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Continental monthly: devoted to literature and national policy. / Volume 6, Note on Digital Production 0006 000
Continental monthly: devoted to literature and national policy. / Volume 6, Note on Digital Production A-B

Continental monthly: devoted to literature and national policy. / Volume 6, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 722 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR1802-0006 /moa/cont/cont0006/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Continental monthly: devoted to literature and national policy. / Volume 6, Issue 1 J. R. Gilmore. New York, | Boston July 1864 0006 001
Continental monthly: devoted to literature and national policy. / Volume 6, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages i-iv

THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY: 4 DEVOTED TO VOL. VI. JULYDECEMBER, 1864 ~bx JOHN F. mOW, ~O GREENE STREET, (~oa THE PROPRIETORS.) 1864. q ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by JOHN F. TROW, In the Clerks Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern Distric4 of New York. JOHN F. TROW, PRINTE5, STEREOTYPER, AND ELECTROTYP~ Oree e s:reet, New York. I1TDEX TO YOLUME VI. PAGE A Castle in the Air. By E. Foxton 272 A6none; a Tale of Slave Life in Rome,.. 10, 149, 254, 408, 519, 610 A Glance at Pruesian Politics. By Charles M. Mead 261, 383 A Great Social Problem. By G. U., 441 American Civilization. By Lient. Egbert Phelps, U. S. A 102 American Slavery and Finances. By lion. Robert J. Walker 22 American Women. By Mrs. Virginia Slier- wood 416 An Army: Its Organization and Movements. By Lient-Col. C. W. Tolles, A. Q. M., 1 223, 330, 601 A Sigh. By Virginia Vaughan 355 A Wrens Song 434 Aphorisms,. 78, 83, 134, 222, 260, 414, 444, 609, 663 Asleep 270 Averills Raid. By Alfred B. Street 326 Baitle of the Wilderness. By E. A. Warn- 207 Buckle, Draper: Church and State. By Ed ward B. Freelanni 55 Buried Alive. A Dirge. By Martha Walker Cook 189 Canses of the Minneeota Massacre. By Jan uary Scene 174 Church Music. By Lucia D. Pychowska, ... 112 Colors and their Meaning. By Mrs. M. E. G. Gage 199 Coming Up at Shiloh Cor Unum, Via Una. God Bcss our Na tive Land I 716 Creation. By Charles E. Townsend 531 Death in Life. By Edwin R. Johnson 516 Does the Moon Bevolve on its Axis? By Charles E. Townsend. 380 Editors Table 238, 478, 711 Excuse. By Kate Putnam 415 Flower Odors 469 Fly Leaves from the Life of a Soldier, .. .289, 534 PAGE James Fenimore Cooperon Secession and Slate Rights. By Charles K. Tucker- man 79 Letter of Hon. R. J. Walker, in f- vor of the Rellection of Abraham Lincoln, Sept. 30, 1864, London 686 Life on a Blockader. By Ihe Author of The Last Cruise of the Monitor 46 Literary Notices 116, 232, 359, 475, 706 Locomotion. By David M. Balfour 472 Lois Pearl Berkeley. By Margaret Vane hastings 552 Longing. From Schiegel 454 Look-Out Mountain. By Alfred 11. Street,.. 6 Lunar Characteristics. By Chailci E. Town send, 381 Miracles. By Rev. Asa L. Colton 685 Negro Troops. By Henry Everett Rus sell 191 Observations of the Son. By Charles B. Townsend 328 One Night. By Julius Wilcox ... 67 On Hearing a Trio. By Mary Freeman Goldheck 650 Our Domestic Affairs. By Geoige Wurls,.. 241 Our Great America. By JanuarySearle 445 Our Martyrs. By Kate Putnam 147 Phenomena of Haze, Fogs, and Clouds. By Charles F. Townsend, 533 Proverbs. By E. B. C., 371 Recogniton. By Virginia Vaughan 88 Self-Sacrifice. Ancient from Itichter 632 Shanghai: Its Streets, Shops, and People. By Henry B. Auchincloss 633 Sketches of American Life and Scenery. By LuciaD. Pychowska,.... 544 664 Same Uses of a Civil War. By tluh Miller Thompsoii 361 Sound Reflections. By F. B. C 314 Streck-Verse. By F. B. C 298 Genius. By Richard Bowen 705 Tardy Truths. By H. K. Kalussowski 209- 150627 iv Imde~e PAGH The Antiquity of Man. A Philosophic 1)e- bate. By William Henderson 336 The Constitutional Amendment. By Henry Everett Russell 135 The Cross. By E. Foxton 34 The Danish Sailor. By G. T. M 99 The Devils Caflon in California. By Henry B. Auchiurloss 280 The English Press. By Ficholas Rowe, London 36, 135 The Esthetics of the Root of All Evil. By George P Upton 677 The First Christian Emperor. By Rev. Dr. Philip Schaff 161 The First Fanatic. ~By Fanny L. Glenfield,. 543 The Ideal Man for Universal Imitation; or, The Sinless Perfection of Jesus. By Rev. Dr. Philip Schaff . 651 The Lesson of the Hour. By Edward Sprague Rand 455 The North Caro~tna Conscript. By Isabella McFarland 379 The Progress of Liberty in the United States. By Rev. A. D. Mayo 481 The Resurrection Flower. By M. F. Dodge, 64 PAGIS The Sacrifice. By S. J. Bates, 298 The Scientific Universal Language: Its Ch~racter and Relation to other Lan- guages. By Edward B. Freeland,.. 456, 572 The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a Ger. man Capital. By Prof. Andrew Ten Brook 89 The Two Platforms. By henry Everett Russell 587 The Undivine Comedy. A Polish Drama. By Count Sibismund Erasioski. Trans- lated by Martha Walker Cook, 298, 372, 497. 623 The Vision. By George B. Peek 620 Tidings of Victory. By C. L. P 676 Violations of Literary Property. The Fed. eralistLife and Character of John Jay. By Henry T. Tuckerrnaa 336 Who Knows? By Edwin R. Johnson 358 Word-Stilts. By William Wirt Sikes 439 Ye Know Not What Ye Ask. By Fanny L. Glenfield 398

An Army: Its Organization and Movements 1-10

THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY: DEVOTED TO LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY. VOL. VJ.JULY, 1864.No. I. AN ARMY: ITS ORGANIZATION AND MOVEMENTS. 1SECOND PAPER. HAvn~G, in the preceding paper, de- scribed the general organization * of an army, we proceed to give a succinct account of some of the principal staff departments, in their relations to the troops. Amy organization notwithstand- ing the world has always been engaged in military enterprisesis of compara- tively recent institution. Many of the principles of existing military systems date no farther back than to Frederic the Great, of Prussia, and many were originated by Napoleon. Staff depart- ments, particularly, as now constituted, are of late origin. The staff organiza- tion is undergoing constant changes. Its most improved form is to be found in France and Prussia. Our own staff system is of a composite, and, in some respects, heterogeneous characternot having been constructed on any regu- lar plan, but built up by gradual accre- tions and imitations of European fea- tures, from the time of our Revolution * Since that article was written, some changes of detail have been made, but the principles re- main the same. VOL. vi.1 till the present. It has, however, worked with great vigor and efficiency. The staff of any commander is usu- ally spoken of in two classesthe de- partmental and the personalthe lat- ter including the aides-de-camp, who pertain more particularly to the person of the commander, while the former belong to the organization. Of the departmental staff; the assistant adju- tant-generals and assistant inspector- generals are denominated the general~ staff; because their functions extend through all branches of the organiza- tion, while the other officers are con- fined exclusively to their own depart- ments. The chief of staff is a recent French imitation. The first officer assigned in that capacity was General Marcy, on the staff of General McClellan, in the fall of 18(11. Previous to that time the officers of the adjutant-generals depart- menton account of their intimate re- lations with commanding officers, as their official organs and the mediums through which all orders were trans- mittedhad occupied it. The duties 2 An Army: 118 Organization and Jfovernent6~. of these officers, however, being chiefly of a bureau character, allowing them little opportunity for active external supervision, it has been deemed neces- sary to select for heads of the st~iffs, officers particularly qualified t& assist the commander in devising strategical plans, organizing, and moving troops, etc.; competent to oversee and direct the proceedings of the various staff de- partments; untrammelled with any exclusive routine of duty, and able in any emergency, when the commander may be absent, to give necessary orders. For these reasons, although the innova- tion has not been sanctioned by any law, or any standing rule of the War Department, and although its propriety is discussed by many, the custom of assigning officers as chiefs of staff has become universal, and will probably be permanent. The extent and character of their duties depend, however, upon themselves, being regulated by no or- ders, and the high responsibilities at- tached to the position in France have not thus far been assumed by the offi- ccrs occupying it here. In the French service, the chief of staff is the actual as well as the nominal head of the or- ~anization; he supervises all its opera- lions; he is the alter ego of the com- mander. In the Waterloo campaign, for instance, Marshal Soult was the chief of Napoleons staff, and the em- peror attributed his disaster, in part, to some of the orders issued by the mar- shal. Our limits will not permit a descrip- tion of the duties pertaining to the va- rious members of the staff, but we pass to the consideration of those depart- ments, the operations of which most directly affect the soldier, are indispen- sable to every army, and are most inter- esting to the public. Let us first consider the quarter- masters department, which, from the character and diversity of its duties, the amount of its expenditures, and its in- fluence upon military operations, may be ranked as among the most impor taut. This department provides cloth- ing, camp and garrison equipage, ani- mals and transportation of all kinds, fuel, forage, straw, and stationery, an immense variety of the miscellaneous materials required by an army, and for a vast amount of miscellaneous expen- ditures. It is, in fact, the great busi- ness operator of a military organization. In an active army, the success of ~iove- ments depends very much on its effi- ciency. Unless the troops are kept prop- erly clothed, the animals and means of transportation maintained in good con- dition, and the immense trains moved with regularity and promptness, the best contrived plans will fail in their development and execution. The department, at the commence- ment of the war, had supplies in store only for the current uses of the regular army. When the volunteer forces were organized it became necessary to make hasty contracts and purchases to a large amount; but as even the best-informed members of the Government had no adequate prevision of the extent and duration of the war, and of the neces- sary arrangements for its demands, a considerable period elapsed before a sufficient quantity of th& required ma- terials could be accumulated. Those were the days of shoddy cloth and spavined horses. The department, however, exhibited great administrative energy, under the direction of its able head, General N. C. Meigs, and has amply provided for the enormous de- mands upon it. Depots for the reception of supplies are established in the large cities, whence they are transferred as required to the great issuing depots near the active armies, and from them to the depots in the field. Thus, the main depots of the Army of the Potomac are at Washington and Alexandriaa field depot being established,at its centre, when lying for any length of time in camp. Only current supplies are kept on hand at the latter, and no surplus is transported on the march, except the S 3 An Army: its Organization and Afovements. required amounts of subsistence and forage. A great deal is said in connection with military movements, of bases of operation. These are the points in the rear of an army from which it re- ceives supplies and rei~nforcements, and with which its communications must at all hazards be kept open, except it has means of transportation sufficient to render it independent of its depots for a considerable period, or unless the country traversed is able to afford sub- sistence for men and animals. When an army marches along a navigable river, its secondary base becomes mov- able, and it is less confined to the ne- cessity of protecting its rear. In Vir- ginia, however, the connection of the Army of the Potomac with Washing- ton is imperative, and this fact ex- plains the contracted sphere of the operations of that army. The transportation of supplies is limited by the ability of the Govern- ment to provide trains, and by the abili- ty of the army to protect them; for large trains create large drafts on the troops for teamsters, pioneers, guards, etc. An army train, upon the most limited allowance compatible with free- dom of operations for a few days, away from the depots, is an immense affair. Under the existing allowances in the Army of the Potomac, a corps of thirty thousand infantry has about seven hundred wagons, drawn by four thou- sand two hundred mules; the horses of officers and of the artillery will bring the number of animals to be provided for up to about seven thousand. On the march it is calculated that each wagon will occupy about eighty feet in bad roads much more.; consequently a train of seven hundred wagons will cover fifty-six thousand feet of road or over ten miles; the ambulances of a corps will occupy about a mile, and the batteries about three miles~ thirty thousand troops need six miles to march in, if they form but one column; the total length of the marching col umn of a corps is therefore twenty miles, even without including the cattle herds and trains of bridge material. Readers who have been accustomed to think that our armies have not exhibited sufficient energy in surmounting the ob- stacles of bad roads, unbridged streams, etc., will be able to estimate, upon the above statements, the immense diffi- culty of moving trains and artillery. The trains of an army have been prop- erly denominated its impedimenta, and their movement and protection is one of the most difficult incidental opera- tions of warfare particularly in a country like Virginia, where, the art of road making has attained no high de- gree of perfection, and where the forests swarm with guerillas. To an unaccustomed observer the concourse of the trains of an army, in connection with any rapid movement, would give the idea of inextricable confusion. It is of course necessary to move them upon as many different roads as possible, but it will frequently happen that they must be concentrated in a small space, and move in a small number of columns. During the cele- brated change of base from Rich- mond to Harrisons Landing, the trains were at first obliged to move upon only one roadacross White Oak Swamp which happened fortunately to be wide enough for three wagons to go abreast. There were perhaps twenty-five hundred vehicles, which would make a contin- uous line of some forty or fifty miles. While the slow and toilsome course of this cumbrous column was proceeding, the troops were obliged to remain in the rear and fight the battles of Savage Station and White Oak Swamp for its protection. A similar situation of trains occurred last fall when General Meade retired from the Rappahannock, but fortunately the country presented several practicable routes. It is on a re- treat, particularly, that the difficulty of moving trains is experienced, and thousands of lives and much valuable material have been lost by the neglect 9 4 of commanding officers to place them sufficiently far in the rear during a battle, so as to permit the troops to fall back when necessary, without interrup- tion. A march being ordered, supplies ac- cording to the capacity of the trains, are directed to be carried. The pres- ent capacity of the trains of the Army of the Potomac is ten days subsistence and forage, and sixty rounds of small- arm ammunitionthe men carrying in addition a number of days rations, and a number of rounds, upon their per- sons. When the wagons reach camp each evening, such supplies as have been expended are replenished from them. As a general rule the baggage wagons camp every night with the troops, but the exigencies are sometimes such that officers are compelled to deny them- selves for one or even two weeks the luxury of a change of clothingthe wagons not reaching camp, perhaps, till after midnight, and the troops re- suming their march an hour or two afterward. Those who indulge in sa- tires upon the wearers of shoulder straps would be likely to form a more correct judgment of an officers posi- tion and its attendant hard ships, could they see him at the close of a fort- nights campaign. Like the soldier, he can rely on nothing for food or clothing except what is carried by himself; unless be maintains a servant, and the latter will find a few blankets, a coffee pot, some crackers, meat, su- gar, coffee, etc., for his own and his employers consumption, a sufficient burden. Let us see how the supplies of the quartermasters department are distrib- uted. At stated periods, if circumstances permitusually at the first of each monththe regimental quartermasters, after consultation with the company officers, forward through their supe- riors to the chief quartermasters of corps, statements of the articles re- quired by the men. These are consoli dated and presented to the chief quar~ termaster of the army, who orders them from Washington, and issues them from the army depotthe whole operation requiring about a week. The number of different kinds of articles thus drawn monthly is about five hundred; the quantity of each kind depends on the number of men to be supplied, and the nature of the service performed since the previous issue. If there has been much marching, there will be a great demand for shoes; if a battle, large quantities of all kinds of articles to replace those lost on the battle field will be required. An infantry soldier is allowed the following principal articles of clothing during a three years term of service: 1st Year. 2d Year. 3d Year. 1 1 1 2 1 2 3 2 3 3 3 3 3 2 2 Cap Coat Trowsers, Flannel shirt,. Drawers, Shoes, . 