ever were heard, compressed into a few symphonic forms; a display of downright vigorous hilarity that is quite irresistible as well as unmis- takable. We feel positive respecting this, for not knowing which symphony it was when we first heard it at a rehearsal given one evening several years ago, we supposed it to be the one which de- scribes a battle; the inhabitants of a city were enjoying themselves in dancing and revelry, we thought, in fancied security, as on the night of Belshazzars Feast; suddenly the tempest approachesthis we took to be the hostile army breaking down the walls, and so onnot bitting the authors explanation anywhere but in this scherzo, which is, indeed, the best subject for descriptive music we can con- ceive of. Upon the whole, we are disposed to regard this, to give it its most appropriate name, emblematic quality in music, as one of those decorations of the art which help to make it universal. Like inge- nious rhymes or making the sound echo the sense, in poetry, it is a thing which is only a true beauty where it introduces itself unstudiedly; otherwise it is an or- nament that may afford pleasure to capa- cities in which the intellectual predomi- nates, but will never be a favorite with the imaginative. The descriptive over- tures of Mendelsohn are novel and won- derful productions in their wayfull of dreaminess and rich and deep thoughts, but for pure music, we had. rather have the third fugue of Bach, in the list of five which Mozart most admired, (see his recently published life, page 204,) than either of them. We listen with pleasure to all those turtle and nightingale songs of Handel, but there is one song in Theo- dora, ~Angels ever bright and fair, which is more full of poetry than an~ can be with imitative effects added. We like those songs of Schubert, the En Konig and Gretchen Spinrade, not because the accompaniments stand for the galloping of a horse, and the noise of 170 Music in New York. [Feb., a spinning-wheel, but because the songs are good enough in other respects to sus- tam such accompaniments. The Battle of Prague and the Storm Rondo we dis- like, not because they are not well enough, for aught we can see, as imita- tions, but becausewe are tired of them. Such pieces as the Pastoral Symphony, and the Fingals Cave, and Midsummer Nights Dream, of Mendelsohn, seem designed to occupy a middle ground between pure music and vocal music. They attempt to describe certain concrete states of feeling, (not abstract musical phases of the mind,) assisted by their titles, which direct the fancy like words in songs. We confess we are not, as yet, able to satisfy ourselves how far the idea, upon which they are written, is compatible with the true philosophy of the art. We distrust our ability to judge rightly of such pieces; our fancy is too impressible, too willing to follow the slightest hint; yet if we were to hear a Rossini overture, or a florid violin solo, such as the public are best pleased with; or a piano solo in the modern German and French style, full of pampered affec- tationmusical Werterismthough its title might be ever so fanciful, we think we should not be liable to be led astray by it. In painting, if an artist makes a picture and writes under it this is a bear, every one can see whether it is a bear or not; but if a composer writes a piece and entitles it, feelings on seeing a bear, most people will pronounce that it does express those feelings, because while they listen they will be constantly on the look-out and fancying how they should feel if tbey saw a bear, and thus will connect the music with their fancies. Another thing which helps to show how easy it is to be deceived as to the merit of music as descriptive, is the great dif- ference between hearing vocal music without the words and with them. We have piano arrangements of Figaro en- tire, and the principal pieces in Don Juan and Cimarosas Matrimonio Segreto, all of them without words. Many of the airs, concerted pieces, finales, etc., we know were intended, originally, with the words, to have a comic effect; but in the dress, or rather undress, in which we possess them, they are only pure, beauti- ful music; Non piu is a spirited march, Voi che, and Deh Signore, exquisite andantes. We admire them as they are; but if we could hear them in language that we could readily understand, on the stage, we should, we are sure, experience a new pleasure, from perceiving them in a chemical combination with wit and poetry, and stage situation. We should then hear them as the composers in- tended them to be heard, not as pure, abstract music, but as music harmonizing with the meaning of words, which direct the fancy either by simple descriptions, or the indication of certain hues of feel- ing into particular channels; that is to say, we should hear them as music unit- ed with poetry, in what we think we have very justly compared to a chemical combination, only here the elements unite in all proportions, (from Farlando recita- tive, to those pieces where the words cease to be of any consequence) and form a new compoundvocal music. Now, whether music ought to be combined with the fancy when the latter is, to fol- low our comparison, in a gaseous state not condensed into words, but only awa- kened by a brief inscriptionas we ob- served above, we are not able to satisfy ourselves. If it had been felt to be legi- timate by the great instrumental com- posers, we think they would have used it oftener; and on the other hand, the very compositions we have instanced do, we confess, seem so admirably fitted to their inscriptions as almost to set the ques- tion at rest. But, considering what a common artifice of quackery this inscri- bing music has becomein this country, at leastand that it is so liable, as to seem almost designed, to lead hearers into affectation; and moreover, consider- ing how few have succeeded in it, we cannot but think it should be attempted by only the very greatest composers. And, for the same reason~, we are, on the whole, rather of opinion that the best in- terests of the art require the line between vocal and instrumental music to be kept quite distinct.* Let the former be the fruit of the marriage of music to immor- tal verse, and become the language of high aspirations, tender passions, and delicate or strong emotionsthe loveliest art in the world; but let the latter re- main, under the old forms and titles, in the abstract and ideal regions of sound, In those pieces where the words are of no consequence, as in bravura or Italian singing, the vocal goes too far into the territory of the instrumental. 1847.] Music in Yew York. 171 incapable of describing anything trans- latable into speecbthe art of all others the most abstruse,the most refinedPURE RAPTURE. 7. The necessity of time and rhythm in music is so obvious that we need remark upon it but briefly. We cannot conceive of sounds flowing without some sort of rhythm,and if the rhythmical figures have not some harmonious relation to each other, we are unable to hold the succes- sion and it soon loses all coherence. If a musical composition were a mere imitation of natural noises, (like a thea- trical thunder-storm, with cries of passion behind the scenes,) neither regular rhythm nor time would be necessary, but as it is an imagined passing of the mind through sound, it needs these qualities to give it body and symmetry. The classic writings of the great mas- ters are as remarkable for the perfec- tion of their feints as for the purity and power of their expressions. Take any slow air of Handels, But thou didst not leave, for instance, abounding in imitations, (using the word this time in its technical sense,) and how perfectly regular is its chainhow deep beneath and immovable its time! The figures revolve as if, to make a hazardous comparison, they were embossed on the rim of some great wheel, one after another coming up and going down, with a fixedness of rate which it seems as though nothing could hasten or retard. But to pursue this interesting branch of our subject, even if we had space, would interfere with the main purpose of our article, and we therefore leave it, with but one observation, which is this: As music is written in sentences, or rather in symmetrical figures, and this, whether its current of melody, or expres- sion, flows in one part or many, and as each of these figures, besides having a meaning of its own, helps, or should help, carry along the action, it is impossi- ble to understand thoroughly a piece of music until we are able to distinguish these minute subdivisions as they pass over in their order, though we may obtain a dim outline of a very striking composi- tion, the overture to the Zauberfiote, for example, (a rather striking composi- tion,) without; indeed, the process of comprehending such a piece as that, seems to be analytic, proceeding from the vast to the minute, from the whole to its several parts. But in the most fashionable solos of VOL, V.NO. IV. 12 those heard at our concerts, the figures are too studiedly outre, to pass easily across the auricular speculum; and gen- erally, it would seem that no such thing as unity or entireness is attempted, such pieces being for the most part merely loose, disorderly stringirigs together of extremely weak melodies, and the most showy difficulties. The whole object and aim of such compositions is to sur- prise the ear by effective contrasts, and afford the performer an opportunity for displaying novel feats of skill. This remark will apply, and none too generally or too severely, to the whole range of modern solo music, but espe- cially to the compositions of those per- formers who have visited our cities in the last few years, such as, (to take the most eminent of them) Viouxtemps, Ole Bull, Do Meyer, and Sivori. And here we propose to step aside from the current of the general discussion, to which we have thus far confined our- selves, and conclude our article by some observations upon the merits of these players. We do so rather that our arti- ole may have an immediate and practical bearing, than because the path of thought we have been walking in, leads naturally in that direction. Hitherto we have been endeavoring to define music, by follow- ing out some of the most necessary dis- tinctions which surround it, and clearing up some of its most obvious principles; thus we began by showing that it con- sists not in irregular successions of sounds; then we endeavored to show that it had an expression of its own, inde- pendent of association, though often modified by it; thirdly, that it does not admit of direct imitations of natural sounds, and in what sense only it may be styled descriptive; and lastly, that it must of necessity possess a regular structure. It was our intention to have remarked upon various other pointsthe use of instruments, and othersbut we fear that our readers are already wearied by our abstractions, and we therefore leave them and descend to the common road of the particular and actual. LEOPOLD Dz MEYER we consider de- cidedly the greatest performer on any in- strument whom we have ever heard. He seems to us to have conquered all the difficulties of performance, so that he can use them by mere effort of the will, with instinctive ease, as if he had been cre- ated with absolute dominion over all that part of creation. The piano under his 172 Music in New York. [Feb., touch is all obedience; whenever he drops his fingers, whether in rapid and delicate runs, or in full chords at both ends of the key-board, they never miss their aim, and they are always completely under his control. In temperament he is a miracle of boyish health and spirits, and they shine out in all his playing; his expres- sion is not much exaggeratednot fan- tastically so, we mean; he lays on the colors pretty thickly, it is true, but still in a downright fashion, that is, he plays loud or soft, and retards or accelerates, where the melody naturally requires it, and does not reverse everything for effect, as Ole Bull would. His music exhibits the same qualities; it is effective, showy, difficult, and all that, in a natural way; it is never deep or affecting, but always clear, free, novel, daring, regular enough in struc- ture, and just fit to be played on a piano at an evening party. VIEUxTEMPS we should rank next to De Meyer, and considering the greater difficulties of the violin, perhaps we ought to place him first. But he did not succeed well here, either because he came at a wrong time, or did not judi- ciously direct his puffing; or because our public could not appreciate him; or most probably from all these reasons z3mbined. As we remember his playing, it seems to us to have had most of the excellencies of violin performance in higher perfection than any other artists we have ever heard; his intonation and bowing, were not merely perfect, but con- siderably beyond the point where we had before supposed perfection to have re- sided; and his ease, his artist-like style, so pure and gentlemanly; we shall not soon hear their like again. His composi- tions, too, thongh in the modern style, and in this least poetical sort of music, concertos, and brilliant fantasies, yet showed the well-educated musician; his themes had some food in them, and they were wrought into an intelligible conse- cution. His capriccio, so beautifully played by Ma. BURKE, at the Tabernacle, last October, was in reality a more regu- lar piece tI~an one of Sivoris, dignified by the name of concerto, which that per- former played, a few evenings after, at the same place. If he had a defect, it was one in a quality in which he ex- celled all our other solo violinists, and therefore we ought not to look upon it as a defect, but merely as the point where- in he failed of absolute perfection. His tone, though fuller and richer by far than either Ole Bulls or Sivoris, was yet a modern tone. Now, to our apprehension, all that could be added to his perfect ex- ecution and intonation, would be the tone of some of the players of the last age, (judging by what we have read of them of course,) or that of the solid Spohr school. But tone and execution antag- onize each other; it is hard to excel in both; the German violinists,while they ac- quire a great tone, become stiff in execu- tion, and the modern French players, in practicing their harmonics and their other bjjouterie, become thready and wanting in strength towards the point of the bow. Vieuxtemps had a splendid tone, per se, yet if his tone could have borne the same relation to his execution that the tone of the old players did to