4 Stockings, 4 Overcoat, 1 Blanket 1 Indiarubber blanket, 1 4 4 4 4 o 0 o 1 1 1 The prices of these are stated each year in a circular from the department, and, as the soldier draws them, his cap- tain charges him with the prices on the company books. The paymaster de- ducts from his pay any excess which he may have drawn, or allows him if he has drawn less than he is entitled to. The clothing is much cheaper than articles of the same quality at home. Thus, according to the present prices, a coat costs $7.30 ; overcoat, $7.50; trowsers, $2.70.; ilannel shirt, $1.53; stockings, 32 cents; shoes, $2.05. The missary depart t provides exclusively the subsistence of the troops. Each soldier is entitled to the following daily ration: Twelve ounces of pork or bacon, or one pound four ounces of fresh beef. One pound six ounces of soft bread or An Army: Its Organization and Alovements. An Army: 1t8 Organization and ]ifovement8. 5 flour, or one pound of hard bread, or one pound four ounces of corn meal. To every one hundred men, fifteen pounds of beans or peas, and ten pounds of rice or hominy. To every one hundred men, ten pounds of green coffee, or eight pounds of roasted, or one pound and eight ounces of tea. To every one hundred men, fifteen pounds of sugar, four quarts of vine- gar, one pound four ounces of can- dles, four pounds of soap, three pounds twelve ounces of salt, four ounces of pepper, thirty pounds of potatoes, when practicable, and one quart of molasses. Fresh onions, beets, carrots, and tur- nips, when on hand, can be issued in place of beans, peas, rice, or hoininy, if the men desire. They can also take in place of any part of the ration an amount equal in val- ue of dried apples, dried peaches, pickles, etc., when on hand. A whiskey ration of a gill per day per man can be issued on the order of the commander, in cases of extra hard- ship. It is, however, rarely issued, on account of the difficulty of finding room for its transportation in any consider- able quantities. Moreover, whiskey, in the army, is subject to extraordinary and mysterious leakages, and an issue can scarcely be made with such care that some drunkenness will not ensue. When lying in camp, sutlers and others sell to the soldiers contrary to law, so that old topers usually find methods of gratifying their appetitessometimes sacrificing a large proportion of their pay to the villains who pander to them. The utmost vigilance of the officers fails to detect the methods by which liquor is introduced into the army. When a cask is broached in any se- cluded place, the intelligence seems communicated by a pervading electri- cal current, and the men are seized with a universal desire to leave camp for the purpose of washing, or getting wood, or taking a walk, or other praise- worthy purposes. The total weight of a ration is some- thing over two pounds, but in march- ing, some articles are omitted, and but a small quantity of salt meat is carried fresh beef being supplied from the herds of cattle driven with the army. A bullock will afford about four hun- dred and fifty rations, so that an army of one hundred thousand men needs over two hundred cattle daily for its supply. In camp the men can refrain from drawing portions of their rations, and the surplus is allowed for by the com- missaries in money, by which a com- pany fund can be created, and expend- ed in the purchase of gloves, gaiters, etc., or luxuries for the table. A hos- pital fund is formed in the same way by an allowance for the portions of the rations not consumed by the patients and is expended in articles adapted to diet for the sick. The rations are am- ple and of good quality, though the salt meat is rather tough occasionally, and the consistency of the hard bread is shot-proof. Company cooks are al- lowed, and in camp they contrive to furnish quite appetizing meals. Their position is rather difficult to fill, and woe is the portion of the cook not competent for his profession. The practical annoyances to which he is subject make him realize to the fullest extent the unfathomable depths of human woe. On the march the men usually prefer to boil their coffee in tin cups, and to cook their meat on ram- rodswithout waiting for the more formal movements of the cooks. To reach camp before sunset, after a twen- ty-mile march, to pitch his little shelter tent, throw in it his heavy arms and accoutrements, collect some pine twigs for a couch, wash in some adjacent stream, drink his cup of hot, strong coffee, eat his salt pork and hard bread, and then wrap himself in his blanket for a dreamless slumber, is one of the An Army: ]it8 Organization and iJfovernent8. most delicious combinations of luxuri- ous enjoyment a soldier knows. To- morrow, perhaps, he starts up at the early reveille, takes his hasty breakfast, is marshalled into line before the ene- my, there is a shriek in the air rent by the murderous shell, and the soldiers last march is ended. The next department we shall con- sider is that of ordnance, which sup- plies the munitions and portions of ac- coutrements. The subject of artillery is perhaps the most interesting of the great num- ber connected with warfare. In the popular estimation it overshadows all others. All the poetry of war cele- brates the grandeur of Those mortal engines whose rode throats The immortal Joves dread clamors counter- feit. The thunder of great guns and the dashing of cavalry are the incidents which spontaneously present them- selves to the mind when a battle is mentioned. Perhaps the accounts of Waterloo are responsible for this. The steady fighting of masses of infantry, having less particulars to attract the imagination, is overlooked; the fact, prei3ininent above all others in military science, that it is the infantry which contests and decides battles, that artil- lery and cavalry are. only subordinate agenciesis forgotten. So splendid leave been the inventions and achieve- ments of the last few years in respect to artillery, as illustrated particularly at Charleston, that some excuse may easily be found for the popular miscon- ception. A few remarks presenting some truths relative to the appropriate sphere of artillery and its powers, and stating succinctly the results which have been accomplished, may be found interesting. Without entering into the history of artillery, it will be sufficient to state that the peculiar distinguishing excel- lence of modern improvements in can- non is the attainment of superior effi- ciency, accuracy, and mobility, with a decrease in weight of metal. A gun of any given size is now many times su- perior to one of the same size in use fifty or a hundred years ago. It is not so much in big guns that we excel our predecessorsfor there are many speci- mens of old cannon of great dimen- sions; but by our advance in science we are able so to shape our guns and our projectiles that with less weight of material we can throw larger shot to a greater distance and with more accu- racy. A long course of mathematical experiment and calculation has deter- mined the exact pressure of a charge of powder at all points in the bore of a cannon during its combustion and evo- lution into gas. These experiments have proved that strength is principally required near the breech, and that a cannon need not be of so great length as was formerly supposed to be neces- sary. We are thus able to construct guns which can be handled, throwing balls of several hundred pounds weight. Another splendid result of scientific investigation is the method adopted for casting such monster guns. In order that the mass of metal may be of uniform tenacity and character, it should cool equably. This has been se- cured by a plan for introducing a stream of water through the core of the casting, so that the metal cools both within and without simultaneously. About the time that the Italian war commenced, the subject of rifled cannon excited much popular interest. Exag- gerated expectations were formed of the changes to be produced by them in the art of warfare. Many saw in them the means of abolishing war en- tirely. Of what use is it; they said, to array armies against each other, if they can be destroyed at two or three miles distance? At the commencement of our own contest there was an undue partiality for rifled ordnance. Almost every commander of a battery desired to have rifled guns. The more correct views of the thoroughly accomplished artillery officers to whom was confided 6 An ATmy: Its Organization and Afovements. 7 the arrangement of this branch of the service, and actual experience, have dissipated the unfounded estimate of their utility for field service, and estab- lished the proper proportions in an ar- tillery ~force which they should com- pose. It has been ascertained that fighting will never be confined to long rangesthat guns which can throw large volumes of spherical case and canister into lines only a few hundred yards distant are as necessary as ever. The necessity for rifled cannon arose from the perfection of rifled muskets. When these arms reached such a de- gree of excellence that horses and gun- ners could be shot down at a distance of one thousand yards, the old-fash- ioned smooth-bore artillery was de- prived of its prestige. To retrieve this disadvantage and restore the superiori- ty of artillery over musketry in length of range, methods of rifling cannon for field service became an important study. For assailing distant lines of troops, for opening a battle, for dis- persing bodies of cavalry, for shelling intrenebmeuts, for firing over troops from hills in their rear, rifled guns are of invaluable service. But, notwith- standing troops are now universally armed with muskets of long range, no battle of importance is fought with- out close engagements of the lines. The alternate advances and retreats of the infantry, firing at distances of less than one hundred yards, charging with fixed bayonets and frantic shouts, will al- ways characterize any battle fought with vigor and enthusiasm. In such conflicts, wide-mouthed smooth bores, belching their torrents of iron, must play a conspicuous part. Another fact, which will perhaps surprise the general reader, is that the form and character of projediles hare been matters of as much difficulty, have received as much investigation, and are of as much importance, as the shape and character of the guns. In fact, rifled pieces would be compara- tively ineffective except projectiles adapted to them had been invented. It was necessary that projectiles of greater weight, of less resistafice to the atmosphere, and of more accuracy of flight, than the old round shot, should be introduced. To accomplish these ends several things were necessary: 1st, the projectiles should be elongated; 2d, they should have conical points; 3d, the centre of gravity should be at a proper distance in front of the centre; 4th, there should be methods of steer- ing them so that they should always go point foremost through the whole curve of their flight; 5th, they should fit the gun so as to take the rifles, yet not so closely as to strain it. To attain these and other requisites, innumerable plans have been devised. The projec- tile offering the. best normal conditions is the arrow; it has length, a sharp point, centre of gravity near the head, and feathers for guiding it (sometimes so arranged that it shall rotate like a rifled ball). Improved projectiles, therefore, both for muskets and cannon, correspond. in these essentials to the first products of man in the savage state. We cannot, in this article, further discuss either such general principles or those of a more abstruse character, in their application to artillery, but will briefly state a few facts relative to its employmentconfining ourselves exclusively to the field service. The guns now principally used for battles, in the Northern armies, are 10 and 12-pounder Parrotts, three-inch United States rifles, and light 12-pound- er smooth bores. The distinguishing characteristic of the Parrott guns is lightness of construction, secured by strengthening ~he breech (in accord- ance with the principles mentioned a few paragraphs back) with a band of wrought iron. This has been appli~d to guns of all sizes, and its excellence has been tested by General Gillmore in the reduction of Fou~ts Pulaski and Sumter. The three-inch guns are made of wrought iron, are of light weight, 8 An Army: It~ Organi2ation and .zlfovement8. but exceedingly tenacious and accurate. The 12pounders, sometimes called Napoleons, are of bronze, with large caliber, and used chiefly for throwing shell and canister at comparatively short distances. The greatest artillery conflict of the war (in the field) occurred at Gettys- burg. For two hours in the afternoon of the memorable third days battle, about four hundred cannon were filling the heavens with their thunder, and sending their volleys of death crashing in all directions. It was estimated that the discharges numbered five or six a second; in fact, the ear could hardly detect any cessa- tions in the roar. The air was con- stantly howling as the shells swept through it, while the falling of branch- es, cut from the trees by the furious missiles, see med as if a tornado was in the height of its fury: every few min- utes, a thunder heard above all other sounds, denoted the explosion of a caisson, sweeping into destruction, with a cataract of fire and iron, men and animals for hundreds of feet around it. The effect of such a fire of artillery is, however, much less deadly than any except those who have been subject to it can believe. The prevalent impres- sion concerning the relative destru tiveness of cannon and musketry is an- other instance of popular error. In the first place, all firing at over a mile dis- tance contains a large proportion of the elements of chance, for it is impos- sible to get the range and to time the fuses so accurately as to make any con- siderable percentage of the shots effec- tive; and in the next place, except when marching to a close conflict, the men are generally protected by lying down behind inequalities of the ground, or other accidental or designed de- fences. The proportion killed in any battle by artillery fire is very small. Lines of men frequently lie exposed to constant shelling for hours, with small loss; in fact, in such cases, old soldiers will eat their rations, or smoke their pipes, or perhaps have a game of poker, with great equanimity. No portion of the military servic~ has been more misrepresented than th. medical department. An opinion seem~ to prevail quite extensively that the army surgeon is generally a young graduate, vain of his official position, who cares little for the health of the soldier, and glories in the opportunities afforded by a battle for reckleis opera- tions. Such an opinion is altogether fallacious. In the regiments there are undoubtedly many physicians who have adopted the service as a resource for a living which they were unable to find at home, but the majority are ex- actly the same class of professional men as those who pursue useful and honorable careers in all our cities and villages. When a physician is called upon at home, it happens in a majority of casesas every honest member of the profession will admitthat there is little or no necessity for his services. Too sagacious to avow this, he gravely makes some simple prescription, and as gravely pockets his fee. In camp, however, the potent argument of the fee does not prevail, and men who run to the doctor with trifling ailments, by which they hope to be relieved from duty, receive a rebuff instead of a pill. They instantly write letters complain- ing of his inhumanity. In regard to operations, it is a frequent remark by the most experienced surgeons that lives are lost from the hesitancy to am- putate, more frequently than limbs are removed unnecessarily. The medical department of an army, like every other, is controlled by a system, and it is this which regulates its connections with the soldier more than the qualifications of individual sur- geons. In the army the system takes care of everything, even to the minutest details. Hygienic regulations for pre- serving the salubrity of camps and the cleanliness of the troops and tbeir tents, are prescribed and enforced. Every day there is a sick call,~ at A An Army: Its Organization and Aliovernents. 9 which men who find themselves ill pre- sent themselves to the surgeons for treatment. If slightly affected, they are taken care of in their own quarters; if more seriously, in the regimental hospitals; if still more so, in the large hospitals established by the chief medi- cal officer of the corps; and if neces- sary, sent to the Government hospitals established at various places in the country. To the latter almost all the sick are transferred previous to a march. To be ill in the army, amid the con- stant noises of a camp, and with the non-luxurious appliances of a field hos- pital, is no very pleasant matter; but the sick soldier receives all the atten- tion and accommodation possible under the circumstances. To every corps is attached a train of ambulances, in the proportion of two or three to a regiment. They are spring wagons with seats along the sides, like an omnibus, which can, when necessary, be made to form a bed for two or three persons. With each train is a number of wagons, carrying tents, beds, medicine chests, etc., re- quired for the establishment of hos- pitals. On the march, the ambulances collect the sick and exhausted who fall out from the columns and have a sur- geons certificate as to their condition. When a battle is impending, and the field of conflict fixed, the chief medical officers of the corps take possession of hous~s and barns in the rear, collect hay and straw for bedding, or, if more convenient, pitch the tents at proper localities. A detail of surgeons is made to give the necessary attendance. While the battle proceeds, the lightly wounded fall to the rear, and are there temporarily treated by the surgeons who have accompanied the troops to the field, and then find their way to the hospitals. If the fighting has passed beyond the places where lie the more dangerously wounded, they are brought to the rear by the stretcher bearers attached to the ambulance trains, and carried to the hospitals in the ambu- lances. Sometimes it happens that the strife will rage for hours on nearly the same spot, and it may be night before the stretcher bearers~ can go out and collect the wounded. But tlie surgeons make indefatigable exertions, often exposed to great danger, to give their attention to those who require it. At the best, war is terribleall its pomp, pride, and circumstance disappear in the view of the wounded and dead on the field, and of the mangled remnants of humanity in the hospitals. But everything that can be devised and applied to mitigate its horrors is pro- vided under the systematized organiza- tion of the medical department. In the Army of the Potomac, at least, and un- doubtedly in all the other armies of the North, that department combines skill, vigor, humanity, and efficiency to an astonishing degree. Its results are ex- hibited not only in the small mortality of the camps, but in the celerity of its operation on the field of battle, and the great proportion of lives preserved after the terrible wounds inflicted by deadly fragments of shell and the still more deadly rifle bullet. Military sur- gery has attained a degree of profi- ciency during the experiences of the past three years which a layman cannot adequately describe; its results ar.e, however, palpable. I0 .Jinone. NONE: A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME. CHAFTER VIII. RAISING himself with an assumed air of careless indifference, in the hope of thereby concealing the momentary weakness into which his better feelings had so nearly betrayed him, Sergius strolled off humming a Gallic wine song. A~none also rose; and, struggling to stifle her emotion, confronted the new comer. She, upon her part, stood silent and impassive, appearing to have heard or seen nothing of what had transpired, and to have no thought in her mind except the desire of fulfilling the duty which had brought her thither. But none knew that the most unobserv- ant person, upon entering, could not have failed at a glance to comprehend the whole import of the sceneand that therefore any such studied pre- tence of ignorance was superfluous. The attitude of the parties, the ill-dis- guised confusion of Sergius, her own tears, which could not be at once en- tirely repressedall combined to tell a tale of recrimination, pleading, and baffled confidence, as plainly as words could have spoken it. Apart, there- fore, from her disappointment at being interrupted at the very moment when her hopes had whispered that the hap- piness of reconciliation might be at hand, ~Enone could not but feel indig- nant that Leta should thus calmly stand before her with that pretence of innocent unconsciousness. Why do you cor~e hither? Who has demanded your presence?~ iEnone cried, now, in her indignation, caring but little what or how she spoke, or what further revelations her actions might occasion, as long as so much had already been exposed. My lady, rejoined the Greek, rais- ing her eyes with a well-executed air of surprise, do I intrude? I came but to say that in the antechamber there Is Listen! exclaimed tEnone, inter- rupting her, and taking her by the hand. Not an hour ago you told me about your quiet home in Samosits green vinesthe blue mountains which encircled itthe little chamber where your mother died, and in which you were bornand the lover whom you left weeping at your cruel absence. You spoke of your affection for every leaf and blade of grass about the place and how you would give your life itself to go back thitheryes, even your life, for you would be content to lie down and die, if you could first return. IDo you remember? Well, my lady?~ Well, you shall return, as you de- sired. You have been given to me for my own; and whether or not the gift be a full and free one, I will claim my rights under it and set you free. In the first ship which sails from Ostia for any port of Greece, in that ship you may depart. Are you content, Leta? Still holding her by the hand, JEnone gazed inquiringly into the burning black eyes which fastened themselves upon her own, as though reading the bottom of her soul. She could not as yet believe that even if the Greek had actually begun to cherish any inve for Sergius, it could be more than a pass- ing fancy, engendered by foolish com- pliments or ill-judged signs of admira- tion, and therefore she did not doubt that the offer of freedom and restora- tion would be gratefully received. Her only uncertainty was with regard to the manncr in which it would be lis- tened towhether with tears of joy or with loud protestations of gratitude J

Aenone: A Tale of Slave Life in Rome 10-22

I0 .Jinone. NONE: A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME. CHAFTER VIII. RAISING himself with an assumed air of careless indifference, in the hope of thereby concealing the momentary weakness into which his better feelings had so nearly betrayed him, Sergius strolled off humming a Gallic wine song. A~none also rose; and, struggling to stifle her emotion, confronted the new comer. She, upon her part, stood silent and impassive, appearing to have heard or seen nothing of what had transpired, and to have no thought in her mind except the desire of fulfilling the duty which had brought her thither. But none knew that the most unobserv- ant person, upon entering, could not have failed at a glance to comprehend the whole import of the sceneand that therefore any such studied pre- tence of ignorance was superfluous. The attitude of the parties, the ill-dis- guised confusion of Sergius, her own tears, which could not be at once en- tirely repressedall combined to tell a tale of recrimination, pleading, and baffled confidence, as plainly as words could have spoken it. Apart, there- fore, from her disappointment at being interrupted at the very moment when her hopes had whispered that the hap- piness of reconciliation might be at hand, ~Enone could not but feel indig- nant that Leta should thus calmly stand before her with that pretence of innocent unconsciousness. Why do you cor~e hither? Who has demanded your presence?~ iEnone cried, now, in her indignation, caring but little what or how she spoke, or what further revelations her actions might occasion, as long as so much had already been exposed. My lady, rejoined the Greek, rais- ing her eyes with a well-executed air of surprise, do I intrude? I came but to say that in the antechamber there Is Listen! exclaimed tEnone, inter- rupting her, and taking her by the hand. Not an hour ago you told me about your quiet home in Samosits green vinesthe blue mountains which encircled itthe little chamber where your mother died, and in which you were bornand the lover whom you left weeping at your cruel absence. You spoke of your affection for every leaf and blade of grass about the place and how you would give your life itself to go back thitheryes, even your life, for you would be content to lie down and die, if you could first return. IDo you remember? Well, my lady?~ Well, you shall return, as you de- sired. You have been given to me for my own; and whether or not the gift be a full and free one, I will claim my rights under it and set you free. In the first ship which sails from Ostia for any port of Greece, in that ship you may depart. Are you content, Leta? Still holding her by the hand, JEnone gazed inquiringly into the burning black eyes which fastened themselves upon her own, as though reading the bottom of her soul. She could not as yet believe that even if the Greek had actually begun to cherish any inve for Sergius, it could be more than a pass- ing fancy, engendered by foolish com- pliments or ill-judged signs of admira- tion, and therefore she did not doubt that the offer of freedom and restora- tion would be gratefully received. Her only uncertainty was with regard to the manncr in which it would be lis- tened towhether with tears of joy or with loud protestations of gratitude J one. upon bended knees; or whether the prospect of once again visiting that cottage home and all that had so long been held dear, would come with such unpremeditated intensity as to stifle all outward mauifestations~ of delight, ex- cept, perhaps, that trembling of the lip or ebb and flow of color which is so often the surest sign of a full and glowing heart. For a moment Leta stood gazing up into the face of her mistress, uttering no word of thanks, and with no tear of joy glistening in her eye, but with the deepened flush of uncontrollable emo- tion overspreading her features. And yet that flush seemed scarcely the token of a heart overpowered with sudden joy, but rather of a mind conscious of being involved in an unexpected di- lemma, and puzzled with its inability to extricate itself. My mistress, she responded at length, wit.h lowered gaze, it is true that I said I would return, if possible, to that other home of mine. But now that you offer me the gift, I would not desire to accept it. Let me stay here with you. A~none dropped the hand which till now she had held; and an agony of mingled surprise, suspicion, disappoint- ment, and presentiment of evil swept across her features. Are you then become like all others P she said with bitterness. Has the canker of this Roman life already corn- menced to eat into your soul, so that in future no memory of anything that is pure or good can attract you from its hollow splendors? Are thoughts of home, of freedom, of ~iends, even of the trusted lover of whom you spoke are all these now of no account, when weighed against a few gilded pleas- ures? Why, indeed, should I care to re- turn to that home? responded the girl. Have not the Roman soldiers trodden down those vines and uprooted that hearth? Is it a desolated and stricken home that I would care to see? 11 Falsefalse! cried t~none, no longer regardful of her words, but only anxious to give utteranceno matter how rashlyto the suspicions which she had so long and painfully re- pressed. It is even more than the mere charms of this imperial city which entice you. It is that you are my ene- my, and would stay here to sting the hand that was so truly anxious to pro- tect youthat for your own purposes you would watch about my path, and ever, as now, play the spy upon my ac- tions, and Nay, nay! cried the Greek, her flashing eye and erect attitude in strong contrast with the softened tone in which, more from habit than from pru- dence, she had spoken. When have I played the spy upon you? Not now, indeed, for I have come in, not believ- ing that I was doing harm, but simply because my duty has led me hither. I came to tell you that there is a stranger an old manstanding in the court below, and that he craves audience with you. Is this a wrong thing for me to do? Were I to forbear perform- ance of this duty, would not my neg- lect insure me punishment? ~none answered not, but, by a strong effort, kept back the words that she would have uttered. Still angry and crushed with the sense of being deceived, and yet conscious that it was not a noble or dignified thing to be in disputation with her own slave, and that there was, moreover, the remote possibility that the girl was not her enemy, and might really dread return- ing to a desolated and devastated home, whut could she say or do? And while she pondered the matter, the door again opened. Xnd this is he of whom I spoke. Do you doubt me now? exclaimed the Greek, in a tone in which a shade of malicious triumph mingled with soft re- proach. And she moved away, and left the room, while i~none, lifting her eyes, saw her father