theirs, what a mas- ter he would be! As it is, he is the greatest violinist we ever heard. Sivoni and OLE BULL are both great violinists; butthe first is the best, because he has the best tone, is less vulgar, and can do more tricks that the other cannot do, than the other can do that he cannot. Ole Bulls harmonics are purer, but his intonation was never so precise; Sivori is too refined, and too little of a genius, ever to please the unmusical public, though he can astonish them. Ole Bull never could rise above the vulgar; all his playing ~vas full of that carratere which hits the popular taste in the white. As regards compositionwhich of the two could put together the worst trash, it is not easy to decide; hut allow the author of Niagara, the Solitude of the Prai- rie, and the Memory of Washington, to prefix titles to his pieces, and we should be willing to venture oddE on him against all comers. Sivori, at the date of this writing, has not appeared as a great ori- ginal descriptive composer; we hope he will not: but there is no prophesying what he may do before this reaches our readers. But, if the compositions of these play- ers are so trashy as we represent them so wanting in clear, deep, affecting, mu- sical thoughtsand so wholly constructed for mere show, why is it that these play- ers are so successful with the public? We answerin the first place, because that which is merely showy, pleases un- edi c ted hearers best. There is a gen- eral disposition, with such, to look for something else in music (and the same is true in other arts) than what le- gitimately belongs to it. The only pieces that a large portion of those who crowd 1847.] Music in New York. 173 our concert rooms really understand, are simple couplets, marches, dances, Scotch airs, psalm tunes, & c.; they cannot fol- low even an overture through, and take it in as a whole ;much less a florid solo, where the rapidity of the execution, or the novelty of strange effects, is per- petually bewildering them. They only desire to be kept on the alert, and have their wonder continually gratified by new exhibitions of skilla harmless desire, certainly, but one which must not be supposed,to be identical with a true relish and affection for music. Secondlythese show players have it all in their own way before an audience. The sympathies, direct and reflex, are all in their favor. How many tender hearts were vanquished by the tall and handsome Norwegian, with his tight- waisted coat and innocent smile, at every concert, before he drew his bow? What a fascinating little hero is Sivori ? And the boy-faced Lion,how many con- quests are the trophies of the shaggy mane that adorns his upper lip ? Even with the less susceptible sex, these sym- pathies operate to an extent sufficient to account for all the enthusiasm that ever effervesced within the walls of the Tab- ernacle. It is hut natural. LEON JA- VELLI has the benefit of the same amiable weakness of humanity: many a heart beats quicker when he prances out upon his dangerous funambulatory track. If there was even one in all the thousetnds of spectators that have witnessed his ex- ploits, who would have wished o see him fail in one of them, it must have been some envious rival. J~ist so it is with these musical dancers upon one string; and so it is with sii who stand out alone before large aui~fences. Wherever there is difficulty to be overcome, we cannot help symp& thizing with him who is to be the ov~rcomer; aiding him with our in- terest, and sharing in his pride of suc- cess. We are not quarreling with this natural feeling; on the contrary, we re- gard it as one of the most happy disposi- tions of our naturea development of the social kindliness that binds man to man, and holds the world together. We only would that its operation should not be mistaken for the effect of good music; and so the most delightful art vouchsafed to manthat art ordained to refresh his mind After his studies or his usual pain he covered up and concealed from the view of many, who might, if rightly di- rected, come to understand and love it. We are content that show players, of all sorts, should be successful, and make money; the path of success, in music, is not so easy a one to travel, as to lead us to fear it will ever be crowded. How many long years of his boyhood must the scales have been before the eyes of a De Meyer? And with how much more patience must a great master of the violin devote his days and nights to practice those nerve-tearing octaves, and those thousand varieties and combinations of bowing? To play the violin like such a master, we conceive to be the highest achievement of mechanical skill to which man can attain, and we are sure we are not disposed to find fault with any man for having attained itonly, let skill be always distinguished from music, the great player from the great artist, and we shall be quite content. 8. FINALLY, we would heartily recom- mend the study of this divine art to all who have hitherto neglected it: to the young, as singers or performers; to the old, as hearers; for, though there is such a thing as being too old to acquire skill in music, it is never too late, if one so desires, to begin to understand it. And we would recommend every one who would at all perfect himself in musical study, not at first to follow his own taste, but to accustom himself to the best mod- els; they will formhis taste anew, and constantly enlarge his sphere of appre- hension, so that his knowledge and love of the art will grow with his growth, will create for his imagination, as it were, a spacious country residence, like the plea- sure dome in Xanadu, with lofty halls, libraries, gardens, noble prospects, and shady retreats, whither this vital essence of the soul may steal away at whiles from the cares of life, and gatherfresh strength to cariy hiui through all his necessary labors and undertakings. For it is most certain that the proper study of mu- sic does especially strengthen that vis occuita of the mind, that ability of ab- stracting and concentrating the faculties, which is essential to prolonged and suc- cessful endeavor, in any kind of employ- ment. It trains the intellectual powers, also, to habits of order and obedience; and, moreoverwhich is its peculiar and most excellent effectit keeps the door of the heart open to all that is refreshing 174 Short Chapters on ]?ctre and Exotic Metres. [Feb., it be ever so little, in an artist-like man- ner; that is, a manner which leaves room for after improvementnot such an one as he will be likely to fall into, if he studies only to master a few show pieces. Let him also beware of studying any one instrument so exclusively as to have its effects color his whole idea of the art. The instrument, he should remember, was made for the art, not the art for the instrument. There is now a greal deal too much music written for the piano, an innumerable number of pieges, the chief characteristics of which are mathe- matical dryness, brilliance and superfi- ciality. We recommend the student, who would not have his mind Gallicized by them, to go back, at least as far as Moz~ rt, and use himself to wholesome food, before venturing on this unsubstan- tial diet. With these few hints, end our best wishes for his success, we leave him; only reminding him, in conclusion, that it does not follow, because he would know nmsic, that he must needs let him- self be ignorant of any other matter, whe- ther of business or study, which it is fit he should learn. and tender in life, renderino it apt to re- ceive all delicate emotions, ai~d all refining affections-softening it but not enervatin6. We advise the student, also, to come to his delightful task, laying aside the old- fashioned, narrow notions of music which so prevail amon~ us; let him resolve not to look for singularities or wonders in the art, nor for any sort of resemblances or descriptions, but only for genuine ori- ginal ideas, new developments of beauty in the invisible and impalpable element, forms of matchless elegance and exqui- site proportion, which yet the eye cannot see, and which have no expression, save in that empyreal or fiery circle of the soul where language cannot penetrate. If he cultivates his voice, or an instru- meat, let him do it so as to gain a per- sonal accomplishment (studying music besides), as he would learn to read well, or to fence, or dance :practicin~ not in a half-determined way, yielding a little from the first to every difficulty, till he reaches his ultimatum (when lie may find that he has acquired a habit merely, in- stead of an accomplishment); but with a resolution to do alt that he is able, though No-rs.At the time when the foregoing article was written, l-IERZ had not given his first Concert here, which will ~ecount for ihe omission to include his name in the notices of the great solo-players. We tak he following from the (Jeurier cad Eseqeuirer of Jan. 9th, as expressing our judgment respe g his music and performance as briefly and fully as anything we could write on the subje t present Of 1-lauxs music we have room to 5 but little. It is music of the seten; it has not the irresistible passion of the greatest master ut, in its construction and style, it approach es nearer to them than the music of more rece manists, which is frequently only a care less reproduction and spreading of old ideas q the key-board. It is ori~inal, and its characteristics are, fertility of mechanical invention, & ace, delicacy and life; it is rich in curious contrivance and in mathematical combination, 1 of novel figures that please the ear, as those of the Viennoises children do the eye, and a ~omanaged that we have, in hearing, a sense of order, neatness and propriety. It has far passion than lie Meyers imius~c, yet is more finished, regular, studied and exact; the am of the temperaments of these two, liE MEvaa and HERE, would he the best for a musica erformer that we can conceive of; the intense quiet of the one and the fiery impetuosity oft other, representing two extremes, so wide apart, that to unite them, would he to contain e~vry thing. listixs playing is like his musicas the playing of greet soloists us tially isrefined, delicate, exact and beautiful, rather than ardent and overwhelming. It s~en.s a delightful ait, acquired by natural facility and long study, and not an inspiration, or mmm~iate eflbrt of the will, like Dc Meyers. We cannot yet decide which school or style to admn~ most. SHORT CHAPTERS ON RARE AND EXOTIC METRES. CHAPTER 111.CLASSIcAL LYRIC METRES. Needy knife-grinder, whither art thou going? Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order; Cold blows the blast; your hat has got a bole in t; So have your breeches ! That is what every one thinks of at the first mention of English Sapphics. Yet it is very doubtful bow far these verses represent the rhytbm of the an- cient Sapphic, or have a right to he called Sapphics at all. The sixth syllable of a Sapphic is short; here it is one of the most emphatic in the line; and the next strongest syllable is the fourth, also short in the Greek Sapphic thou0h not in the Jioratian. Indeed, to preserve the quan- tities of the Horatian Sapphic, and read it into anything that sounds like regular

Carl Benson Benson, Carl Short Chapters on Rare and Exotic Metres 174-176

174 Short Chapters on ]?ctre and Exotic Metres. [Feb., it be ever so little, in an artist-like man- ner; that is, a manner which leaves room for after improvementnot such an one as he will be likely to fall into, if he studies only to master a few show pieces. Let him also beware of studying any one instrument so exclusively as to have its effects color his whole idea of the art. The instrument, he should remember, was made for the art, not the art for the instrument. There is now a greal deal too much music written for the piano, an innumerable number of pieges, the chief characteristics of which are mathe- matical dryness, brilliance and superfi- ciality. We recommend the student, who would not have his mind Gallicized by them, to go back, at least as far as Moz~ rt, and use himself to wholesome food, before venturing on this unsubstan- tial diet. With these few hints, end our best wishes for his success, we leave him; only reminding him, in conclusion, that it does not follow, because he would know nmsic, that he must needs let him- self be ignorant of any other matter, whe- ther of business or study, which it is fit he should learn. and tender in life, renderino it apt to re- ceive all delicate emotions, ai~d all refining affections-softening it but not enervatin6. We advise the student, also, to come to his delightful task, laying aside the old- fashioned, narrow notions of music which so prevail amon~ us; let him resolve not to look for singularities or wonders in the art, nor for any sort of resemblances or descriptions, but only for genuine ori- ginal ideas, new developments of beauty in the invisible and impalpable element, forms of matchless elegance and exqui- site proportion, which yet the eye cannot see, and which have no expression, save in that empyreal or fiery circle of the soul where language cannot penetrate. If he cultivates his voice, or an instru- meat, let him do it so as to gain a per- sonal accomplishment (studying music besides), as he would learn to read well, or to fence, or dance :practicin~ not in a half-determined way, yielding a little from the first to every difficulty, till he reaches his ultimatum (when lie may find that he has acquired a habit merely, in- stead of an accomplishment); but with a resolution to do alt that he is able, though No-rs.At the time when the foregoing article was written, l-IERZ had not given his first Concert here, which will ~ecount for ihe omission to include his name in the notices of the great solo-players. We tak he following from the (Jeurier cad Eseqeuirer of Jan. 9th, as expressing our judgment respe g his music and performance as briefly and fully as anything we could write on the subje t present Of 1-lauxs music we have room to 5 but little. It is music of the seten; it has not the irresistible passion of the greatest master ut, in its construction and style, it approach es nearer to them than the music of more rece manists, which is frequently only a care less reproduction and spreading of old ideas q the key-board. It is ori~inal, and its characteristics are, fertility of mechanical invention, & ace, delicacy and life; it is rich in curious contrivance and in mathematical combination, 1 of novel figures that please the ear, as those of the Viennoises children do the eye, and a ~omanaged that we have, in hearing, a sense of order, neatness and propriety. It has far passion than lie Meyers imius~c, yet is more finished, regular, studied and exact; the am of the temperaments of these two, liE MEvaa and HERE, would he the best for a musica erformer that we can conceive of; the intense quiet of the one and the fiery impetuosity oft other, representing two extremes, so wide apart, that to unite them, would he to contain e~vry thing. listixs playing is like his musicas the playing of greet soloists us tially isrefined, delicate, exact and beautiful, rather than ardent and overwhelming. It s~en.s a delightful ait, acquired by natural facility and long study, and not an inspiration, or mmm~iate eflbrt of the will, like Dc Meyers. We cannot yet decide which school or style to admn~ most. SHORT CHAPTERS ON RARE AND EXOTIC METRES. CHAPTER 111.CLASSIcAL LYRIC METRES. Needy knife-grinder, whither art thou going? Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order; Cold blows the blast; your hat has got a bole in t; So have your breeches ! That is what every one thinks of at the first mention of English Sapphics. Yet it is very doubtful bow far these verses represent the rhytbm of the an- cient Sapphic, or have a right to he called Sapphics at all. The sixth syllable of a Sapphic is short; here it is one of the most emphatic in the line; and the next strongest syllable is the fourth, also short in the Greek Sapphic thou0h not in the Jioratian. Indeed, to preserve the quan- tities of the Horatian Sapphic, and read it into anything that sounds like regular 1847.] Short Chapters on Rare and Exotic .Metres. 175 metre, is almost impossible; with the Sapphic proper, like Panca nuntiate mere puelire ; or, HonciX6~pov cZO& var Appo~frcO~ is quite so. Of course there are plenty of learned men who think they have found the way, and it is amusing t ocom- pare some of their attempts and opinions. Thus, Professor Blackie says, (Classical Museum, No. 3,) that the Sapphic verse recited with the true metrical quantity and natural spoken accent, xviii read thus, and then comes the old school- boy jingle, Jam sdtis terris nivis atque dim confusing the quantities in two feet; ~vhereupon Donaldson (a very clever and ingenious, hut utterly unscrupulous, phi- lologist, who steals from everyhody and slangs them in part payment) starts up in defence of his own rather more imprac- ticable scheme for reading the Sapphic, and blandly hints to the Scotchman that it is not to he borne that ignorance should exalt itself into dogmatism. Not only, however, does what we call the English Sapphic vary from its classi- cal model in, at least, one foot; hut it has a tendency to pass into a very diffe- rent measurepure Iambic with a cata- lectic syllable. (The favorite tendency of English versification is Iambic, as we have already hinted.) This is the case even with lines that are pure Sapphics in quantity, e. g. When th~ fi~rce N5rth-wind in ~ foam- ing fury ; which most persons would naturally read as a line of ordinary blank verse, with a ~uperfiuous syllable.* I am not aware that any one has ever tried to write English Alcaics. This is singular, for the rhythm is more intelligi- ble to us than that of the Sapphic. Coleridge has written Nendecasylla- bics in imitation of the Catullian: Hear, my beloved, an old Ovidian story 1-ligh, and embosomd in congregated lau- rels Glimmerd a temple upon a breezy head land ; & c. But this is not the Latin Hendecasyllabic metre, which has the dactyl in the second place. Juli jugera pauca Martialis. To correspond with which the English verses should run something like this: List, my love, to an old Ovidian story! High, embosomd in congregated laurels Gleamd a temple upon a breezy headland, & c. Now and then we find in the old poets unrhymed verses that look like Classi- cal Lyric metres without being exactly so, e. g. this poem of Campions quoted by Guest, to whom (and to me, also) it appears extremely beautiful. Rose-cheeked Laura come! Sing thou smoothly with thy beauties Silent musick, either other Sweetly gracing. Lovely forms do (lowe From concent divinely framed; Heaven is musick, and thy beauties Birth is heavenly. These dull notes we sing Discords neede for helps to grace them; Only beautie purely loving Knows no discorde; But still moves delight, Like cleare springs renewed by flowing, Ever perfect, ever in them- selves eternal. CAaI~ Bjcr~son. The very same tendency is observable in Spanish Sapphics: Dulce vecino de la verde selva, Huesped eterno del Abril florido Vitel alieisto de la madre Venus, Cefiro blando, * * 5 5 Asi los Dioses con amor paterno, Au los cielos con amor benigno, & c. [Feb., 176 The Maid of Lehigh. THE MAID OF LEHIGH. OVER the bosom of that dale Where Lehighs hasty water flows, (Rude as the rhyming of my tale,) A wooded mountain eastward throws His shade; so broad, so deep, the sun Seems set an hour ere day be done. There may you find a lovely maid, In a low cottage humbly dwelling; Who sees her needs a thought well staid, And fancy guardedware of spelling In subtle meanings of the eyes, What honest heart, full free, denies. 0 sweetest rose! to all, to each, Or mean, or great, she pleasant seemed; With melody her rustic speech, With harmony her motion teemed; By voice, by form, was I beguiled; Who would not love so fair a child? Her hair in shining ripples flowed, Like waves a lurid shore adorning: Their ringlets on her bosom glowed, As, in the purple light of morning, Locks of the mist in golden crowds, Glow on the silver-bosomed clouds. Might I those glowing waves compare With brooks, that in the cheerful sun, (Such loves thQ early spring to wear,) Over white rocks all glimmering run? Yes, from the brown waves of the brook, Their shades, and gliding flow, they took. Sweet smiles lay hidden in her face Gifts, you would think, for you concealed; Her stately air, through lightest grace, As through a light robe, shone revealed; Her form, symmetric, full yet free, Showed health and rural liberty. Fair in her front seemed life to dwell, All happy dreams lay waking there; Her eyes (my pleasant thought to tell) Were windows of a palace fair, Wherein all lovely fancies hiding, Sent signs and smiles from their abiding. Enough! I dare not name again Her charms; for when, in thought, I greet her, Words are bereft me, and, (as then !) My heart alone leaps quick to meet her; Words cannot follow heart aright: They are but shadows; she, the light. CYONIDn~~

Cyonides Cyonides The Maid of Lehigh 176-177

[Feb., 176 The Maid of Lehigh. THE MAID OF LEHIGH. OVER the bosom of that dale Where Lehighs hasty water flows, (Rude as the rhyming of my tale,) A wooded mountain eastward throws His shade; so broad, so deep, the sun Seems set an hour ere day be done. There may you find a lovely maid, In a low cottage humbly dwelling; Who sees her needs a thought well staid, And fancy guardedware of spelling In subtle meanings of the eyes, What honest heart, full free, denies. 0 sweetest rose! to all, to each, Or mean, or great, she pleasant seemed; With melody her rustic speech, With harmony her motion teemed; By voice, by form, was I beguiled; Who would not love so fair a child? Her hair in shining ripples flowed, Like waves a lurid shore adorning: Their ringlets on her bosom glowed, As, in the purple light of morning, Locks of the mist in golden crowds, Glow on the silver-bosomed clouds. Might I those glowing waves compare With brooks, that in the cheerful sun, (Such loves thQ early spring to wear,) Over white rocks all glimmering run? Yes, from the brown waves of the brook, Their shades, and gliding flow, they took. Sweet smiles lay hidden in her face Gifts, you would think, for you concealed; Her stately air, through lightest grace, As through a light robe, shone revealed; Her form, symmetric, full yet free, Showed health and rural liberty. Fair in her front seemed life to dwell, All happy dreams lay waking there; Her eyes (my pleasant thought to tell) Were windows of a palace fair, Wherein all lovely fancies hiding, Sent signs and smiles from their abiding. Enough! I dare not name again Her charms; for when, in thought, I greet her, Words are bereft me, and, (as then !) My heart alone leaps quick to meet her; Words cannot follow heart aright: They are but shadows; she, the light. CYONIDn~~ 1847.] Letters on ike Iroquois. 177 LETTERS ON THE IROQUOIS, BY SKENANDoAH: ADDRESSED TO ALBERT GALLATIN, LL.D., PRESIDENT NEW YORE hISTORICAL SOCIETY. ADVERTISEMENT. IT is proper to observe, that man parts of the following letters were read on several occa- sions in the years 1844, 5, & 6, bef~ore the Councils of the New Confederacy of the Iro- quois ; and to the establishment of that historical institution, the research, by which the facts were accumulated, is chiefly to be attributed. The Institution referred to, is founded upon the ancient Confederacy of the Five Nations and its symbolic council-fires are kindled upon the ancient territories of the Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Onondagas, the Cayugas, and the Senecas. In the design from which it originatedto gather the fragments of the history, the institutions, and the overnment of our Indian predecessors; and to encourage a kinder feeling towards the Re Manliterary and moral objects are presented, in themselves as attractive to the scholar and the moralist, RS they are dignified and just. If, in pursuing this design, the new Confederacy shall eventually trace ouf the footsteps of the Iroquois beside our rivers, hills, and lakespreserving thus the vestiges of their existence ; and shall extend to the small residue of their descendants, still withiii our limits, the hand of kindness and protection, it will have achieved a work not unworthy of after praise. LETTER I. Interest in our Indian PredecessorsPassion of the Red Man for the Hunter StateTen- dency of Indian Races to subdivide; its effectThe System of the Elo-de-no-san-nee, or Iroquois, one of FederationTheir Confederacy founded upon the Family Relations Our AntiquitiesObject of Letters. VENERABLE SIR,The flight of time lays waste unregistered events. It is thus that the incidents of untold ages upon this continent have been scattered like the sunlight under which they were enacted, leaving no ray behind to light up the eye of research. The social his- tory and political transactions of the Red Man, are as easily enveloped in the mist of obscurity, as his footsteps through the forest are obliterated by the leaves of autumn. Race after race, and nation upon nation, have sprung up and hasten- ed onward to their fall; and neither the first nor the last could explain its origin, or number the years of its duration. From this general uncertainty of knowledge, we turn with encouragement to the Iroquois; the last Indian race, in the order of succession, which exercised dominion over the territory, out of which our State has been erected. The inter- est incident to such a relation is stimu- lated by the fact that they flourished side by side with our early population; and the events of their progress and decline thus becoming identified with the politi- cal r~ffairs of a different people, have found a place upon the historic page. To the Iroquois, by common consent, has been assigned the highest position among the races of North America, which live or have lived in the Hunter State; and of whose past or present existence we have been informed. In the establishment of a confederacy, for the double object of ac- quiring strength and securing peace, they were eminently fortunate. They enlarged their dominions by conquest to an unparalleled extent, and held sur- rounding nations under the terror of their arms. During the expansion of the power of the Iroquois, there sprung up a class of orators and chiefs, unrivaled, among the Red Men, for eloquence in council, and bravery upon the war-path. In a word, the Confederacy exhibited the highest development of the Indian, ever reached by him in the Hunter State. Many circumstances, therefore, unite, to invest the history of our Indian prede- cessors with permanent interest. While, however, their political events have been diligently collected and arranged, the government which they constructed, the institutions which they established, and the social ties by which they were bound together, have scarcely been made sub- jects of inquiry, and never of extended investigation. The Confederacy of the Iroquois, dismembered and in fragments, still clings together, in the twilight of its existence, by the shreds of that moral faith, which no political disasters could loosen, and no lapse of years can rend asunder. There are reasons for this

Skenandoah Skenandoah Letters on the Iroquois 177-190