standing before her. A plague take the wench who has 12 .Jnone. just left you! he muttered. Did she not tell you that I was below? I sent word by her, and here she has left me for half an hour kicking my heels together in the courtyard. And I might have stayed there forever, if I had not of myself found my way up. Even then, there were some who would have stopped me, deeming me, perhaps, too rough in appearance to be allowed to ascend. But I told them that there was a time when members of the house of Porthenus did not wait in antechambers, but stood beside the consuls of the old republic, and I touched the hilt of my dagger; and whether it was the one argument or the other which prevailed, here I am. With a grim smile the centurion lien threw himself down upon a settee near the door, arranged as properly as possible the folds of his coarse tunic, drew his belt round so as to show more in front his dagger with richly em- bossed sheaththe sole article of court- ly and ceremonious attire in which he indulged and endeavored to assume an easy and imposing attitude. For an instant he gazed around the room, ob- servantly taking in its wealth of mosaic pavement, paintings, statuary, and va- ses. Then, as he began to fear lest he might be yielding too much of his pride before the overbearing influence of so much luxury, he straightened himself up, gathered upon his features a hard and somewhat contemptuous ex- pression, and roughly exclaimed: Yes, by the gods, the Portheni lived with consuls and proconsuls long be- fore the house of Yanno began to rise from the dregs and become a house at all. And the imperator knows it, and is jealous of the fact, too, or else he would the better acknowledg~ it. What, now, is that? he added, point- ing to the central fresco of the ceiling. It isI know not for certain, my fatherbut I think Nay, but I know what it is. It is the old story of the three Yanni over- coming the five Cimbri at the bridge of Athesis. No great matter, nor so very long ago, even if it were true. But why did he not paint up, instead, how the founder of the Portheni, with his single arm, slew the ten Carthaginians under the aqu& duct of INlegara? Is not now your family history a portion of his own? His jealousy prevented him, I suppose; though I doubt not that, when in his cups with his high asso- ciates, he often boasts of his connection with the house of Porthenus. And yet he would let the only relic of the family starve before assisting him. ~Enone stood as in a maze of confu- sion and uncertainty. Were the trials of the day never to end?. First her unsatisfactory strife and pleading with her husband; then the undignified con- test with her own slave into which she had been betrayed; and now came this old manher father, to be surebut so much the more mortifying to her, as his vulgarity, querulous complaining, and insulting strictures were forced upon her cars. Are you not comfortable? What more can he or I do for you l she said, with some impatience. Ay, ay; there it is, growled the centurion. One person must have all luxuriespaintings, silver, and the like; but if the other has only mere comforts, an extra tunic, perhaps. or a spare bit of meat for a dog, what more can he want? But I will tell you what you can do? And it is not as a gift, I ask it. Poor and despised as he may be, no one can s~y that the centurion Porthenus is a beggar. It is as a fair matter of business that I offer it. Well, my father? It is this: I have two slaves, and can afford to keep only one of them, particularly as but one can be of use to me. Will the imperator purchase the other? I will give it for a fair price, and therefore no one can say that I have asked for anything beyond a proper trade, with which either side should be well satisfied. .~Enone listened with a blush of A iEnone. 13 shame for her father overspreading her f~ce. It did not occur to her that the slave rejected as useless could be any other than the hunchback, whom her husband had bestowed upon the cen- turion a few days before; and for the receiver to try to sell back a gift to the giver was a depth of meanness for which no filial partiality or affection could find an excuse. I will show him to you, cried the centurion, losing a little of his gruff- ness in his eagerness to effect a transac- tion, whereby, under the thin guise of a simple trade, he could extort a ben- efit. I have brought him with me, and left him below. You will see that he is of good appearance, and that the imperator will be pleased and grateful to me for the opportunity of possessing him. So saying, Porthenus strode to the head of the stairway, and issued his commands in a stern voice, which made the vaulted ceilings of the palace ring. A faint, weak response came up in answer, and in a moment the slave e-ntered the room. Is this the one of whom you spoke? faltered IEnone, unable for the moment to retain her self-possession as she be- held, not the angular, wiry form of the hunchback, but the careworn and slim figure of Cleotos. I thoughtindeed I thought that you spoke of the inferior of the two. Ay, and so I do, responded her father. Of what use to me can this man be? The other one, indeed, is of tenfold value. There is no slave in Rome like unto him for cleaning armor or sharpening a weapon, while to run of an ~rrand or manage any piece of business in which brains must bear their part, I will trust him against the world. But as for this man here, with his weak limbs and his simple face do you know that I did but set him to polish the rim of a shield, and in his awkwardness he let it fall, and spoiled the surface as though a Jewish spear had stricken it. A~none remained silent, scarcely Us- tening to the words of her father, while, in a troilbled manner, she again men- tally ran over, as she had done hundreds of times before, the chances of recogni- tion by the man who stood before her. But listen to me still further, con- tinued the centurion, fearful lest his disparaging comments might defeat the projected sale. I only speak of him as he is useful or not to me. To another person lie would be most val- uable; for, though he cannot polish armor, he can polish verses, and he can write as well as though he were edu- cated for a scribe. For one favored of fortune like the imperator Sergius Yanno, and here again the centurion began to roll the high-sounding name upon his tongue with obvious relish, who wishes an attendant to carry his wine cup, or to bear his cloak after him, or to trim his lamps, and read aloud his favorite books, where could a better youth than this be found? iEnone, still overpowered by her troubled thouohts, made no response. Or to yourself, eagerly continued the centurion, he would be most suit- able, with his pale, handsome face, and his slender limbs. Have you a page? I have my maidens, was the an- swer. And that amounts to nothing at all, asserted her father. A plebeian can have her maidens in plenty, but it is not right that the wife of a high and mighty imperator, and here again the words rolled majestically off his tongue, should not also have her male attend- ants. And the more so when that wife has been taken from an ancient house like that of Porthenus, he added, with a frown in derogation of any tendency to give undue importance to her pres- ent position. But with this Cleotos come forward, slave, and let yourself be seen. Cleotos, who, partly from natural diffidence, and partly from being abashed at the unaccustomed splendor about him, had, little by little, from 14 .LEnone. his first entrance, shrunk into a corner, now advanced; and ~Eaone, once more resolutely assuring herself that, with the changes which time, position, difference of place and costume had thrown about her, she could defy recognition, summoned all her courage, and looked him in the face. It may have been with an unacknowledged fear lest, now that she saw him so freely in the broad daylight, some latent spark of the old attachment might burst into a flame, and withdraw her heart from its proper duty; but at the first glance she felt that in this respect she had nothing to dread. In almost every particular, Cle- otos had but little changed. His cos- tume was but slightly different from that which he had always been accus- tomed to wear; for the centurion, in view of the chance of effecting a profit- able sale, had, for that occasion, made him put on suitable and becoming at- tire. The face was still youthfulthe eye, as of old, soft, expressive, and un- hardened by the ferocities of the world about him. As iEnone looked, it seemed as though the years which had passed rolled back again, and that she was once more a girl. But it also seemed as though something else had passed awayas though she looked not upon a lover, but rather upon a quiet, kindhearted, innocent friendone who could ever be dear to her as a brother, but as nothing else. What was it which had so flitted away that the same face could now stir up no fire of passion, but only a friendly interest? Some~ thing, she could not tell what; but she thanked the gods that it was so, and drew a long breath of relief. But it was none the less incumbent upon her, for the sake of that present friendship and for the memory of that old regard, to cast her protection over him. For an instant the thought flashed across her that it would be well to pur- chase him, not simply for a page, but so that she could have him in the way of kind treatment and attention until some opportunity of restoring him to his native land might occur. But then again was the danger that, if any great length of time should meanwhile elapse, unconsidered trifles might lead to a recognition. No, that plan could not be thought of. She must keep a pro- tecting eye upon him from a distance, and trust to the future for a safe work- ing out of the problem. It cannot be, she murmured, in answer, half to her father, half to her own suggestion. Tis well, muttered the centurion, rising with an air of displeasure which indicated that he thought it very ill. I supposed that it would be a kind- ness to the imperator or to yourself to give the first offer of the man. But it matters little. The captain Polidorus will take him any moment at a fair price. You will not send him to the cap- tain Polidorus? exclaimed Aone in affright. For at once the many atroci- ties of that man toward his slaves rose in her mindhow that he had slain one in a moment of passionhow that he had deliberately beaten another to death for attempting to escape to the catacombshow that stripes and torture were the daily portion of the unfor- tunates in his powerand that, not by reason of any gross neglect of their du- ty, but for the merest and most trifling inadvertencies. Better death than such a fate. Pah! What can I do? retorted Porthenus, skilfully touching the chord of her sympathies, as he saw how sensi- tive she was to its vibrations. It is true that Polidorus is no fawning wo- man, and that he greets his slaves with the rod and the brand, and what not. It is true that he thinks but little of sending one of them to ilades through the avenue of his fishponds. But that, after all, is his affair, and if he chooses to destroy his property, what should it matter to me? Am I so rich that I can afford to lose a fair purchaser because he may incline to hang or drown his bargain? Such self-denial may suit 2Enone. 15 the governor of a province, but should not be expected of a poor centurion. dEnone trembled, and again the im- pulse to make the purchase came upon her. Better to risk anything for her- selfrecognition, discovery, suspicibn, or misconstruction, than that her friend- ship should so far fail as to allow this poor captive to fall into the hands of a brutish tyrant. There was a purse of gold in the half-opened drawer of a table which stood near her; and, in sore perplexity, she raised it, then let it fall, and again lifted it. As the cen- turion listened to the ring of the metal, his eyes sparkled, and he prepared to apply new ~guments, when Cleotos himself sprang forward. I know nothing about this Polidorus of whom they speak, said he, drop- ping upon one knee at her feet. And it is not to save myself from his hands that I ask your pity, most noble lady. There is much that I have already suf- fered, and perhaps a little more might make no difference, or, better yet, might close the scene with me forever. It is for other reasons that I would wish to be in this houseeven as the lowest, meanest slave of all, rather than to live in the halls of the emperor Titus him- self. There is one in this house, most noble lady, from whom I have long been cruelly separated, and whowhat can I say but that ig when I was a free man, she gave me her love, now, in my abasement, she will not fail with that love to brighten my lot? .~Enone started. At hearing such words, there could be but one thought in her mindthat he had actually rec- ognized her, and that, without waiting to see whether or not she had forgotten him, and certainly knowing that in any event her position toward him had be- come changed, he was daring to covert- ly suggest a renewal of their old rela- tionship. But the next words reas- sured her. We lived near each other in Samos, my lady. I was happy, and I blessed the fates for smiling upon us. How was I then to know that she would be torn away from me upon the very day when I was to have led her to my own home? You say that she is hcre? Is itdo you speak of Leta? cried Ainone. Leta was her name, he responded, in some surprise that his secret had been so promptly penetrated before he had more than half unfolded it. And she is here. There was to ~none perhaps one instant of almost unconscious regret at learning that she had been forgotten for another. But it passed away like a fleeting cloudbanished from her mind by the full blaze of happiness which poured in upon her at the thought that here at last was what would counteract the cruel schemes which were warring against her peace, and would thereby bring sure relief to her sorrow. And she is here, repeated Cleotos. When at the first she was torn from my side, most noble lady, I would have died, if I could, for I did not believe that life had any further blessing in store for me. But, though the Roman armies were cruel, the fates have been kind, and have again brought us near. It was but a week ago that, as I looked up by the moonlight at these palace walls, I saw her. Can it be, that after so long a time, the gods meant I should be brought near, to have but this one glimpse of happiness, and then again be sundered from it? It cannot beit was not meant to be, exclaimed iEnone, with energy; and again lifting the purse of gold, she placed it in the centurions hand. There, I will purchase your slave, she said. Take from this his proper price, and leave him with me. CHAPTER IX. The centurion received the purse with ill-dissembled joy. Had he been fully able to control himselg he would doubtless have maintained a quiet air of dignified self-possession, befitting 16 .~fnone. one giving full value for what he had received, and therefore not expected to exhibit any peculiarly marked or lively satisfaction. But the affair had been concluded so suddenly, and with such a liberal confidence in his disc~retion, that, for the moment, his hands trem- bled with excitement, and his face shone with avaricious pleasure. Then he began to count out the gold pieces, gleefully dropping some into his pouch, and reluctantly putting others back into the purse. From the first he had established in his own mind the valuation which he would place upon the slave; and he had taken care to make his calculation upon such a lib- eral scale that he could well afford to consent to a large deduction, if it were required of him. Now he reasoned that, as his child had merely told him to take out what was proper, there could be no impropriety in paying himself at the highest possible price. She would never mind, and there were many comforts which he needed, and which an extra gold piece or two would enable him to procure for himself. Then, as he weighed the purse and pondered over it, numerous wants and requirements, which he had hardly known until that time, came into his mind. He might supply them all, if he were not too timid or scrupulous in availing himself of an opportunity such as might never come to him again. Had even his first valuation of the slave been a sufficient one? He ought certainly to consider that the man could read and write, and was of such beauty and grace that he could be trained to a most courtly air; and it was hardly proper to sell him for no more than the price of a couple of gladiators, mere creatures of bone and brawn. And, in any event, it was hardly probable that iEnone knew the true value of slaves, or even remembered how much her purse had contained. Thus meanly reflecting, the centurion dropped more of the gold pieces into his pocket, all the while eying the slave with keen scrutiny, as though calculating the market value of every hair upon his head. Then, with a sigh, he handed back the purse, most wofully lightened of its contents, and turned from the room, endeavoring to compose his features into a decent ap- pearance of sober indifference, and mut- tering that he would not have allowed himself to be betrayed into giving up such a prize so cheaply had it not been that he had an especial regard for the imperator Sergius Yanno, and that the house of Porthenus had never nourished mere traders to wrangle and chaffer over their property. In one of his conjectures he had been correct. It was little that A~none knew or cared about the price she was paying. Had the purse been returned to her entirely empty, she would have thrown it unheedingly into the drawer, and have never Areamed but that all had been rightly done. There was now but one idea filling her heart. She thought not about money nor any imprudence which she was commit- ting, nor yet upon the chance of recogni- tion. She only reflected that the day of her triumph had comethat at the sight of the long-absent lover, Leta would abandon the wrong path in which she had been straying, would throw her- self into his arms, would tell him how, through the loss of him, she had be- come reckless, and had allowed her suffering mind to become perverted from the rightbut that now all was again well; ~nd thus confessing and being forgiven, would, in the ever- present joy of that forgiveness, lead for the future a different life, and, in- stead of a rival, become to her mistress a friend and ally. Glowing with this bright hope, .~none scarcely noticed the shuffling departure of the centurion, but, fixing her eyes upon the captive, keenly scru- tinized his appearance. Not that it was likely that Leta, in the first flush of her joy at meeting him, would notice or care in what guise he was presented, 9 ~EflOfl~?. 17 so long as the soul which had so often responded to her own was there. But it was well that there should be noth- ing neglected which, without being directly essential to the production of a proper impression, might be tributary to it. The inspection was satisfactory. Not oaly was the dress of the captive clean, neat, becoming, and suitable to his station, but his appearance had undergone visible improvement since ~Enone had last seen him. The rest and partial composure of even the few in- tervening days had sufficed to restore tone to his complexion, roundness to his cheeks, and something of the old merry smile to his eyes. And though complete restoration was not yet effect- ed, enough had been accomplished to show that there was much latent beauty which would not fail to develop itself under the stimulant of additional rest and kindly treatment. Go in, thither, said ~Enone, point- ing to the adjoining room, in w~tich Leta was occupied. When you are there, you willit will be told you what you are to do. Cleotos bowed low, and passed through into the other room; and iEnone followed him with a glance which betrayed the longing she felt to enter with him and witness the meet- ing of the two lovers. But a sense of propriety outweighed her curiosity and restrained her. It was not right, in- deed, that she should intrude. Such recognitions should be sacred to the persons directly interested in them. She would therefore remain outside, and there await Cleotoss return. And as she took into her hands a little parch- ment ode which lay upon her table, and nervously endeavored to interest herself in it, she delightedly pictured the sudden transport of those within the next room, and the beaming joy with which, hand in hand, they would finally emerge to thank her for their newly gained happiness. In the mean time, Leta, having de- voL. vi.2 livered her message, and received her rebuke for the interruption, had retired to the other room, and there, as usual, resumed her daily task of embroidery. Beading low over the intricate stitches and counting their spaces, her features, at a casual glance, still bore their im- press of meek and unconscious humility, so far did her accustomed self-control seem to accompany her even when alone. But a more attentive scrutiny would have detected, half hidden be- neath the fringed eyelids, a sparkle of gratified triumph, and, ia the slightly bent corners of the mouth, a shade of haughty disdain; and little by iittle, as the moments progressed, these indi- cations of an inner, irrepressible nature gained in intensity, and, as though her fingers were stayed by a tumult of thought, her work slowly began to slip from her grasp. At length, lifting her head, and, per haps, for the first time realizing that she was alone and might indulge her impulses without restraint, she abruptly threw from her the folds of the em- broidery, and stood erect. Why should she longer trifle with that weak affair of velvet and dyes? Who was the poor, inanimate, and tearful statue in the next room, to order her to complete those tasks? What to herself were the~ past deeds of the Yanni, that they should be perpetuated in ill-fashioned~ tapestry, to be hung around a gilded banquet hall? By the gods! she would from that day make a new his- tory in the family life; and it should be recorded, not with silken threads upon embroidered velvet, but should be engraved deeply and ineffaceably upon human hearts! Standing motionless in the centre of the room, with one foot upon the half completed tapestry, she now for the first time, and in a flash of inspiration, gave shape and comeliness to her pre viously confusedly arranged ideas. Until the present moment she had had but little thought of accomplishing any- thing beyond skilfully availing herself 18 .~En one. of her natural attractions so as to climb from her menial position into some- thing a little better and higher. If, in the struggle to raise herself from the degradation of slavery, she were obliged to engage in a rivalry with her mistress, and, by robbing her of the affection naturally belonging to her, were to crush her to the earth, it was a thing to be deplored, but it must none the less be done. She might, perhaps, pity the victim, but the sacrifice must be accomplished all the same. But now these vague dreams of a somewhat better lot, to be determined by future chance circumstances, rolled away like a shapeless cloud, and left in their place one bright image as the set- tled object of her ambition. So lofty, so dazzling seemed the prize, that an- other person would have shrunk in dis- may from even the thought of striving for it, and even she, for the moment, recoiled. But she was of too deter- mined a nature to falter long. The higher the object to be attained the fewer would be the competitors, and the greater the chance of success to un- wearying determination. And if there were but one chance of success in a thousand, it were still worth the strug- gle. This great thought which stimulated her ambition was nothing less than the resolution to become the wife of the imperator Sergius. At first it startled her with its apparent wild extrava- gance; but little by little, as she weighed the chances, it seemed to be- come more practicable. There was, in- deed, nothing grossly impossible in the idea. Men of high rank had ere now married their slaves, and the corrupted society of Rome had winked at mesal- liances which, in the days of the re- public, would not have been tolerated. And she was merely a slave from acci- dental circumstancesbeing free born, and having, but a month before, been the pride and ornament of a respect- able though lowly family. Once let iier liberty be restored, and the scarcely perceptible taint of a few weeks serf- dom be removed from her, and she would be, in all social respects, fully the equal of the poor, trembling maid of Ostia, to whom, a few years before, the patrician had not been ashamed to stoop. This bar of social inequality tlius re- moved, the rest niight be in her own hands. Sergius no longer felt for his wife the old affection, under the im- pulse of which he had wedded her; and the few poor remains of the love which he still cherished, more from habit than otherwise, were fast disap- pearing. This was already so evident as to have become the common gossip of even the lowliest slaves in the house- hold. And he loved herself instead, for not only his actions, but his words had told her so. A little more craft and plotting, thereforea little further dis- play of innocent and lowly meekness and timid obediencea few more well- considered efforts to widen the conjugal breacha week or two more persistent exercise. of those fascinations which men were so feeble to resistjealousy, recrimination, quarrels, and a divorce and the whole thing might be ac- complished. In those days of laxity, divorce was an easy matter. In this case there was no family influence upon the part of the wife to be set up in op- positionbut merely an old centnrion, ignorant and powerless. A few writ- ings, for forms sakeand the day that sent the ~veeping wife from the door might install the manumitted and triumphant slave in her place. All aglow with the ravishing pros- pecther eager hopes converting the possible into the probable, and again, by a rapid change, the probable into the certain, the Greek stood spurning the needle work at her feet. Then glancing around, the whim seized upon her to assume, for a moment in ad- vance, her coming stately dignity. At the side of the room, upon a slightly elevated platform, was a crimson lounge .~Enones especial and proper seat. zEnone. 19 Over one arm of this lounge hung, in loose folds, a robe of purple velvet, with an embroidered fringe of pearls a kind of cloak of state, usually worn by her upon the reception of cere- monious visits. To this lounge LeM strode, threw herself upon it, drew the velvet garment over her shoulders, so that the long folds fell down gracefully and swept the marble pavement at her feet, and there, half sitting, half re- clining, assumed an attitude of courtly dignity, as though mistress of the pal- ace. And it must be confessed that she well suited the place. With her lithe, graceful figure thrown into a position in which the gentle languor of unem- barrassed leisure was mingled with the dignity of queenly statewith her burning eyes so tempered in their bril- liancy that they seemed ready at the same instant to bid defiance to imper- tinent intrusion, and to bestow gracious condescension upon suppliant timidity with every feature glowing with that proper pride which is not arrogance, and that proper kindliness which is not humilitythere was probably in all Rome no noble matron who could as well adorn her chair of ceremony. Be- side her, the true mistress of the place would have appeared as a timid child dismayed with unaccustomed honors; and in comparison, the empress herself might not fill her throne in the palace of the Cauars with half the grace and dignity. Then, as she there sat, momentarily altering her attitude to correspond the better with her ideas of proper bear- ing, and gathering into newer and more pleasing folds the sweeping breadths of the velvet mantle, th& door was slowly swung open, and there glid- ed noiselessly in, clad in its neat and coarse tunic, the timid figure of her old lover Cleotos. For an instant they remained gazing at each other as though paralyzed. Cleotoswho had looked to see her in her simple white vestment as of old, and had expected at her first glance to rush to her arms, and there be allowed to pour forth his joy at again meeting her, never more to partbeheld with dismay this gorgeously arrayed and queenly figure. This could not be the Leta whom he had known, or, if so, how changed! Was this the custom- ary attire of slaves in high-placed families? Or could it be the token of a guilty favoritism? His heart sank within him; and he stood nervously clinging against the door behind him, fearing to advance, lest, at the first step, some terrible truth, of which he had already seemed to feel the premo- nitions, might burst upon him. And she, for the moment, sat aghast, not knowing but that the gods, to punish her pride and ambition, had sent a spectre to confront her. But being of strong mind and but little given to superstitious terrors, she in- stantly reasoned out the facts of his simultaneous captivity with herself and coincidence of ownership; and her sole remaining doubt was in what manner she should treat him. They had parted in sorrow and tears, and she knew that he now expected her to fall into his arms and there repeat her former vows of constancy and love. But that could not be. Had he come to her but an hour before, while her dreams of the future were of a vague and unsatisfac- tory character, she might have acted upon such an impuh~e. But now, a glorious vision of what might possibly. happen had kindled her ambition with brighter fires than ever before; and could she su~render all that, and think again only upon starving freedom in a cottage home? Is it thou, Cleotos? Welcome to Rome! she said at length, throwing from her shoulder the purple cloak, and approaching him. As she spoke, she held out her hand. He took it in his own, in a lifeless and mechanical sort of way, and gazed into her face with a strange look of inquiring doubt, which momentarily settled into an expression 20 zEn~one. of decper apprehension. The black- ness of despair began to enter into his soul. Now that she was divested of her borrowed richness, she looed more like herself, and that was surely her voice uttering tones of greetii~g; but somehow her heart did not seem to be in them, and, for a certainty, this had not been her wonted style of wel- come. I thought, she continued, that thou wert slain. Certainly when I parted from you ere you fled into the mountains You know that I fled not at all, the interrupted, the color mounting into his temples. Why do you speak so, Leta? I retired to the mountains to meet my friends there and with them carry on the defence; and, previous thereto, I conducted you to what I be- lieved to be a place of safety. And I fought my best against the foe, and was brought nigh unto death. This I did, though I can boast of but a weak and slender frame. And it is hard that the first greeting of one so well loved as you should be a taunt. Nay, forgive me, she said. I doubt not your valor. It was but in forget- fulness that I spoke. I meant it not for a taunt. And in truth she had not so meant it. It was but the inad- vertent expression of a feeling which the sight of his feeble and boyish figure unwittingly made upon heran inca- pacity to connect deeds of valor with apparent physical weakness. But this very inability to judge of his true na- ture by the soul that strove to look into her own rather than by material im- pressions was perhaps no slight proof of the little unison between her nature and his. Sit down here, she continued, and tell me all that has happened to you. And they sat together, and he briefly told her of his warlike adventures, his wound, his captivity, his recognition of herself and his