1847.] Letters on ike Iroquois. 177 LETTERS ON THE IROQUOIS, BY SKENANDoAH: ADDRESSED TO ALBERT GALLATIN, LL.D., PRESIDENT NEW YORE hISTORICAL SOCIETY. ADVERTISEMENT. IT is proper to observe, that man parts of the following letters were read on several occa- sions in the years 1844, 5, & 6, bef~ore the Councils of the New Confederacy of the Iro- quois ; and to the establishment of that historical institution, the research, by which the facts were accumulated, is chiefly to be attributed. The Institution referred to, is founded upon the ancient Confederacy of the Five Nations and its symbolic council-fires are kindled upon the ancient territories of the Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Onondagas, the Cayugas, and the Senecas. In the design from which it originatedto gather the fragments of the history, the institutions, and the overnment of our Indian predecessors; and to encourage a kinder feeling towards the Re Manliterary and moral objects are presented, in themselves as attractive to the scholar and the moralist, RS they are dignified and just. If, in pursuing this design, the new Confederacy shall eventually trace ouf the footsteps of the Iroquois beside our rivers, hills, and lakespreserving thus the vestiges of their existence ; and shall extend to the small residue of their descendants, still withiii our limits, the hand of kindness and protection, it will have achieved a work not unworthy of after praise. LETTER I. Interest in our Indian PredecessorsPassion of the Red Man for the Hunter StateTen- dency of Indian Races to subdivide; its effectThe System of the Elo-de-no-san-nee, or Iroquois, one of FederationTheir Confederacy founded upon the Family Relations Our AntiquitiesObject of Letters. VENERABLE SIR,The flight of time lays waste unregistered events. It is thus that the incidents of untold ages upon this continent have been scattered like the sunlight under which they were enacted, leaving no ray behind to light up the eye of research. The social his- tory and political transactions of the Red Man, are as easily enveloped in the mist of obscurity, as his footsteps through the forest are obliterated by the leaves of autumn. Race after race, and nation upon nation, have sprung up and hasten- ed onward to their fall; and neither the first nor the last could explain its origin, or number the years of its duration. From this general uncertainty of knowledge, we turn with encouragement to the Iroquois; the last Indian race, in the order of succession, which exercised dominion over the territory, out of which our State has been erected. The inter- est incident to such a relation is stimu- lated by the fact that they flourished side by side with our early population; and the events of their progress and decline thus becoming identified with the politi- cal r~ffairs of a different people, have found a place upon the historic page. To the Iroquois, by common consent, has been assigned the highest position among the races of North America, which live or have lived in the Hunter State; and of whose past or present existence we have been informed. In the establishment of a confederacy, for the double object of ac- quiring strength and securing peace, they were eminently fortunate. They enlarged their dominions by conquest to an unparalleled extent, and held sur- rounding nations under the terror of their arms. During the expansion of the power of the Iroquois, there sprung up a class of orators and chiefs, unrivaled, among the Red Men, for eloquence in council, and bravery upon the war-path. In a word, the Confederacy exhibited the highest development of the Indian, ever reached by him in the Hunter State. Many circumstances, therefore, unite, to invest the history of our Indian prede- cessors with permanent interest. While, however, their political events have been diligently collected and arranged, the government which they constructed, the institutions which they established, and the social ties by which they were bound together, have scarcely been made sub- jects of inquiry, and never of extended investigation. The Confederacy of the Iroquois, dismembered and in fragments, still clings together, in the twilight of its existence, by the shreds of that moral faith, which no political disasters could loosen, and no lapse of years can rend asunder. There are reasons for this 178 Letters on the Iroquois. [Feb., spectacle, which no mere alliance of hos- tile nations can explain, and which his- tory has failed to reach. In entering upon such a theme of in- quiry as an Indian organization, there are certain general considerations which press upon the attention, and which are worthy of previous thought. Govern- ments have ever been regarded as among the chief instrumentalities of human pro- gress. By this aggregation into socie- ties, mankind are brought largely under the influence of the social relations; and their progress has been found to be in ex- act proportion to the wisdom of the insti- tntions under which their minds were de- veloped. The passion of the Red Man for the Hunter State, has proved to be a prin- ciple too deeply inwrought to be con- trolled by efforts of legislation, or to be repressed by governmental restrictions. His government, if one xvas sought to be established, must have conformed to this irresistible tendency of his mind, this inborn sentiment, otherwise it would have been disregarded. The effect of this powerful principle has been to en- chain the tribes of North America to their primitive state. Another effect of this principle, and still more fatal to their political prosperity, is to be found in the repeated subdivisions of the generic stocks of the continent, by which all large accumulations of members, and power, in any race or nation, have been prevee~ted. Whenever a hunting-ground became too thickly populated for the easy subsistence of the occupants, a band under some favorite chief put forth, like the swarm from the parent hive, in quest of a new habitation; and in course of time became independent. We have here the true reason, why the red-race never has risen, or can rise above its present level. The fewness of the ge- neric stocks, the unlimited number of in- dependent tribes, and their past history, establish the correctness of this position. It is obvious that the founders of the Iroquois Confederacy were aware of the enfeebling effects of these repeated sub- divisions, and sought, by the counter prin- ciple of federation, to arrest the evil. They aimed to knit the whole race toge- ther under such a system of relation- ships, that, by its natural expansion, an Indian empire would be developed of sufficient magnitude to control surround- ing nations, and thus secure an exemp- tion from perpetual warfare. We must regard it therefore as no ordinary achieve- ment, that the legislators of the Iroquois united the several tribes into independent nations, and between these nations estab- lished a perfect and harmonious union. And beyond this, that by a still higher effort of legislation, they succeeded in so adjusting the confederacy, that as a poli- tical fabric composed of independent parts, it was yet adapted to the Hunt- er State, and contained the elements of an energetic government. Upon an extended examination of their institutions, it will become manifest that these great results were secured by establishing the Confederacy upon the family relations. Their forms and ceremo- nies; the Triballeague, or bond of cross- relationship between the tribes of the same name through the several nations; their laws of family relatedness, and of inheritance; the relation of chief and warrior; and lastly the long house, in which, in an emblematical sense, the whole family of the ~ or Iroquois were sheltered all indicate that this Indian structure was designed to be but an elaboration of the family re- lationship. These relations are older than the notion of society or government; and are consistent alike with the hunter, the pastoral, and the civilized state. The league was so wisely constituted that it seemed a systematic combination of the race; and the pulse of the Con- federacy was felt at the same instant upon the Hudson, the Susquehannah, the Iroquois lakes, the Genesee, and the Niagara. When their possessions were enlarged by conquest, followed by oc- cupation, it was an expansion, and not a dismemberment of the Confederacy. Peace itself was one of the prominent objects of the league, to be attained by the admission of surrounding nations. To the Eries, and to the Neuter Nation, the Hod~nosaunee, if their traditions may be trusted, offered the alternative of admission or extermination; and the strangeness of this proposition will dis Ho-dc-no san-nee. This is the true name of the Iroquois. It is now in use, and has been since the foundation of the Confederacy. It signifies the People of the Long-House. Out of the circumstance that they likened their political structure to a house the name ori- ginated. The word is given in the Seneca dialect; and should be pronounced with a quick and heavy accent on the de. 1847.] Letter3 on the Iroquois. 179 appear, when it is remembered that an Indian nation regards itself at war with all other nations not in actual alliance with itself. From whatever point we scrutinize the general features of the Confederacy, we are induced to regard it, in many respects, as a beautiful, as well as remarkable structure, and to hold it up as the triumph of Indian legislation. It is another singular feature in con- nection with Indian organizations, that their decline and fall are sudden, and usually simultaneous. A rude shock from without or within, but too easily disturbs their inter-relations; and when once cast back upon the predominating sentiment of Indian lifethe Hunter Statea powerful nation rapidly dissolves into a multitude of fragments, and is lost and forgotten in the undistinguished mass of lesser tribes. But the Iroquois Con- federacy was subjected to a severer test. It went down before the Saxon, and not the Indian race. This Indian constella- tion paled only before the greater con- stellation of the American Confederacy. If it bad been left to resist the pressure of surrounding nationsliving, like the Iroquois themselves, a hunter-lifethere is reason to believe that it would have subsisted for ages; and perhaps, having broken the hunter-spell, would have in- troduced civilization by an original and spontaneous movement. Of the Indian character it is an original peculiarity, that he has no desire to per- petuate himself in the remembrance of distant generations, by monumental in- scriptions, or other erections fabricated by the art and industry of man. The Iroquois would have passed away, with- out leaving a vestige or memorial of their existence behind, if to them had been entrusted the preservation of their name and deeds. A verbal language, a people without a city, a government without a record, are as fleeting as the deer and the wild fowl upon which the Indian him- self subsists. With the departure of the individual, every vestige of Indian sover- eignty vanishes. He leaves but the arrow-head upon the bill side~ fit emblem of his pursuits; and the rude pipe, and ruder vessel, entombed beside his bones at once the record of his superstition, and the evidence of his existence. If the red man had any ambition for immor- tality, he would entrust his fame to the unwritten remembrance of his tribe and race, rather than to inscriptions on col- umns in his native land, or other monu- ment more durable than brass, which neither wasting rain, nor mighty wind, nor flight of time, could overthrow.* It is for us to search out their govern- ment and institutions, and to record the events of their political existence. To these sources the historian must turn for the materials to be inscribed upon the in- troductory pages of our territorial his- tory; and should he desire more ample knowledge of the Hod6nosaunee, in the various departments necessary to a full history of the race, the effort must be quickly made, for soon the avenues of inquiry will be perpetually closed. The antiquities of our State are essentially Indian, on which account they lose in comparative interest. Could we look back to a barbarous and antiquated era, during which our ancestors were strug- gling upon this territory to emerge from rudeness, and to elevate themselves to a state of civilization, the research would rise in dignity and importance. But since our ancestors occupied this territory as a civilized race, with no link between them and the aboriginal occupant, except that of feeble humanity, we are inclined to pass by the incidents of his sovereignty with careless and transient observation. In many respects the richness and value of our aboriginal remains are not appre- ciated. The antiquities of New York are as vast in their magnitude, as they were ancient in their enactment. Upon our hill tops lie entombed the bones of a race, whose name and era of occupation, Compare the sentiments of Pericles, Av~5v y& g i~ipc~v& iv ~ruidt& ~i~ ~& po~, zcd am ~n~Xc~iv p~6viv ~v q~ aixr ot ciXX& xoti iv ~ ~ oO~wcaUd~l & ygotcpo~ p~v~pA1 qre1i lx& tiqw q-?~ rv~r~ LLaXXOV ~ ~iU 5~7OU lv(lic~ucLTc(L.IHUcYD., LIB. 2, c. 43, With those of Horace.Exegi monumentum nre perennius, Regalique situ pyramidum altius; Quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens Possit diruere, aut innumerabiles Annorum series, et fuga teruporum. Hoa. Lib. 3. C~3Ov, 180 Letters on the Iroquois. [Feb., are lost in such a deep obscurity that even tradition cannot reach thein.* Pass- ing over other nations, intermediate and contemporaneous, the details of whose existence and extinction are extremely limited, we come down to the last Indian epoch, which embraces the rise, progress, and decline of the Iroquois. In this era we have a long series of prominent events; and in the Confederacy itself we have the most remarkable organization ever framed by any Indian race in North America, except, perhaps, the Aztec monarchy. The Hod6nosaunee occupied our precise territory, and their council- fires hurned continuously from the Hudson to the Niagara. Our old forests have rung with their war-shouts, and been en- livened wtih their festivals of peace. Their feathered bands, their light canoes, their eloquence, their deeds of valor, have had their time and place. In their progressive course, they had stretched their chain around the half of our re- public, and rendered their name a terror nearly from ocean to ocean, when the advent of the Saxon race arrested their career, and prepared the way for the de- struction of the Long-house, and the final extinguishment of the council-fires of the Confederacy. From this general reference to the variety and magnitude of our Indian his- tory and antiquities, the importance of the subject will be admitted. The fol- lowing letters are not designed to touch the historical or political events of the Confederacy; but rather to inquire into the structure of the government and the nature of the institutions, under and through which these historical results were produced. LETTER II. Origin of the Confederacy, and distribution of its powersThe Government an Oligarchy Sachemshipswar ChiefshipsChieftaincies. In their own account of the origin of the confederacy, the Iroquois invariably go hack to a remote and uncertain period, when the league between the Five Na- tions was formed, its details and provi- sions were settled, and those laws and institutions were established,under which, without essential change, they have con- tinued to flourish. If we may trust their evidence, the system under which they confederated was not of gradual con- struction, under the suggestions of neces- sity, but the result of one protracted effort of legislation. The nations at the time were separate and hostile bands, al- though of generic origin, and were drawn together in council to deliberate upon the plan of a confederacy, which a wise-man of the Onondaga Nation had projected, and repeatedly urged upon their consid- eration; and under which, he undertook to assure them, the united nations could elevate themselves to supreme authority. Tradition has preserved the name of Dag~nowed~ as the founder of the Con- federacy, and the first lawgiver of the Hod~nosaunee. It likewise points to the northern hank of the G~-nun-ta-~, or Onondaga Lake, as the place where the council-fire was kindled, around which the wise-men of the different bands as- sembled; and where, after many days debate, they succeeded in effecting a union of the nations. Their traditions further assert that the Confederacy, as es- tablished by this council, with its laws, rulers, and mode of administration, has come down to them through many gen- erations with scarcely a change, except in the addition of a class of rulers called chiefs, the lowest in authority; and an essential modification of the law in rela- tion to marriage. Without turning aside to inquire into the probable accuracy of their own narra- tion, it will be sufficient to investigate the structure of the government, as it stood in its full vigor, shortly before the American Revolution, and to deduce the gener~il principles upon which it was founded. The central government was organized and administered upon the same princi- ples as each Nation in its separate capa * There are, or have been, at least fifty trench enclosures between Utica and Lake Erie. Man~ of these trenches are around the brow of a hill, in which case each is known by the familiar name of Fort Hill. Within these enclosures are found human skeletons, and re- mains of Indian pottery. The trees found growing in the trenchea by the first settlers, indicated a period of from 300 to 500 years since their desertion. The Iroquois know no- thing of their objects, or of the race~by whom they were constructed. 