successful attempt to be once more under the same roof with her. And somehow it still seemed to him that their talk was not as of old, and that her sympathy with his misfor- tunes was but weak and cheerless; and though he tried to interweave the cus- tomary words of endearment with his story, there was a kind of inner check upon him, so that they came not readily to his lips as of old. And she sat, try- ing to listen, and indeed keeping the thread of his advcntures in her mind; but all the while finding her attention fail as she speculated how she could best give that explanation of her feel- ings which she knew would soon be demanded of her. And here I am at last, Letaas yourself, a slave! he concluded. Courage, my friend 1 was her an- swer. There are very many degrees and fates reserved for all in this old Rome, and much for every man to learn. And many a one who has begun as a slave has, in the end, attained not only to freedom, but to high honor and sta- tion. If the gods were to give me honor and station, far be it from me to refuse the gift, he said. But that, of itself alone, would not content me, unless you were there to share the good with me. And with yourself I would crave no other blessing. We are slaves here, Leta, but even that fate may have its mitigations and happiness for us. She was silent. How could she tell it to him? But his suspicions, at first vague, were now aroused by her very silence into more certainty. Tell me, he cried, again taking her hand, tell me my fate; and if sorrow is to come upon me, let it come now. It seems as though there were indeed evil tidings in store forme. The blight of anticipated evil even we~hed upon me ere I passed yonder hail, and when I knew no reason why I should not find you loving of heart and humble of de- sire as in other days. Is it all gone? Are you no longer the same? This tawdry velvet in which I found you arrayedis it the type of a something equal iy foreign to your nature, and .tEn one. 21 which imperial Rome has thrown about you to aid in crushing out the better feelings of your heart? My friend, my brother, she said at length, with some real pity and some false sorrow, why have we again met? Why is it now forced upon me to tell you that the past must always be the past with us? He dropped her hand, and the tears started into his eyes. Much as the words and gestures of the last few min- utes had prepared him for the an- nouncement, yet when it came, it smote him as though there had been no pre- monition of it; so lovingly had his heart persisted in clinging to the faint hope that he might have been mis- taken. A low wail of anguish burst from his lips. And this is the end of all? he sobbecL Think only, she said, think only that I am not worthy of you. The old storythe old story which has been repeated from the beginning of the world, he cried, stung into life by something of heartlessness which he detected in her affected sympathy. The woman weaves her toils about the mangilds his life until there is no brightness which can compare with itfills his heart with high hopes of a blissful futureso changes his soul that he can cherish no thought but of herso alters the whole tenor and purpose of his existence that he even welcomes slavery as a precious boon be- cause it brings him under the same roof with her. And thensome other fancy having crossed her mindor an absence of a week or two having pro- duced forgetfulnessshe insults him with a cruel mockery of self-unwor- thiness as her sole apology for per- fidy. Nay, she exclaimed, half glad of an excuse to quarrel with him. If you would rather have it otherwise, think, then, that I have never loved you as I should, even though I may have imagined that I did. Go on, he said, seeing that she hes- itated. I know, she continued, that in other days you have had my words for it, uttered, indeed, in sympathy and truth, as I then felt them. But I was a simple girl, then, Cleotos. The sea before me and the mountains behind bounded all my knowledge of the world. The people whom I saw were but few. The tastes I had were simple. Is it wonderful that I should have listened to the first one who spoke to me of love, and should have imagined that my heart made response to him? But now, now, Cleotos Now, what? he exclaimed. Would you say that now you have seen the world better and think differently? What is there in all that you have since known that should change you? Is it that the sight of war and tumultof burning towns and bleeding captives - of insolent soldiers and cruel taskmas- ters can have made you less in favor with our own native, vine-covered re- treat, with its neighborhood of simple peasantry? Or would you say that since then you have met others whom you can love better than me? Whom, indeed, have you seen bUt weary pris- oners like myself, or else unpitying conquerors whose love would be your shame? You blush, Leta! Pray the gods that it be not the latter! Strug- gle sternly with yourself to realize that you are merely for the moment fasci- nated by the unaccustomed splendors of this swarming city; and that after its first brightness has worn off from your dazzled eyes, your soul may re- turn to its native, pure simplicity and innocence, andand to me. Speak not so, Cleotos, she respond- ed. My eyes are not dazzled with any splendors; but for all that, our ways now and forever lie in different directions. We are slaves, and can give little heed to our affections. Our only course must be for each to strive to rise above this serfdom; and if, in doing so, either can help the other, it 22 American Slavery and Einance8. must be donebut in friendship, not in rary exaltation as a wealthy Romans love. To you, through good conduct, plaything. there may open, even in slavery, many And when that day does come, she posts of influence and profit; and, in continued, if, for the memory of our so much, of better worth than our own old friendship, I can help to elevate boasted liberty with poverty. And as you to some better sphere for meI see my destiny already beck- Enough! No more! he cried bit- oning me to a position such as many a terly; and starting from her, he fled free Roman woman might envy. out of the room. It were hard enough Speaking thus obscurely of her anti- that he should lose her, harder yet that cipated grandeu~to be gained, per- he should hear her marking out for her- haps, by abasement, but none the less self a life of ruin for some temporary in her mind certain to end in such gain, but harder than all, that she legitimate position as might sanctify should dare to mistake his nature so the previous steps theretoher face far as to insult him with the promise again lit up with a glow of pride, as of aiding his prosperity through such though she were already the powerful an influence. patricians wife. And revelling in such Let me go hence!he cried,in his dreams, she saw not the agony which agony, to iEnone, who, still radiant overspread her listeners face as he read with her newly discovered hope, met her thoughts partly awrong, and be- him at the door. Send me to the lieved her content to throw herself away captain Polidorusanywhereonly let forever, in order to gain some tempo- me leave this house! AMERICAN SLAVERY AND FINANCES. BY HON. ROBERT J. WALKER. [THE following article, from the pen of Hon. of our savants, it will be read with just pride R. J. Walker, forms the APPENDIX to the vol- and interest. As the Address was delivered in ume just published in England, and now ex- 1844, it of course contains no details of our citing great attention there, containing the marvellous progress since that date in science various pamphlets issued by him during the and discovery.En. CONTINENTAL.] last six months. The subjects discussed em- brace Jefferson Davis and Repudiation, Re- Wn have seen by the Census Tables, co~nition, Slavery, Finances and Resources if the product per eaNta of the Slave of the United States. It would be difficult to States in 1859 had been equal to that overestimate the efkct of these Letters abroad. of the Free States for that year, that As our readers already possess them in the the ADDITIONAL value produced in 1859 pages of THE CONTINENTAL, we enable them to in the Slave States would have been complete the series by furnishing the ensu- ing Appendix. It closes with an extract from $1,531,631,000. Now as our popula- an Introductory Address delivered by Mr. tion augmented during that decade Walker before the National Institute, at Wash- 35.59 per cent., this increased value, at ington, D. C., giving a short account~of the that ratio, in 1869 would have been various improvements and discoveries made $2,052,332,272. If multiplying the by our countrymen in the Inductive Sclences. amou As showing to England what a high rank we nt each year by three only, instead had even then taken in the world of science, of ~ the result, during that decade, and pointing out to her the number and fame would have been as follows:

Hon. Robert J. Walker Walker, Robert J., Hon. American Slavery and Finances 22-34

22 American Slavery and Einance8. must be donebut in friendship, not in rary exaltation as a wealthy Romans love. To you, through good conduct, plaything. there may open, even in slavery, many And when that day does come, she posts of influence and profit; and, in continued, if, for the memory of our so much, of better worth than our own old friendship, I can help to elevate boasted liberty with poverty. And as you to some better sphere for meI see my destiny already beck- Enough! No more! he cried bit- oning me to a position such as many a terly; and starting from her, he fled free Roman woman might envy. out of the room. It were hard enough Speaking thus obscurely of her anti- that he should lose her, harder yet that cipated grandeu~to be gained, per- he should hear her marking out for her- haps, by abasement, but none the less self a life of ruin for some temporary in her mind certain to end in such gain, but harder than all, that she legitimate position as might sanctify should dare to mistake his nature so the previous steps theretoher face far as to insult him with the promise again lit up with a glow of pride, as of aiding his prosperity through such though she were already the powerful an influence. patricians wife. And revelling in such Let me go hence!he cried,in his dreams, she saw not the agony which agony, to iEnone, who, still radiant overspread her listeners face as he read with her newly discovered hope, met her thoughts partly awrong, and be- him at the door. Send me to the lieved her content to throw herself away captain Polidorusanywhereonly let forever, in order to gain some tempo- me leave this house! AMERICAN SLAVERY AND FINANCES. BY HON. ROBERT J. WALKER. [THE following article, from the pen of Hon. of our savants, it will be read with just pride R. J. Walker, forms the APPENDIX to the vol- and interest. As the Address was delivered in ume just published in England, and now ex- 1844, it of course contains no details of our citing great attention there, containing the marvellous progress since that date in science various pamphlets issued by him during the and discovery.En. CONTINENTAL.] last six months. The subjects discussed em- brace Jefferson Davis and Repudiation, Re- Wn have seen by the Census Tables, co~nition, Slavery, Finances and Resources if the product per eaNta of the Slave of the United States. It would be difficult to States in 1859 had been equal to that overestimate the efkct of these Letters abroad. of the Free States for that year, that As our readers already possess them in the the ADDITIONAL value produced in 1859 pages of THE CONTINENTAL, we enable them to in the Slave States would have been complete the series by furnishing the ensu- ing Appendix. It closes with an extract from $1,531,631,000. Now as our popula- an Introductory Address delivered by Mr. tion augmented during that decade Walker before the National Institute, at Wash- 35.59 per cent., this increased value, at ington, D. C., giving a short account~of the that ratio, in 1869 would have been various improvements and discoveries made $2,052,332,272. If multiplying the by our countrymen in the Inductive Sclences. amou As showing to England what a high rank we nt each year by three only, instead had even then taken in the world of science, of ~ the result, during that decade, and pointing out to her the number and fame would have been as follows: American S7avery and Finances. 23 Product of 1860, $1,559,039,962 1861, 1,605,811,060 1862, 1,654,085,391 1863, 1,703,707,952 1861, 1,754,819,198 1865, 1,807,464,773 1866, 1,861,688,716 1867, 1,917,539,377 1868, 1,975,065,558 1869, 2,034,317,524 Total augmented product of the ~. $17,873,539,511 decade..) That is, the total increased product of the Slave States, during the decade from 1859 to 1869, would have been $17,873,539,511, if the production in the Slave States had been equal, per capita, to that of the Free States. This, it will be remeiiThered, is gross product. This, it will be perceived, is far below the actual result, as we can see by com- paring the real product of 1869, $2,052,- 332,272, as before given, with the $2,034,317,524, as the result of a multi- plication by three each year. The ratio of the increase of our wealth, from 1850 to 1860, as shown by the census, was much greater than that of our populationnamely, 126.45 per cent. Multiplying by this ratio (126.45), the result would be an additional prod- uct in 1869, in the Slave States, of $3,427,619,475. But our wealth in- creases in an augmented ratio during each decade. Thus, the ratio of the increase of our wealth, as shown by the census, was as follows: From 1820 to 1830, 41 per cent. 1830 to 1840, 42 1840 to 1850, 64 1850 to 1860, 126.45 Thus, the iacrease of our wealth from 1840 to 1850, was more than 50 per cent. greater than from 1830 to 1840; and from 1850 to 1860, nearly double that from 1840 to 1850. At the same duplicate ratio, from 1850 to 1870, the result would be over 250 per cent. That such would have been a close approx- imation to the true result, is rendered still more probable by the fact, that the product of 1859, as shown by the census, was 250 per cent. greater than that of 1849. If, then, instead of 126.45 per cent., we were to assume 250 per cent, as the ratio, the result would be in 1869, $5,297,708,612, as the increased product of the Slave States that year, if the ratio per capita were equal to that of the Free States. If we carry out these ratios from 1859 to 1869, either of 126.45, or of 250, into the aggregate of the de- cade, the results are startling. Assum- ing, however, that of the population only, we have seen that the aggregate result in the decade from 1859 to 1869 was over seventeen billions of dollars, or largely more than ten times our debt incurred by this rebellion. When, then, I reassert the opinion, heretofore expressed by me, that as the result of the superiority of free over slave labor, our wealth in 1870, and es- pecially in each succeeding decade, as a consequence of the entire abolition of Slavery in the United States, will be far greater, notwithstanding the debt, than if the rebellion had never occurred, there is here presented conclusive offi- cial proof of the truth of this statement. We have seen that our wealth increased from 1850 to 1860, 126.45 per cent., whilst that of England, from 1851 to 1861, augmented only at the rate of 87 per cent. Applying these several ratios to the progress of the wealth of the United Kingdom and the United States, re. spectively, in 1870, 1880, 1890, and 1900, the result is given below. We have seen by the census, that our national wealth was, in 1850, . . . $7,135,780,228 1860, . . . 16,159,616,068 Increase from 1850 to 1860, 126.45 per cent. England, from 1851 to 1861, 37 per cent. 24 American & avery and Finance8. Assuming these ratios, the result ~would be as follows: UNITED KINGDOM. 