1847.] Letters on the Iroquois. 181 city; and the Nations stood nearly in the same relation to the Confederacy, that the American States bear to the Union since the Iroquois government presents several oligarchies within one oligarchy, in the same manner as our Confederacy exhibits several republics within one re- public. To obtain a general conception of the character of a government, the ruler, ruling body, or bodies, as the case may be, would be the first objects of attention; and when their powers and tenure of of- fice are discovered, the true index to the nature of the government is furnished. In the case to which this test is about to be applied, the organization was exter- nally so obscure as to induce a univer- sal belief that the relations between ruler and people were simply those of chief and followerthe earliest and lowest politi- cal relation between man and man while, in point of fact, the Iroquois had emerged from this primitive state of so- ciety, and had organized a systematic government. At the institution of the League, fifty permanent sachemships were created, with appropriate names; and in the sachems who held these titles were vested the supreme powers of the Confederacy. To secure order in the succession, and to determine the individuals entitled, the sachemships were made hereditary under limited and peculiar laws of descent. The sachems, themselves, were equal in rank and authority (except three, to be pre- sently mentioned); and, in the place of holding separate territorial jurisdictions, their powers were joint, and co-extensive with the Confederacy. As a safeguard against contention and fraud, each and every sachem was raised up, and in- vested with, his title by a council of all the sachems, with suitable forms and ceremonies. Until this ceremony of con- firmation or investiture, no one could become a ruler. He received, when raised up, the name of the sachemship itself, as in the case of titles of nobility, and so also did his successors, from gen- eration to generation. The sachemships were unequally distributed between the five nations, but without thereby giving to either a preponderance of political power. Nine of them were assigned to the Mohawk nation; nine to the Oneida; fourteen to the Onondaga; ten to the Cayuga; and eight to the Seneca. The sachems, united, formed the Council of the League; the ruling bodyin which resided the ex- ecutive,legislative, and judicial authority. It thus appears that the government of the Iroquois was an oligarchy; taken at least in the literal sense, the rule of the few ; and, while more system is observable in this than in the oligarchies of antiquity, it seems, also, better calcu- lated, in its framework, to resist political changes. This specimen of Indian legislation is so remarkable, that a table of these sa- chemships, with their division into classes, indicating certain inter-relations, hereaf- ter to be explained, is inserted, in the Seneca dialect. TABLE showing the names of the Sachem- ships of the Iroquois Confederacy, which names have been borne by their sachems in succession,from the foundation of the Confederacy to the present time ~ II.4. S5h-a-e-w~-ah. 5. Da-yo-ho- g5. 6. O-~-ha-go-w~. III.7. Da-an-noh-g~-e-neh. 8. S~- da-g~i-e-w~-deh. 9. Hos-da-weh-se-ont-hi. O-ney-yote-car-o-noh.t 1.i. Ho-d~s-ha-teh. 2. Ga-n5h- gweh-yo-d6h. 3. Da-yo-h~-gwen-da. 11.A. So-noh-sase. 5. To-no-~-g~i- oh. 6. H~-de-~t-dun-nent-h~. ne.i-dus-ha-yeh. 9. Ho-wus-h~-d& -oh. O-non-d& r-ga-o-noh 4 1.i. To-do-d~-h6h. Bear tribe. The highest sachemsbip in the Confederacy. 2. To-nehs-sa-~. Beaver tribe. Here- ditary counselor of the Todod~h6h. 3. Da-ht-g~-doos. Beaver tribe. Heredi- tary counselor of the Todod~h6h. Ill.7. Ho-no-we-ni-to. W. T. To this sachemship was assigned the custo- dy of the archives, such as they might have. $ Mohawk Nation. t Oneida. ~ Onondaga. 182 Lettcrs on the iroquois. Hi4-hoh. D. T. 10. Ho-yo-n~a-ne. T. T. ii. Sa-d5.-gw~-seh. Bear T. V.12. S~-go-ga-h~. D. T. 13. Ho sa-h~-ho. T. T. 14. Skii-no-wun-de. T. T. Gwe~u~gweh~o~noh.* 1.i. IDa-g~4i-yoh. 2. Da-je-no-d~- weli-ob. 3. G~-d~-gw~-soh. 4. So-ye- wase. 5. H~-de-~s-yo-noh. 116. D~-yo-o-yo-go. 7. Jote-ho weh-g5. 8. De-~-wate-ho. 1119. T6-d~-e-ho. 10. Des-ga-oh. Nun-da-war-o-noh.f 1.i. G?i-ne-o-di-yoh. Turtle tribe. 2. Da-g~-o-vase. Snipe tribe. 113. Ga-no-gi-e. Turtle tribe. 4. Sa-g6h-jo-w~. Hawk tribe. 111.S. S~-de-a-noh-wus. Bear tribe. 6. ~ Snipe tribe. JV.7. G~-no-go-e-da-we. Snipe tribe. 8. Do-ne-ho-g~-weh. Wolf tribe.& e Note. Unlike the Amphictyons, the sachems of the Iroquois held no vernal or autum- nal session, to legislate for the welfare of the race. The kindling of the council- fire depended entirely upon exigencies of a public or domestic character. Origin- ally, the object of the general council was to raise up sachems to fill such va- cancies as had been occasioned by death or deposition. In course of time, as the intercourse with foreign nations became more important, it assumed the charge of all matters which concerned the common welfare. It declared war and made peace ; sent and received embassies disposed of subjugated nations; and took all necessary measures to secure the prosperity and expansion of the Confed- eracy In this body of oligarchs, the sachem Tadodah6h,t one of the Onondagas, is still regarded, and ever has been, as su- perior in dignity and authority to the other sachems. As an acknowledgment [Feb., of this comparative eminence, two sa- chems were always assigned to him as his hereditary counselors. Still he had no unusual or executive powersin fact, no authority not equally possessed by his compeers ;and this sachemship must remain an anomaly, unless we accept the light which tradition indirectly affords. At thc establishment of the Confederacy, Tadodah6h was a potent ruler, and had rendered himself illustrious by military achievements. Down to this day, among the Iroquois, his name is the personifica- tion of heroism, of forecast, and of digni- ty of character. He was reluctant to consent to the new order of things, as he would be shorn of his power and placed among a number of equals. To remove these objections, his sachemship was dignified above the others by certain spe- cial privileges, not inconsistent, however, with an equal distribution of powers; and from his day down to the present, this title has been regarded as more noble and illustrious than any other in the catalogue of Iroquois nobility.~ With a mere league of Indian nations, the constant tendency would be to a rupture, from remoteness of position and interest, and from the inherent weakness of such a compact. In the case under inspection, something more lasting was aimed at than a simple union of the five nations, in the nature of an alliance. A blending of the national sovereignties into one govern- ment, with direct and manifold relations between the people and the Confederacy, as such, was sought for and achieved by these forest statesmen. On first obser- vation, the powers of the government ap- pear to be so entirely centralized, that the national independencies nearly disappear; but this is very far from the fact. The crowning feature of the Confederacy, as a political structure, is the perfect independ- ence and individuality ot the nations, in the midst of a central and embracing government, which presents such a united and cemented exterior, that its subdivi- sions would scarcely be discovered in transacting business with the Confede- racy. This remarkable result was in part effected by the provision that the * Cayuga. I Seneca. NoTEIn aid of pronunciation, the following signs will be employed :a, sounded asin bake; e, as in Eve; o, as in old; ~, as in art; ~, as in met; 5, as in gone; ~, as in at; i., as in in; ~, as in all; i, as in ice. .~ signifies that the sound of the first syl- lable should be continued into the second. ~ Tododahoh, Seneca. Tadodahob, Onondaga, Tadodal, Oneida. The present Tadodahoh is a bright and interesting boy, about six years of age, and lives at Onondaga. lie should be carefully educated from his childhood. 1S47.] Letters on Ike Iroquois. 183 same rulers who governed the Confede- racy in their joint capacity, should, in their separate state, still be the rulers of the several nations. For all plirposes of a local and domes- tic, and many of a political character, the nations were entirely independent of each other. The nine Mohawk sachems administered the affairs of that nation with joint authority, precisely in the same manner as they did, in connection with others, the affairs of the League at large. With similar powers, the ten Cayuga sachems, by their joint councils, regulat- ed the internal and domestic afikirs of their nation. As ~he sachems of each nation stoed upon a perfect equality, in authority and privileges, the measure of influence was determined entirely hy the talents and address of the individual. in the councils of the nation, which were of frequent occurrence, all business of national concernment was transacted; and, although the questions moved on such occasions would be finally settled hy the opinions of the sachems, yet such was the spirit of the Iroquois system of government, that the influence of the in- ferior chiefs, the warriors, and even of the women, would make itself felt, when- ever the subject itself aroused a general public interest. The powers and duties of the sachems were entirely of a civil character, hut yet were arhitrary within their sphere of ac- tion. If we sought their warrant for the exercise of power, in the etymology 6f the word, in their language, which corre- sponds with sachem, it would intimate a check upon, rather than an enlargement of, the civil authority; for it signifies, simply, a counselor of the peoplc,a beautiful and appropriate designation of a ruler. Having confined the duties of sachems to civil matters by their organic law, it became necessary to provide a class of officers, in ~vhom the military pox~er might be vested. This was, in part, ef- fected by the creation of fifty war-chief- ships, simultaneously with the sachem- ships, with rerulations, in relation to inheritance an~ investiture, mostly the same. By a novel provision, the subor- dination of the military to the civil power was perpetually indicated. To each sach- em (Ho-yar-na-go-war), was assigned a war~chief(Ho~yeh~gun-duh~gowa-sah) to stand behind him on all ceremonious oc- casions, to aid with his counsel, and to execute the commands of the sachem. He was raised up to discharge these du- ties, and for this particular sachem, upon whose death, or deposition, the office, in him, ceased: for, with the successor of the sachem, was raised up another mili- tary chief. If the sachem should join a war-party, led forth by his war-chief, as he could do, if inclined, he would cease, for the time, to be other than a common warrior, and would fall under his com- mand. The additional duties of these military chiefs, in time of actual war, and the extent and nature of their author- ity, it is difficult, if not impossible, now to ascertain. At this stage of the inquiry, an inter- esting, but embarrassing, question pre- sents itself. In whom resided the supe- rior military command of the forces of the Confederacy? The Onoudagas, Cay- ugas and Senecas, agree upon the follow- ing answer: At a very early period, two military chieftaincies were established, and made hereditary. The names of each, Ta-wan-ne-ars, and So-no-so-wi, were to be taken, as in the case of the sachem- ships, by the successive incumbents; and they were to be raised up, in like manner as the sachems. To these high chief- tains, the supreme command of the forces of the Iroquois, and the general conduct of the wars of the Confederacy, were en- trusted. By another provision, they were ever to be taken from the Seneca nation, for the reason that this nation was the hereditary door-keeper of the Long- House, to which they had likened their political edifice; and, being thus at the door, they could first take the war-path. If they could not drive back the invader, they callcd upon tIme next Fire (the Cay- ugas) for aid; and, if necessary, upon the third Fire (the Onondagas) ; and so on, until the whole Confederacy was in arms. It was thus rendered necessary that the great xvar-chiefs should be taken from amnonb the Senecas, for upon them had been placed the defence of the house of the Iroquois. During the revolution, Thayendanegea commanded the Mohawks: and, from his conspicuous position and the high confi- dence reposed in him, rather than from any claim advanced by the chief himself, the title of military chieftain of the Con- federacy has been conceded to him. This is entirely an error; and that he held any such office is denied, expressly, by On- ondagas, Tuscaroras, Cayugas, and Sen- ecas. The singular method of warfare among 184 Letters on the Iroquois. the Iroquois makes it extremely difficult to obtain a satisfactory exposition of the manner in which their warlike operations were conducted; or to ascertain, beyond disputation, with whom the military pow- er substantially resided. As they were at war with all nations