1861, wealth, $31,500,000,000 1871, 43,155,000,000 1881, 59,122,850,000 1891, 80,997,619,500 1901, 110,966,837,715 1860, 1870, 1880, 1890, 1900, UNITED STATES. wealth, $16,159,616,068 36,593,450,585 82,865,868,849 187,314,353,225 423,330,438,288 Thus, it appears by the census of each nation,that, each increasing in the same ratio respectively as for the last decade, the wealth of the United States in 1880 would exceed that of the United Kingdom $23,743,518,849; that in 1890 it would be much more than double, nnd in 1900, approaching quadruple that of the United Kingdom. When we reflect that England in- creases in wealth much more rapidly than any other country of Europe, the value of these statistics may be esti- mated, as proving how readily our na- tional debt can be extinguished with- out oppressive taxation. These are the results, founded on the actual statistics, without estimating the enormous increase of our national wealth, arising from the abolition of Slavery. We have seen that, by the official tables of the census of 1860, the value of the products of the United States, so far as given, for the year 1859, was $5,290,000,000. But this is very short of the actual result. The official report (pages 59, 190, 198 to 210) shows that this included only the products of agriculture, manufactures, mines, and fisheries. In referring to the result as to manufactures, at page 59 of his official report before given, the Superintendent says: If to this amount were added the very large ag- gregate of mechanical productions be- low the annual value of $500, of which no official cognizance is taken, the re- sult would be one of startling magni- tude. 1. This omission alone, for gross product, is estimated at $500,000,000. 2. Milk and eggs, fodder, wood, poultry, and feathers, omitted, gross products, estimated at $350,000,000. 3. Gross earnings of trade and com- merce, including freights, & c., by land and water, $1,000,000,000. 4. Gross earnings of all other pur- suits and business, including all other omissions, $1,000,000,000. Total gross products of 1860, as thus estimated, $8,140,000,000, of which the amount for the Free States, as estimated, is $6,558,334,000, and for the Slave States, $1,581,666,000. I have heretofore referred to the vast influence of education ks one of the principal causes of the greater product per capita in the Free than in the Slave States, of the much larger number of patents, of inventions, and discoveries, in the former than in the latter. At the April meeting of 1844, upon the request of the Society, I delivered at Washington (D. C.) the Introductory Address for the National Institute, in which, up to that date, an account was given by me of the various improve- ments and discoveries made by our countrymen in the inductive sciences.~ On reference to that address, which was published at its date (April, 1844), with their lulletin, it will be seen that, from the great Franklin down td Kin- nersley, Fitch, Rumsey, Fulton, Evans, Rush, the Stevenses of New Jersey, Whit- ney, Godfrey, Rittenhouse, Silliman, J. Q. Adams, Cleveland, Adrain, Bow- ditch, Hare, Bache, Henry, Pierce, Espy, Patterson, Nulty, Morse, Walker, Loomis, Rogers, Saxton, and many others; these men, with scarcely an exception, were from the Free States. EXTRACT. And, first, of, electricity. This has been cultivated with the greatest suc- cess in our country, from the time when American Slavery and Finances. Franklin with his kite drew down elec- tricity from the thunder cloud, to that when Henry showed the electrical cur- rents produced by the distant lightning discharge. In Franklins day the idea prevailed that there were two kinds of electricity,, one produced by rubbing vitreous substances, the other by the friction of resinous bodies. Franklins theory of one electric fluid in all bod- ies, disturbed in its equilibrium by fric- tion, and thus accumulating in one and deserting the other, maintains its ground, still capable of explaining the facts elicited in the progress of modem discovery. Franklin believed that elec- tricity and lightning were the same, and proceeded to the proof. He made the perilous experiment, by exploring the air with a kite, and drawing down from the thunder cloud the lightnings discharge upon his own person. The bold philosopher received unharmed the shock of the electric fluid, more fortunate than others who have fallen victims to less daring experiments. The world was delighted with the dis- coveries of the great American, and for a time electricity was called Franklin- ism on the continent of Europe; but Franklin was born here, and the name was not adopted in England. While Franklin made experiments, Kinnersley exhibited and illustrated them, and also rediscovered The seemingly oppo- site electricities of glass and resin. Franklins lightning rod is gradually surmounting the many difficulties with which it contended, as experience at- tests the grenter safety of houses pro- tected by the rod, properly mounted, whilst the British attempt to substitute balls for points has failed. This ques- tion, as to powder magazines, has lately excited much controversy. Should a rod be attached to the magazine, or should it be placed upon a post at some distance? This question has been solved by Henry. When an electrical discharge passes from one body to an- other, the electricity in all the bodies in the neighborhood is affected. Henry magnetized a needle in a long con- ductor, by the discharge from a cloud, more than a mile from the conductor. If a discharge passes down a rod, at- tached to a powder house, may it not cause a spark to pass from one recepta- cle for powder to another, and thus in- flame the whole? The electrical ple- num, which Henry supposed, is no doubt disturbed, and to great dis- tances; but the effect diminishes with the distance. If all the principal con- ductors about a building can be con- nected with a lightning rod, there is no danger of a discharge; for it is only in leaving or entering a condnctor that electricity produces heating effects; but if not, the rod is safer at a moderate distance from the building. The rate at which electricity moved was another of the experiments of Franklin. A wire was led over a great extent of ground, and a discharge passed through it. No interval could be perceived between the time of the spark passing to and from the wire at the two ends. Not long since, Wheatston of England, aid- ed by our own great mechanic, Saxton, solved the problem. This has induced Arago, of France, to propose to test the rival theories of light, by similar meansto measure thus a velocity, to detect which has heretofore required a motion over the line of the diameter of the earths orbit. In galvanism, our countrymen have made many important discoveries. Dr. Hare invented instruments of such great power as well to deserve the names of calorimeter and deflagrator. The most refractory substances yielded to the action of the deflagrator, melting like wax before a common fire. Even char- coal was supposed to be fused in the experiments of Hare and Silhiman. and the visionary speculated on the possi- bihity of black as well as white dia- monds. Draper, by his most ingenious galvanic battery, of two metals and two liquids, with one set of elements, in a glass tube not the size of the little finger, was able to decompose water. 26 American Slavery and Finance8. Faraday, of England, discovered the principle, that when a current of elec- tricity is set in motion, or stopped in a conductor, a neighboring conductor has a current produced in the opposite direction. Henry proved that this principle might be made available to produce an action of a current upon itse]g by forming a conductor in the whirls of a spiral, so that sparks and shocks might be obtained by the use of such spirals, when connected with a pair of galvanic plates, a current from which could give no sparks and 110 shocks. Henrys discoveries of the ef- fects of a current in producing several altemations in currents in neighboring conductorsthe change of the quality of electricity which gives shocks to the muscles into trat producing heat, and vice versahis mode of graduating these shockshis theoretical investiga- tions into the causes of these alterna- tionsare abstruse but admirable; aad his papers have been republished throughout Europe. The heating ef- fects of a galvanic current have been applied by Dr. Hare to blasting. The accidents which so often happen in quarries may be avoided by firing the charge from a distance, as the current which heats the wire, passing through the charge, may be conveyed, without perceptible diminution, through long distances. A feeble attempt to attribute this important invention of Dr. Hare to Colonel Pasley, an English engineer, has been abandoned. This is the mar- vellous agent by which our eminent countryman, Morse, encouraged by an appropriation made by Congress, will, by means of his electric telegraph, soon communicate information forty miles, from Washington to Baltimore, more rapidly than by whispering in the ear of a friend sitting near us. A telegraph on a new plan at that time, invented by Mr. Grout, of Massachusetts, in 1799, asked a question and received an an- swer in less than ten minutes through a distance of ninety miles. The telegraph of Mr. Morse will prove, I think, su perior to all others; and the day is not distant when, by its aid, we may per- haps ask questions and receive replies across our continent, from ocean to ocean, thus uniting with steam in enlarging the limits over which our Republic may be safely extended.* Many of our countrymen have con- tributed to the branch which regards the action of electrified and magnetic bodies. Lukenss application of mag- netism to steel (called touching), the compass of Bissel for detecting local attraction, of Burt for determining the variation of the compass, and the ob- servations on the variations of the nee- dle made by Winthrop and Dewitt, de- serve notice and commendation. Not long since, Gauss, of Germany, inv?nted instruments by which the changes of magnetic variation and force could be accurately determined. Magnetic ac- tion is ever varying. The needle does not point in the same direction for even a few minutes together. The force of magnetism, also, perpetually varies. True, as the needle to the pole is not a correct simile for the same place, and, if we pass from one spot to another, is falsified at each change of our position; for the needle changes its direction, and the force varies. En- larged and united observations, em- bracing the various portions of the world, must produce important results. The observations at Philadelphia, con- ducted by Dr. A. D. Bache, and now continued by him under the direction of the Topographical Bureau, are of great value, and will, it is hoped, be published by Congress. Part of them have already first seen the light in Eu- ropea result much to be regretted, . for we are not strong enough in science to spare from the national records the contributions of our countrymen. These combined observations, pro- gressing throughout the world, are of * This address was made and published sev- eral months before ~ny electric telegraph line was in operation, and is believed to be the first prediction of the success of this principle, as CONTINENTAL or OcEANIc. American Slavery and Finances. 27 the highest importance. The University of Cambridge, the American Philosoph- ical Society, and Girard College have erected observatories; and one con- nected with the Depot of Charts and Instruments has been built in thi~ city last year by the Government, and thor- oughly furnished with instruments for complete observations. The names of Bache, Gillis, Pierce, Lovering, and Bond are well known in connection with these establishments. A magnetic survey of Pennsylvania has been made by private enterprise, and the beginning of a survey in New York. Loomis has observed in Ohio, Locke in Ohio and Iowa, and to him belongs the discovery of the position of the point of greatest magnetic in- tensity in the Western World. Most interesting magnetic observations (now in progress of publication by Congress) are the result of the toilsome, perilous, and successful expedition, under Com- mander Wilkes, of our navy, by whom was discovered the Antarctic continent, and a portion of its soil and rock 1)rought home to our country. The analogy of the auroral displays with those of electricity in motion, was first pointed out by Dr. A. D. Eache, whose researches, in conjunction wtb Lloyd of Dublin, to determine wEether differences of longitude could be measured by the observations of small simultaneous changes in the posi- tion of the magnetic needle, led to the knowledge of the curious fact, that thc se changes, which had been traced ns simultaneous, or nearly so, in the contiuent of Europe, did not so extend across the Atlantic. Kindred to these two branches are dectro-magnetisni ~nd magneto-elec- tricity, connected with which, as dis- coverers, are our countrymen Dana, Green, Hare, Henry, Page, Rogers, and Saxton. The reciprocal machine for producing shocks, invented by Page, and the powerful galvanic magnet of Henry, are entitled to respectful notice. This force, it was thought, might be substituted for steam; but no experi- ments have as yet established its use, on any important scale, as a motive power. The fact that an electrical spark could be produced by a peculiar arrangement of a coil of wire, connect- ed with a magnet, is a recent discov- ery; and the first magneto-electric ma- chine capable of keeping up a contin- uous current was invented by Saxton. Electricity and magnetism touch in some points upon heat. Heat produces electrical currents; electrical currents produce heat. Heat destroys magnet- ism. Melted iron is incapable of mag- netic influence. Reduction of tempera- ture in iron so far decreases the force, that a celebrated philosopher made an elaborate series of experiments to ascer- taimi whether a great reduction of temn- perature might not develop magnetic properties in metals other than iron. This branch of thermo-electricity has received from us but little attention. Franklins experiments, by placing dif- ferently colored cloths in the snow, and showing the depth to which they sank, are still quoted, and great praise has been bestowed abroad on a more elab- orate series of experiments, by a de- scendant of his, Dr. A. D. Bache, prov- ing that this law does not hold good as to heat, unaccompanied by light. The experiments of Saxon and Goddard demonstrate that solid bodies do slowly evaporate. It is proper here to men- tion our countryman, Count Rumford, whose discoveries as to the nature and properties of heat, improvement ii stoves and gunnery, and in the struc~ ture of chimneys and economy of fuel, have been so great and useful. Light accompanies heat of a certain temperature. That it acts directly to increase or decrease magnetic force, is not yet proved; and the interesting experiments made by Dr. Draper, in Virginia, go to show that it is without magnetic influence. The discussion of this subject forms, the branch of optics, touching physical science on the one side, the most refined, and the highest 28 American iS7avery and Finance8. range of mathematics on the other. Rittenhouse first suggested the true ex- planation of the experiment, of the ap- parent conversion of a cameo into an intaglio, when viewed through a com- pound microscope, and anticipated many years Brewsters theory. Hop- kinson wrote well on the experiment made by looking at a street lamp through a slight texture of silk. Josce- lyn, of New York, investigated the causes of the irradiation manifested by luminous bodies, as for instance the stars. Of late, photographic experi- ments have occupied much attention, and Draper has advanced the bold idea, supported by experiment, that the agent in the so-called photography, is not light, nor heat, but an agent dif- fering from any other known principle. Henry has investigated the luminous emanation from lime, calcined with sul- phur, and