not in actual al- liance, it was lawful for any warrior to organize a party, and seek adventures wherever he pleased to direct his foot- steps. Perhaps some chief, filled with martial ardor, planned an inroad upon the Cherokees of the south; and, having giv- en a war-dance, and thus enlisted all who wished to share the glory of the ad- venture, took the war-path at once, upon his distant and perilous enterprise. In such ways as this, many expeditions originated; and it is believed that a great part of the warlike transactions of the Iroquois were nothing more than personal adventures, or the daring deeds of incon- siderable war-parties. Under such a state of circumstances, a favorite leader, possessed of the confidence of the people, from his warlike achievements, would be in no want of followers, in the midst of a general xvar; nor would the Confederacy be in any danger of losing the services of its most capable military commanders. One other class of officers yet remains to be noticed, namelythe chiefs. Many generations after the establishment of the Confederacy, and even subsequent to the commencement of the intercourse of the Iroquois with the whites, there arose a necessity for raising up this new class. It was an innovation upon the original frame-work of the Confederacy,bnt it was demanded by circumstances which could not be resisted. The office of chief (Llah-seh-no-w?i-neh) was made elective, and the reward of merit, but without any power of descent. No limit to the num- ber was established. The Senecas still residing in our State number about two thousand five hundred people; and, ex- clusive of their sachems and xvar-chiefs, they have about seventy chiefs. At first, their powers were extremely limited, and confined to a participation in the local af- fairs of the nation. They stood to the sachems in the light of constituted advis- ers and assistants; but they continued to increase in influence, until, at the pre- sent time, when the confederacy is mostly dismembered, and their internal organi- zation has undergone some essential changes, they have raised themselves to an equality, in many respects, with the sachems themselves. After their elec [Feb., tion, they were raised up by a council of the nation; but a ratification was neces- sary, by a council of all the sachems, of the Confederacy, to complete the investi- ture. It is, perhaps, in itself singular, that no religious functionaries were recog- nized in the Confederacy (none ever be- ingraised up); although there were certain officers in the several nations who offici- ated at the religious festivals, which were held at stated seasons throughout the year. There never existed, among the Iroquois, a regular and distinct religious profession, or office, as among most na- tions; and it was, doubtless, owing to the simplicity, as well as narrowness~ of their religious creed. With the officers above enumerated, the administration of the Confederacy was entrusted. The government sat lightly upon the people, who, in effect, were governed but little. It seemed to each that individual independence, which the Hod6nosaunee knew how to prize as well as the Saxon; and which, amid all political changes, they have contrived to preserve. The institutions which would be expected to exist under the govern- ment whose frame-work has just been sketched, would necessarily be simple. Their mode of life, and limited wants, the absence of all property, and the in- frequency of crime, dispensed with a vast amount of the legislation and machinery, incident to the protection of civilized so- ciety. While, therefore, it would be unreasonable to seek those high qualities of mind, which result from ages of culti- vation, in such a rude state of existence, it would be equally irrational to regard the Indian character as devoid of all those higher characteristics which ennoble the human race. If he has never contributed a page to science, nor a discovery to art; if he loses, in the progress of generations, as much as he gains; still, there are cer- taih qualities of his mind which shine forth in all the lustre of natural perfec- tion, and which must ever elicit admira- tion. His simple integrity, his generosi- ty, his unbounded hospitality, his love of truth, and, above all, his unbroken fidelity, a sentiment inborn, and standing out so conspicuously in his character, that it has, not untruthfully, become its living characteristic; all these are adornments of humanity, which no art of education can instill, nor refloement of civi1iza~ion can bestow. If they exist at all, it is because the gifts o f the Deity havenever 1847.] Letter8 on Ike Iroquois. 185 been debased. The high state of public morals, celebrated by the poet as reached and secured under Augustus, it was the higher and prouder boast of the Iroquois never to have lost. In such an atmo- sphere of moral purity, he grew up to manhood, Culpari metuit fides: Nullis polluitur casta domus stupris: Mos et lex maculosum edomuit nefas. If our Indian predecessor, with the vir- tues and blemishes, the power and weakness, which alternate in his charac- ter, is ever rightly comprehended, it will be the result of an insight into his social relations, and an understanding of the institutions which reflect the higher elements of his intellect. LETTER 111. Division of the People into TribesThe Tribal LeagueDescent limited to the Female.~ line; it defeated the succession of a Son to the Sachemship of his FatherMode of com- puting degrees of ConsanguinityLaws and Customs in relation to the Succession of Rulers-The power of Election and Deposition with the TribesMode of bestowing namesNature of a Tribe. The division of a people into tribes is the most simple organization of society. Each tribe being in the nature of a family, the ties of relationship which bind its individual members together, are indis- pensable, until they are rendered unne- cessary by the adoption of a form of gov- ernment, and the substitution of other ties, which answer the same ends of pro- tection and security. When a people have long remained in the tribal state, it becomes extremely dif- ficult to remove all traces of such orga- nic divisions by the substitution of new institutions. In the tribes of the Jews, this position is illustrated. Among the Greeks also, especially the Athenians, the traces of their original divisions never entirely disappeared. Solon sub- stituted classes for tribes; but subse- quently Cleisthenes restored the tribes, (retaining however the classes,) and in- creased the number: thus perpetuating this early social organization of the Athenians among their civil institutions. The Athenian Tribe was a group of fa- milies, with subdivisions; the Roman Tribes established by Romulus, the same. On the other hand, the Jewish Tribe em- braced only the lineal descendants of a common father; and its individual mem- bers beingof consanguinity,the tribe itself was essentially different from the Gre- cian. The Iroquois Tribe was unlike them all. It was not a group of fami- lies; neither was it made up of the de- scendants of a common father, as the fa- ther and his child were never of the same tribe. In the sequel, however, it will be discovered to be nearest the Jewish: the chief difference consisting in the incident of descent in the female line attached to the former; while descent in the male line was incident to the latter. The founders of the Iroquois Confede- racy did not seek to suspend the tribal divisions of the people, to introduce a different social organization; but on the contrary, they rested the Confederacy it- self upon the tribes; and through them, sought to interweave the race into one political family. A fill and careful ex- ploration of those tribal relationships which characterize the political system of the Iroquois, becomes therefore of great importance. Without such knowledge as they will afford, their government it- self is wholly unmeaning and inexplica- ide. In each nation there were eight tribes, which were arranged in two divisions, and named as follows: Wolf, Bear, Beaver, Turtle. Deer, Snipe, Heron, Hawk. Animals common to all latitudes be- tween Louisiana and Montreal, and hence in themselves incapable of throw- ing any light upon the land, or locality, in which the race originated.* These names had doubtless an emblematical signification which reached beyond the object itself. Of the origin of their tribal divisions but little is known; and to it perhaps but little importance attaches. Tradition declares that the Bear and the Deer were tho original tribes, and that the residue were subdivisions. At the establishment of the Oligarchy, evidence Table exhibiting the scientific names of the tinimals adopted by the Iroquois as the em- blems of their respective tribes. It follows the classification employed in the Nat. His- 186 Letters on Ike iroquois. [Feb., is furnished of the existence of seven of the tribes, in the distribution of the Onon- daga and Seneca Sachemships. The four- teen assigned to the former nation, were (livided between the Wolf, Bear, Beaver, Turtle, Snipe and Deer Tribes ; while the eight belonging to the latter, were given to the Wolf, Bear, Turtle, Snipe and hawk, to the exclusion of the others, if they then existed; and in these several tribes, they were made perpetually here- ditary. r1~he division of the people of each na- tion into eight tribes, whether pre-exist- ing, or perfected at the establishment of the Confederacy did not terminate in its objects with the nation itself. It became the means of effecting the most perfect union of separate nations ever devised by the wit of man. In effect, the Wolf Tribe was divided into five parts, and one- fifth of it placed in each of the five na- tions. The remaining tribes were sub- jected to the same division and distribu- tion: thus giving to each nation the eight tribes, and making in their separat- ed state, forty tribes in the Confederacy. Between those of the same nameor in other words, between the separated parts of each tribethere existed a tie of bro- therhood, which linked the nations toge- ther with indissoluble bonds. The Mo- hawk of the Beaver Tribe, recognized the Seneca of the Beaver Tribe as his bro- ther, and they were bound to each other by the ties of consanguinity. In like manner the Oneida of the Turtle or other tribe, re- ceived the Cayuga, or the Onondaga of the same tribe, as a brother; and with a fraternal wclcome. This cross-rela- tionship between the tribes of the same name , and which was stronger, if possi- ble, than the chain of brotherhood be- tween the several tribes of the same na- tion, is still preserved in all its criginal strength. It doubtless furnishes the chief reason of the tenacity with which the fragments of the old Confederacy still cling together. If either of the five nations had wished to cast off the alli- ance, it must also have broken the bond of brotherhood. Had the nations fallen into collision, it would have turned Hawk Tribe againstl-lawk Tribe, Heron against Heron, in a word, brother against bro- ther. The history of the Hod~nosau- nee exhibits the wisdom of these organic provisions; for they never fell into anar- chy during the long period which the league subsisted; nor even approximat- ed to a dissolution of the Confederacy from internal disorders. With the progress of the inquiry, it becomes more apparent that the Confede- racy was in effect a League of Tribes. With the ties of kindred as its principle of union, the whole race was interwoven into one great family, composed of tribes in its first subdivision (for the nations were counterparts of each other); and the tribes themselves, in their subdivisions, composed of parts of many households. Without these close inter-relations, rest- ing, as many of them do, upon the strong impulses of nature, a mere alliance be- tween the Iroquois nations would have been feeble and transitory. In this manner was constructed the Tribal League of the Hod~nosaunee; in itself, an extraordinary specimen of In- dian legislation. Simple in its founda- tion upon the Family Relationships; ef- fective, in the lasting vigor inherent in the ties of kindred; and perfect in its suc- cess, in achieving a lasting and harmo- nious union of the nations; it forms an enduring monument to that proud and pro- gressive race, who reared under its pro- tection, a wide-spread Indian sovereignty. All the institutions of the Iroquois, have regard to the division of the people into tribes. Originally with reference to tory of New York. The species have been determined from careful descriptions obtained of the Senecas Animal. Seneca Name. Order. Family. Genus. Species. Wolf. Tor-yoh-ne. Carnivora. Canidas. Lupus. Occidentalis. Bear. Ne-e-ar-0uye. Carnivora. Ursidtu. Ursus. Americanus. Beaver. Non-gar-ne-e-ar-goh. Bodentia. Castoridte. Castor. Fiber. Turtle. Ga-ne-e-ar-teh-go-wa. Chelonia. Chelonidas. Chelonura. Serpentina. Deer. Na-o-geh. Ungulata. Cervidas. Cervus. Virginia nus. Snipe. Doo-ese-doo-we. Grallas. Scolopacidas. Totanus. Semipaima tus. Heron. Jo-as-seb. Grallas. Ardeidas. Ardea. Candidissima. Hawk. Os-sweh-ga-da-ga-ah. Accipitres. Falconidas. Falco. Cohimbarius. NOTE. Some doubts rest upon the Heron and I he Snipe concerning the species. In the former case the choice rests between, ibe Ardea, Candid issima, and the Ardea Leuce. Jo the latter, the large number of the species iiitroduces a difficulty. The Semipalmatus corre- sponds the nearest with the description of the bard. 1847.] Letters on the iroquois. 1S marriage, the XVolf, Bear, Beaver and Turtle Tribes, were brothers to each other, and cousins to the remaining four. They were not allowed to intermarry. The opposite four tribes were also bro- thers to each other, and cousins to the first four; and were also prohibited from inter- marrying. Either of the first four tribes, however, could intermarry with either of the last four; thus Hawk could intermar- ry with Bear or Beaver, Heron with Tur- tle ; but not Beaver and Turtle, nor Deer and Deer. Whoever violated these laws of marriage incurred the deepest detes- tation and disgrace. In process of time, however, the rigor of the system was re- laxed, until finally, the prohibition was confined to the tribe of the individual, which among the residue of the Iroquois, is still religiously observed. They can now marry into any tribe but their own. Under the original as well as modern re- gulation, the husband and wife were of different tribes. The children always followed the tribe of the mother. As the whole Iroquois system rested upon the tribes as an organic division of the people, it was very natural that the separate rights of cach should be jea- lously guarded. Not the least remarkable among their institutions, of which most appear to have been original with the race, was that which confined the trans- mission of all titles, rights and property in the female line to the exclusion of the male. It is strangely unlike the canons of descent adopted by civilized nations, but it secured several important objects. If the Deer Tribe of the Cayugas, for ex- ample, received a sachemship or war- chiefship at the original distribution of these offices, the descent of such ti- tle being limited to the female line, it could never pass out of the tribe. It thus became instrumental in giving the tribe individuality. A still more marked result, and perhaps leading object, of this enactment was, the perpetual disinherit- ance of the son. Being of the tribe of his mother, it formed an impassable barrier against him; and he could neither suc- ceed his father as a sachem, nor inherit from him even his medal, or his toma- hawk. The inheritance, for the protec- tion of tribal rights, was thus directed from the descendants of the sachem, to his brothers, his sisters, children, or some individual of the tribe at large under certain circumstances; each and all of whom were in his tribe, while his children being in anothers tribe, as before re~ voL. v.No. Ii, 13 marked, were placed out of the line of succession. By the operation of this principle, also, the certainty of descent in the tribe, of their principal chiefs, was secured by a rule infallible; for the child must be the son of its mother, although not necessa- rily of its mothers husband. if the pu- rity of blood be of any moment, the lawgivers of the Iroquois established the only certain rule the case admit~ of, whereby the assurance might be enjoyed that the ruling sachema was of the same family or tribe with the first taker of the title. The Iroquois mode of computing de- grees of consanguinity was unlike that of the civil or canon law; but was yet a clear and definite system. No distinc- tion was made between the lineal and collateral line, either in the ascending or descending series. The maternal grand- mother and he: sisters were equally grandmothers; the mother and her sis- ters were equally mothers; the children of a mothers sisters were brothers and sisters; the children of a sister would be nephews and nieces; and the grand.- children of a sister would be his grand- childrenthat is to say, the grandchil- dren of the propositus, or individual from whom the degree of relationship is reck- oned. These were the chief relatives within the tribe, though not fully extend- ed to number. Out of the tribe, the paternal grandfather and his brothers were equally grandfathers; the father and his brothers equally fathers; the fathers sisters were aunts, while, in the tribe, the mothers brothers were uncles; the fathers sisters children would be cousins as in the civil law; the children of these cousins would be nephews und nieces, and the children of these nephews and nieces would be his grandchildren, or the grandchildren of the propositus. Again: the children of a brother would be his children, and the grandchildren of a brother would be his grandchildren; also, the children of a fathers brothers. are his brothers and sisters, instead of cousins, as under the civil law; and last- ly, their children are his grandchil- dren, or the grandchildren of the pro- positus. It was the leading object of the Iroquois law of descent, to merge the collateral in the lineal line, as sufficiently appears in the above outline. By the civil law, every departure from the common ances- tor in the descending ~eries, removed the 188 Letters on the Iroquois. [Feb., collateral from the lineal; while, by the law under consideration, the two lines were finally brought into one.* Under the civil law mode of computation, the degrees of relationsbip become too remote to be traced among collaterals; while, by the mode of the Iroquois, none of the collaterals were lost by remoteness of degree. The number of those linked together by the nearer family ties, was largely multiplied by preventing, in this manner, the subdivision of a family into collateral branches. The succession of the rulers of tbe Confederacy is one of the most intricate subjects to be met with in the political system of the Hod~nosaunee. It has been so difficult to procure a satisfactory exposition of the enactments by which the mode of succession was regulated, that the sacbemships have sometimes been considered elective; at others, as hereditary. Many of the obstacles which beset the inquiry are removed by the sin- gle fact, that the titles of sachem and war-chief are absolutely hereditary in the tribe to which they were originally as- signed; and can never pass out of it, but with its extinction. how far these titles were hereditary in that part of the fami- ly of the sachem or war-chief, who were of the same tribe with himself, be- comes the true question to consider. The sachems brothers, and the sons of his sis- ters, are of his tribe, and consequently in the line of succession. Between a bro- ther and a nephew of the deceased, there was no law which established a prefer- ence; neither between several brothers, on the one hand, and several sons of a sister, on the other, was there any law of primogeniture; nor, finally, was there any positive law, that the choice should be confined to the brothers of the deceased ruler, or the descendants of his sister in the female line, until all these should fail, before a selection could be made from the tribe at large. Hence, it ap- pears, so far as positive enactments were concerned, that the offices of sachem and ivar-chief, as between the eight tribes, were hereditary in the particular tribe in which they ran; while they were elective, as between the male members of the tribe itself. In the absence of laws, designating with certainty the individual upon whom the inheritance should fall, custom would come in and assume the force of law, in directing the manner of choice, from among a number equally eligible. Upon the decease of a sachem, a tribal council assembled to determine upon his succes- sor. The choice usually fell upon a son of one of the deceased rulers sisters, or upon one of his brothersin the absence of physical and moral objections; and this preference of one of his near rela- tives would be suggested by feelings of respect for his memory. Infancy was no obstacle it uniting only the necessity of setting over him a guardian, to discharge the duties of a sachem until he reached a suitable age. It sometimes occurred that all the relatives of the deceased were set aside, and a selection was made from the tribe generally; but it seldom thus happened, unless from the great unfitness of the near relatives of the deceased. When the individual was finally deter- mined, the nation summoned a council, in the name of the deceased, of all the sachems of the league; and the new sachem was raised up by such council, aud invested with his office In connection with the power of the tribes to designate the sachems and war- chiefs, should be noticed the equal power of deposition. If, by misconduct, a sa- chem lost the confidence and respect of his tribe, and became unworthy of authority, a tribal council at once deposed him; and, having selected a successor, sum- moned a council of the Confederacy to perform the ceremony of his investiture. Still further to illustrate the charac- teristics of the tribes of the Iroquois, some reference to their mode of bestowing The following are the names of the several degrees of relationship, recognized among the Hodenosaunee, in the language of the Senecas: Hoc-sote, Grandfather. Hoc-no-seb, Uncle. Dc-sore, Grandmother. Ab-geb-huc, Aunt. Ha-nih, Father. Ha-yan-wan-deh, Nephew. Noh-yeh, Mother. Ka-yan-wan-deb, Niece. Ho-ah-wuk, Son. Da-ya-gwa-dan-no-da, Brothers and Sisters. Go-ah-wuk, Daughter. Ab-gare-seb, Cousin. Ka-ya-da, Grandchildren. 1847.] Letters on the iroquois. 189 names would not be inapt.* Soon after the birth of an infant, the near relatives of the same tribe selected a name. At the first subsequent council of the nation, the birth and name were publicly an- nounced, together with the name and tribe of the father, and the name and tribe of the mother. In each nation the proper names were so strongly marked by a tri- bal peculiarity, that the tribe of the indi- vidual could usually be determined from the name alone. Making, as they did, a part of their language, they were, conse- quently, all significant. When an indi- vidual was raised up as a sachem, his original name was laid aside, and that of the sachemship itself assumed. The war-chief followed the same rule. In like manner, at the raising up of a chief, the council of the nation which performs h ceremony, took away the former name ef the incipient chief and assigned him a new one, perhaps, like Napoleons titles, commemorative of the event which led to its bestowment. Thus, when the cele- brated Red-Jacket was elevated by elec- tion to the dignity of a chief, his original name, O-te-ti-an-i (Always Ready) was taken from him, and in its place was be- stowed Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, (Keeper A- wake,) in allusion to the powers of his eloquence. It now remains to define a tribe of the Hod~nosaunee. From the preceding considerations it sufficiently appears, that it was not, like the Grecian and Roman, a circle or group of families; for two tribes were, necessarily, represented in every family: neither, like the Jewish, was it constituted of the lineal descend- ants of a common father; on the contra- ry, it distinctly involved the idea of descent from a common mother: nor has it any resemblance to the Scottish clan, or the Canton of the Switzer. In the formation of an Iroquois tribe, a portion was taken from many households, and bound together by a tribal bond. The bond consisted in the ties of consanguin- ity; for all the members of the tribe, thus composed, were connected by rela- tionships, which, under their law of de- scents, were easily traceable. To the tribe attached the incident of descent in the female line, the prohibition of inter- marriage, the capacity of holding and exercising political rights, and the ability to contract and sustain relationships with the other tribes. The wife, her children, and her de- scendants in the female line, would, in perpetuity, be linked with the destinies of her own tribe and kindred; while the husband, his brcthers and sisters, and the descendants of the latter, in the female line, would, in like manner, be united to another tribe, and held by its affinities. Herein was a bond of union between the several tribes of the same nation, corre- sponding, in some degree, with the cross- relationship founded upon consanguinity, which bound together the tribes of the same emblem in the different nations. Of the comparative value of these in- stitutions, when contrasted with those of civilized countries, and of their capa- bility of elevating the race, it is not ne- cessary here to inquire. It was the boast of the Iroquois that the great object of their confederacy was peace :to break up the spirit of perpetual warfare, which wasted the red race from age to age. Such an insight into the true end and ob- ject of all legitimate government, by these who constructed this tribal league, ex- cites as great surprise as admiration. It is the highest and the noblest aspect in which human institutions can be viewed; and the thought itselfuniversal peace among Indian races possible of attain- mentwas a ray of intellect from no or- dinary mind. To consummate such a purpose, the Iroquois nations were to be concentrated into one political fraternity; and in a manner effectively to prevent off-shoots and secessions. By its natural growth, this fraternity would accumulate sufficient power to absorb adjacent na- tions, moulding them, successively, by affiliation, into one common family. Thus, in its nature, it was designed to be a progressive confederacy. What means could have been employed with greater promise of success than the stu- pendous system of relationships, which was fabricated through the division of the Hod~nosaunee into tribes? It was a system sufficiently ample to infeld the whole Indian race. Unlimited in their capacity for extension; inflexible in their relationships; the tribes thus interleagued would have suffered no loss of unity by their enlargement, nor loss of strength by the increasing distance between their e * Like the ancient Saxons, the Iroquois had neither a prenomen, nor a cognomen; but contented themuselves with a single name. 190 The Meeting of Siegfried and Chriemhilt. [Feb., council-fires. The destiny of this league, pacities for enlargement, with remarka- if it had been left to work out its results ble durability of structure, and a vigorous, among the red races exclusively, it is animating spirit, it must have attained a impossible to conjecture. With vast ca- great elevation and a general supremacy. THE MEETING OF SIEGFRIED AND CHRIEMHILT. TRANSLATED FROM THE THIRD ADvENTIJRE OF TEE NIEBELUNGEN LIED. Nu gie diu minneliche. u.s.u. FORTH came the lovely maiden as comes the morning red, The gloomy clouds disparting: much care the gallant fled, Who in his heart had borne her a long and weary way; In all her bloom before him he saw the lovely May. From forth her garments glittered full many a jewel rare; Her rosy-red complexion shone marvellously fair: However loth to own it, yet must men all agree That on the earth was never so fair a thing as she. As floats the silver full-moon the starry host before, And light so clear and mellow down through the clouds doth pour, So shone she in her beauty before each other dame; Well might the hearts of many be fluttered as she came! The chamberlains so wealthy before her led the way; The heroes high in spirit, they would not quiet stay; To see the lovely maiden they press~i to and fro. To Siegfried, the hero, that was both joy and woe. Within himself thus spake he, How can it ever he That I should win thy love? Tis an idle fantasy. Yet must I go without thee, then were I better dead. And aye as he thought on her his face turned white and red. There did the son of Sieglind before them fairly stand As he were limnod on parchment by cunning masters hand; And every one that saw him owned willingly his worth, Sure such a gallant hero was never seen on earth. CARL BENSON. Trin. Coil., Cant, 1842.

Carl Benson Benson, Carl The Meeting of Siegfried and Chriemhilt 190-191

190 The Meeting of Siegfried and Chriemhilt. [Feb., council-fires. The destiny of this league, pacities for enlargement, with remarka- if it had been left to work out its results ble durability of structure, and a vigorous, among the red races exclusively, it is animating spirit, it must have attained a impossible to conjecture. With vast ca- great elevation and a general supremacy. THE MEETING OF SIEGFRIED AND CHRIEMHILT. TRANSLATED FROM THE THIRD ADvENTIJRE OF TEE NIEBELUNGEN LIED. Nu gie diu minneliche. u.s.u. FORTH came the lovely maiden as comes the morning red, The gloomy clouds disparting: much care the gallant fled, Who in his heart had borne her a long and weary way; In all her bloom before him he saw the lovely May. From forth her garments glittered full many a jewel rare; Her rosy-red complexion shone marvellously fair: However loth to own it, yet must men all agree That on the earth was never so fair a thing as she. As floats the silver full-moon the starry host before, And light so clear and mellow down through the clouds doth pour, So shone she in her beauty before each other dame; Well might the hearts of many be fluttered as she came! The chamberlains so wealthy before her led the way; The heroes high in spirit, they would not quiet stay; To see the lovely maiden they press~i to and fro. To Siegfried, the hero, that was both joy and woe. Within himself thus spake he, How can it ever he That I should win thy love? Tis an idle fantasy. Yet must I go without thee, then were I better dead. And aye as he thought on her his face turned white and red. There did the son of Sieglind before them fairly stand As he were limnod on parchment by cunning masters hand; And every one that saw him owned willingly his worth, Sure such a gallant hero was never seen on earth. CARL BENSON. Trin. Coil., Cant, 1842. 1847.] The Ljfe and Opinions of Philip Yorick, Fsq. 191 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF PHILIP YORICK, ESQ., WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. CHAPTER X.~ COURTESY. COURTESY and honor, exclaimed the very reverend Doctor Dulldrum, are virtues of the WORLD; alms-giving and peace-making, of the CHURCH. This was on occasion of a long-winded argument between the doctor and my patron, touching that famous distinction of the Church and the World, familiar to Christians of the old stamp. If I were to be hanged for a bad memory, I could not now tell you the whole order of their discourse; I dare only affirm, that my patron gave the doc- tor the lie, (scholastically, which, you know, though it touch you ever so nearly, cannot be construed as an affront,) and to it they xvent, in such a long- breathed, manysided, everywhere- pointed, learned, subtile, subtle, involv- ing, involved, intricate, intricating, ra- tiocinative, puzzling, plodding, pleasing, niggling, notional, noetic, nominate, mad, muddling, metagrabolizing piece of argu- mentation !my brain is unsettled with the commotion of it! Cleric and lay, sacred and profane, Hermes! they main- mocked the question! The doctor took ground in divinity, and what with St. Augustin his catapult, St. Chrysostomn his arrowy storm, St. Bernard his thunder, and the lightning of the persaader of the Gentiles, did so confound, astonish, and overwhelm my patron, that had not his intellect been of that fine mail wherewith the champion Hume used to cover over the region of his heart, he had been utterly overthrown, nay, shot through, and scorched into silence. The difference between a scholastic argument and one of use, is like that be- tween the grinding of chaff and the grind- ing of wheat; the same organs are at work, the same noise is heard, the same power is exhausted; hut the product of the one is wholesome food, that of the other, dust and dirt. Pantol. dec. I. K. ap. 10., v. 1. k. t. a. My patron considered the matter dif- ferently. As money is to a Jew, so was an argument to him; he lived jor it; had he lived by it, he would have treated it less affectionately; for, with the learned author just quoted, no man loves what he lives by. lb. Swed. is. a. ho. ax. 1. 2. A paradox! say you? Not at all, love and greed are as different as love and lust. To say I love money, what is it but a foolish figure of speech? I have reason to believe that the argu- ment of my patron with the doctor was the great one of his life. It happened on the evening of the sixtieth anniver- sary of his own birth, and the sixteenth of mine; from which particulars, acute chronologers will infer, that, first, we saw the light on the same day of the year; and second, that the chances and changes of five of his wintry humors had befallen me under that roof. At twelve I was a good listener; at sixteen, a tolerable logician; I might therefore, receive as much of such an argument as might enter by understanding into the receipt of reason. The whole matter lay in a difference of words: for my patron argued, that as courtesy is, questionless, a virtue, and honor, if possible,,some- thing better, they aie parts and elements in the Highest Good : Christianity, he added, if it be anything at all, is the Highest Good; ergo, courtesy and honor are Christian virtues. The metagrabolizing Dulldrum quoted Augustin, to show that the Church is not the World; Austin, to show that said virtues are of the World ; ergo, said he, they are not of the Church. Then he showed from Bernard, that the Church is the Highest Good; allowed that Chris- tianity is also the highest good; which concludes, that honor and courtesy are not compulsory on Christians, much less upon churchmen. iNly patron replied to this, that he thought the logic very good, but the Continued from p. 84.

Philip Yorick Yorick, Philip The Life and Opinions of Philip Yorick, Esq. 191-201

1847.] The Ljfe and Opinions of Philip Yorick, Fsq. 191 THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF PHILIP YORICK, ESQ., WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. CHAPTER X.~ COURTESY. COURTESY and honor, exclaimed the very reverend Doctor Dulldrum, are virtues of the WORLD; alms-giving and peace-making, of the CHURCH. This was on occasion of a long-winded argument between the doctor and my patron, touching that famous distinction of the Church and the World, familiar to Christians of the old stamp. If I were to be hanged for a bad memory, I could not now tell you the whole order of their discourse; I dare only affirm, that my patron gave the doc- tor the lie, (scholastically, which, you know, though it touch you ever so nearly, cannot be construed as an affront,) and to it they xvent, in such a long- breathed, manysided, everywhere- pointed, learned, subtile, subtle, involv- ing, involved, intricate, intricating, ra- tiocinative, puzzling, plodding, pleasing, niggling, notional, noetic, nominate, mad, muddling, metagrabolizing piece of argu- mentation !my brain is unsettled with the commotion of it! Cleric and lay, sacred and profane, Hermes! they main- mocked the question! The doctor took ground in divinity, and what with St. Augustin his catapult, St. Chrysostomn his arrowy storm, St. Bernard his thunder, and the lightning of the persaader of the Gentiles, did so confound, astonish, and overwhelm my patron, that had not his intellect been of that fine mail wherewith the champion Hume used to cover over the region of his heart, he had been utterly overthrown, nay, shot through, and scorched into silence. The difference between a scholastic argument and one of use, is like that be- tween the grinding of chaff and the grind- ing of wheat; the same organs are at work, the same noise is heard, the same power is exhausted; hut the product of the one is wholesome food, that of the other, dust and dirt. Pantol. dec. I. K. ap. 10., v. 1. k. t. a. My patron considered the matter dif- ferently. As money is to a Jew, so was an argument to him; he lived jor it; had he lived by it, he would have treated it less affectionately; for, with the learned author just quoted, no man loves what he lives by. lb. Swed. is. a. ho. ax. 1. 2. A paradox! say you? Not at all, love and greed are as different as love and lust. To say I love money, what is it but a foolish figure of speech? I have reason to believe that the argu- ment of my patron with the doctor was the great one of his life. It happened on the evening of the sixtieth anniver- sary of his own birth, and the sixteenth of mine; from which particulars, acute chronologers will infer, that, first, we saw the light on the same day of the year; and second, that the chances and changes of five of his wintry humors had befallen me under that roof. At twelve I was a good listener; at sixteen, a tolerable logician; I might therefore, receive as much of such an argument as might enter by understanding into the receipt of reason. The whole matter lay in a difference of words: for my patron argued, that as courtesy is, questionless, a virtue, and honor, if possible,,some- thing better, they aie parts and elements in the Highest Good : Christianity, he added, if it be anything at all, is the Highest Good; ergo, courtesy and honor are Christian virtues. The metagrabolizing Dulldrum quoted Augustin, to show that the Church is not the World; Austin, to show that said virtues are of the World ; ergo, said he, they are not of the Church. Then he showed from Bernard, that the Church is the Highest Good; allowed that Chris- tianity is also the highest good; which concludes, that honor and courtesy are not compulsory on Christians, much less upon churchmen. iNly patron replied to this, that he thought the logic very good, but the Continued from p. 84. 192 Tne Life and Opinions [Feb., premises false; for, said he, if they be true, churchmen have no need of the virtues in question; hut we know they have: ergo, & c. As far, replied the other, as they are conducive to the interests of the Church. Mr. Yorick thereupon denied that these virtues could be employed as means, or that the Church could have any inter- ests, properly speaking, and so they ran on, neck and neck, now one, now the other: death and darkness, what furor, what rage of controversy! I took coun- sel with my soul from that occasion, never to be led into an argument. Dr. Dulidrums difference with my patron grew out of a history the latter was about giving him of my first induc- tion to Yorick house, and of my mothers behavior on that occasion. I give it as nearly as possible in his own words Imagine to yourself, my dear doctor, a woman of an uncertain age, handsome, an Italian, and a Catholic. The doctor shuddered. Put yourself in my situa- tion; when, as 1 was sitting in my study, lost in a meditation of Augustin, the doctor shook his head, de virginitate, and frowned; a meditation,J say, of celibacy, of which the Church has since made so noble a use, a groanfrom Dull- drum, emulating, nay, surpassing the example of antiquity, which committed the holy fire to hands of virgins; instance Chelia, who drew the ship with her fin- ger ; a heathenish lie, growled the doc- tor, for how shall the fire of the soul be cherished in a care-soiled, cuckoldy spirit, worried into meanness by the per- petual solicitation of a woman ? The doctor adjusted his bands. Immersed, I say, in these meditations, J saw this Italian woman approaching, leading, or rather dragging, this youth, then an in- fant, by the hand. The manner of the child struck me as not unpromising. I fancied I saw in him a nature easy to he moulded to some shape of virtue, such as I might see fit to impress upon him. I will do with him, thought I, what the Church would do with her disciples (for, indeed, is not she the great teacher or shaper of minds); in other words, 1 will fortify his spirit with a subtle casuistry; I will inform his understand- ing with all the variety of error, that he may heed and avoid them, God fomgive you, said the doctor, manifesting some emotion, I fear you mean to do a very ill thing. I will teach him, continued my pa- tron, to know the face of evil, before be feels the power of it. I will nourish him in every species of learning. He shall peruse the classics; until, penetrated witk their spirit, he can despise the little- ness of the moderns. You would convert him, said the Doctor, into a meter-mongering cox- comb. He should read with me the Organon of Aristotle; the Theatetus of Plato; the third Ennead of Plutinus; the De Mys- teriis of Jamhlichus; the Dc Iside of Plutarch; the Golden Ass of Apuleins With what a medley, interposed the other, of transcendental whim-whamns and indecencies, would you confound his intellect! Mean you to educate your charge for a place in Bedlam, or a mnon- astery of mad monks ? I would teach him, said my patron, lowering his voice, to look in upon himself; and, by an introversion of the intellect, to discern the good and the evil of his own nature. I would lay open to his understanding the spiritual effects of ing and ing. My dear Mr. Yorick, groaned the churchman, 1 am grieved to tell you how much it offends me to hear you say that; if the youth comes from your hands in other shape than a Jesuit or an Athe- ist, without one grain of humanity or practical sense in his whole organization, it will be by the grace of his Maker; I say it with reverence. Such, continued my patron, were the motives that moved me to his adop- tion. A grain of sacred pity would have outweighed them all, muttered the churchman, rising to depart; but my pa- tron rose at the same