certain other substances, and finds that it differs much from light in some of its qualities. Astronomy is the most ancient and highest branch of physics. One of our earliest and greatest efforts in this branch was the invention of the mar- iners quadrant, by Godfrey, a glazier of Philadelphia. The transit of Venus, in the last century, called forth the re- searches of Rittenhouse, Owen, Biddle, and President Smith, near Philadel- phia, and of Winthrop, at Boston. Two orreries were made by Ritten- house, as also a machine for predicting eclipses. Most useful observations, con- nected with the solar eclipses, from 1832 to 1840, have been made by Paine, of Boston. We have now well-supplied observatories at West Point, Washing- ton, Cambridge, Philadelphia, Hudson, Ohio, and Tuskaloosa, Alabama; and the valuable labors of Loomis, Bartlett, Gillis, Bond, Pierce, Walker, and Ken- dall are well known. Mr. Adams, so distinguished in this branch and that of weights and measures, laid last year the corner stone of an observatory at Cincinnati, where will soon be one of the largest and most powerful tele scopes in the world. Mast interesting observations as to the great comet of 1843 were made by Alexander, Ander- son, Bartlett, Kendall, Pierce, Walker, Downes, and Loomis, and valuable as- tronomical instruments have been con- structed by Amasa Holcomb, of Massa- chusetts, and Win. J. Young, of Phila- delphia. It is difficult to class the brilliant meteors of November the 13th, 1833. If such meteors are periodic, the dis- covery was made by Professor Olin- sted; and Mr. Herrick, of New Haven, has added valuable suggestions. The idea that observers, differently placed at the time of appearance and disap- pearance of the same meteor, would give the means of determining differ- ences of longitude, was first applied in our own country, where the difference of longitude of Princeton and Phila- delphia was determined by observa- tions of Henry and Alexander, Espy and Bache. In meteorology our coun- trymen have succeeded well. Dr. Wells, of South Carolina, elaborated his beautiful and original theory of the formation of dew, and supported it by many well-devised and conclusive ex- periments. The series of hourly obser- vations, by Professor Snell and Captain Mordecai, are well known; and the efforts of New York and Pennsylvania, of the medical department of the army, and its present enlightened head, Dr. Lawson, have much advanced this branch of science. The interesting question, Does our climate change? seems to be answered thus far in the negative, by registers kept in Massa- chusetts and New York. There are two rival theories of storms. That of Redfield, of a rotary motion of a wide column of air, combined with a pro- gressive motion in a curved line. Espy builds on the law of physics, examines the action of an upmoving column of air, shows the causes of its motion and the results, and then deduces his most beautiful theory of rain and of land and water spouts. This he puts to the American Slavery and Finance8. test of observation; and in the inward motion of wind toward the centre of storms, finds a striking verification of his theory. This theory is also sustain- ed by the overthrow or injury, in the recent tornado at Natchez, of- the houses whose doors and windows were closed, while those which were open mostly escaped unhurt. Mr. Espy must be considered, not only here, but throughout the world, as at the head of this branch of science. This subject has been greatly advanced by Professor Loomis, whose paper has been pro- nounced, by the highest authority, to be the best specimen of inductive rea- soning which meteorology has pro- duced. The most recent and highly valuable meteorological works of Dr. Samuel Forry are much esteemed. Many important discoveries in pneu- matics were made by Dr. Franklin and Count Rumford, and the air pump was also greatly improved by Dr. Prince, of Salem. Chemistry, in all its departments, has been successfully pursued among us. Dana,, Ellet, Emmet, Hare, the Mitchells, Silliman, and Torrey, are well known as chemical philosophers; and Booth, Boyd, Chilton, Keating, Mather, R. Rogers, Seybert, Shepherd, and Yanuxen, as analysts; and F. Bache, Webster, Greene, Mitchell, Silli- man, and Hare, as authors. In my native town of Northumberland, Penn- sylyania, resided two adopted citizens, most eminent as chemists and phioso- phers, Priestley and Cooper. The latter, who was one of my own preceptors, was greatly distinguished as a writer, scholar, jurist, and physician, as well as a chemist. Priestley, although I do not concur in his peculiar views of the- ology, was certainly one of the most able and learned of ecclesiastical wri- ters, and possessed also a mind most vigorous and original. His discover- ies in pneumatic chemistry have ex- ceeded those of any other philosopher. He discovered vital air, many new acids, chemical substances, paints, and 29 dyes. He separated nitrous and oxy- genous airs, and first exhibited acids and alkalies in a gaseous form. He ascertained that air could be purified by the process of vegetation, and that light evolved pure air from vegetables. He detected the powerful action of oxygenous air upon-the blood, and first pointed out the true theory of respira- tion. The eudiometer, a most curious instrument for fixing the purity of air, by measuring the proportion of oxygen, was discovered by Dr. Priestley. He lived and died in my native town, uni- versally beloved as a man, and greatly admired as a philosopher. Chemistry has actively advanced among us dur- ing the present century. Hares com- pound blowpipe came from his hand so perfect, in 1802, that all succeeding attempts of Dr. Clark, of England, and of all others, in Europe and America, to improve upon it or go beyond the effects produced, have wholly failed. His mode of mixing oxygen and hydro- gen gases, the instant before burning them, was at once simple, effective, and safe. The most refractory metallic and mineral substances yielded to the intense heat produced by the flame of the blowpipe. In chemical analysis, the useful labors of Keating, Yanuxen, Seybert, Booth, Clemson, Litton, and Moss, would fill many volumes. In organic chemistry, the researches of Clark, Hare, and Boy6 were rewarded by the discovery of a new ether, the most explosive compound known to man. Mitchells experiments on the penetration of membranes by gases, and the ingenious extension of them by Dr. Rogers, are worthy of all praise. The softening of indiarubber, by Dr. Mitchell, renders it a most useful ar- ticle. Dyers discovery of soda ash yielded him a competence. Our coun- trymen have also made most valuable improvements in refining sugar, in the manufacture of lard oil and stearin candles, and the preservation of timber by Earles process. Sugar and molasses have been extracted in our coitutry 30 American Slavery and Finances. from tlie cornstalk, but with what, if any profit, as to either, is not yet de- termined. No part of mechanics has prodw~ed such surprising results as the steam engine, and our countrymen have been among the foremost and most dis- tinguishd in this great and progressive branch. When Rumsey, of Pennsyl- vania, made a steamboat, which moved against the current of the James River four miles an hour, his achievement was so much in advance of the age, as to acquire no public confidence. When John Fitchs boat stemmed the current of the Delaware, contending successfully with sail boats, it was called, in derision, the scheme boat. So the New Yorkers, when the steamboat of their own truly great mechanic, Stevens, after making a trip from Ho- boken, burnt accidentally one of its boiler tubes, it was proclaimed a fail- ure. Fulton also encountered unbound- ed ridicule and opposition, as he ad- vanced to confer the greatest benefits on mankind by the application of steam to navigation. So Oliver Evans, of Pennsylvania (who has made such useful improvements in the flour mill), was pronounced insane, when he ap- plied to the Legislatures of Pennsyl- vania and Maryland for special privi- leges in regard to the application of steam to locomotion on common roads. In 1810 he was escorted by a mob of boys, when his amphibolas was moved on wheels by steam more than a mile through the streets of Philadelphia to the river Schuylkill, and there, taking to the water, was paddled by steam to the wharves of the Delaware, where it was to work as a dredging machine. Fultons was the first successful steam- boat, Stevenss the first that navigated the ocean, Oliver Evanss the first high- pressure engine applied to steam navi- gation. Stevenss boat, by an accident, did not precede Fultons, and Stevenss engine was wholly American, and con- structed entirely by himself, and his propeller resembled much that now in- troduced by Ericsson. Stevens united the highest mechanical skill with a bold, original, inventive genius. His sons (especially Mr. Robert L. Stevens, of New York) have inherited much ot the extraordinary skill and talent of their distinguished father. The first steamboat that ever crossed the ocean was built by one of our countrymen, and their skill in naval architecture has been put in requisition by the Emperor of Russia and the Sultan of Turkey. The steam machines invented by our countrymen to drive piles, load vessels, and excavate roads, are most ingenious and useful. The use of steam, asa locomotive power, upon the water and the land, is admirably adapted to our mighty rivers and extended territory. From Washington to the mouth of the Oregon is but one half,* and to the mouth of the Del Norte but one fourth, of the distance of the railroads already constructed here; and to the latter point, at the rate of motion (thirty miles an hour) now in daily use abroad, the trip would be performed in two days, and to the former in four days. Thus, steam, if we measure distance by the time in which it is traversed, ren- ders our whole Union, with its most extended limits, smaller than was the State of New York ten years since. Steam cars have been moved, as an ex- periment, both here and abroad, many hundred miles, at the rate of sixty miles an hour; but what will be the highest velocity ultimately attained in common use, either upon the water or the land, is a most important problem, as yet entirely unsolved. Our respected citi- zens, Morey and Drake, have endeav- ored to substitute the force of explosion of gaseous compounds for steam. The first was the pioneer, and the second has shown that the problem is still worth pursuing to solution. An ener- getic Western mechanic made a bold but unsuccessful effort to put in opera- tion an engine acting by the expansion of air by heat; and a similar most in- genious attempt was made by Mr. * Now only one tenth. American Slavery and Finance8. 31 Walter Byrnes, of Concordia, Louisiana; as also to substitute compressed air, and air compressed and expanded, as a locomotive power. All attempts to use air as a motive power, except the balloon, the sail vessel, the air gun, ~nd the windmill, have thus far failed; but what inventive genius may yet accom- plish in this respect, remains yet unde- termined. There is, it is true, a mile or more of pneumatic railway used be- tween Dublin and Kingstown. An air pump, driven by steam, exhausts the air from a cylinder in which a piston moves; this cylinder is laid the whole length of the road, and the piston is connected to a car above, so that, as the piston moves forward on the ex- haustion of the air in front of it, the car is also carried forward. The ori- ginal idea of this pneumatic railway was derived from the contrivance of an American, quite unknown to fame, who, as his sign expressed it, showed to visitors a new mode of carrying the mail,* more simple, and quite as valu- able, practically, as this atmospheric railway. The suhmerged propeller of Ericsson, and the submerged paddle wheel, the rival experiments of our two distinguished naval officers, Stock- ton and Hunter, are now candidates for public favor; and the Princeton on the ocean, as she moves in noiseless majesty, at a speed never before. attained at sea, seems to attest the value of one of these experiments, while ~the other is yet to be determined. The impenetrable iron steam vessel of Mr. Stevens is not yet completed, nor have those terrific en- gines of war, his explosive shells, yet been brought to the test of actual con- ffict. In curious and useful mechanical inventions, our countrymen are unsur- passed, and a visit to our new and beautiful Patent Office will convince the close observer that the inventive genius of America never was more ac * This idea unquestionably originated in the United States, but was improved last year, and has been introduced by Mr. Rammel, of England. tive than at the present moment. The machines for working up cotton, hemp, and wool, from their most crude state to the finest and most useful fabrics, have all been improved among us. The cotton gin of Eli Whitney has altered the destinies of one third of our coun- try, and doubled the exports of the Union. The ingenious improvements for imitating medals, by parallel lines upon a plain surface, which, by the distances between them, give all the effects of light and shade that belong to a raised or depressed surface, invent- ed by Gobrecht and perfected by Spen- cer, has been rendered entirely auto- matic by Saxton, so that it not only rules its lines at proper distances and of suitable lengths, but when its work is done it stops. In hydraulics, we have succeeded well; and the great aqueduct over the Potomac at George- town, constructed by Major Turnbull, of the Topographical Corps, exhibits new contrivances, in overcoming ob- stacles never heretofore encountered in similar projects, and has been pro- nounced in Europe one of the most skilful works of the age. The abstract mathematics does not seem so well suited to the genius of our countrymen as its application to other sciences. Those among us who have most successfully pursued the pure mathematics, are chiefly our much- esteemed adopted citizens, such as Kulty, Adrain, Bonnycastle, Gill, and Hassler. Bowditch was an American, and is highly distinguished at home and abroad. Such men as Plana and Bab- bage rank him among the first class, and his commentary on the Micanique C6leste of Laplace, has secured for him a niche in the temple of fame, near to that of~ its illustrious author. An- derson and Strong are known to all who love mathematics, and Fischer was cut off by death in the commence- ment of a bright career. And may I here be indulged in grateful remem- brance of two of my own preceptors, Dr. R. M. Patterson and Eugene Nulty. 32 American Slavery and Finances. The first was the professor at my Alma Mater (the University of Pennsylvania) in natural philosophy and the applica- tion of mathematics to many branches of science. He was beloved and re- spected by all the class, as the~ cour- teous gentleman and the profound scholar; and the Mint of the United States, now under his direction, at Philadelphia, has reached the highest point of system, skill, and efficiency. In the pure mathematics Nulty is un- surpassed at home or abroad. In an earlier day, the elder Patterson, Elli- cot, and Mansfield cultivated this branch successfully in connection with astronomy. A new and extensive country is the great field for descriptive natural his- tory. The beasts, birds, fishes, reptiles, insects, shells, plants, stones, and rocks are to be examined individually and classed; many new varieties and species are found, and even new genera may occur. The learned Mitchell, of New York, delighted in these branches. The eminent Harlan, of Philadelphia, and MeMultrie were of a later and more philosophic school. Nuttall, of Cam- bridge, has distinguished himself in natural history, a& d Haldeman is rising to eminence. Ornithology is one of the most at- tractive branches of natural history. Wilson was the pioneer; Ord, his biog- rapher, followed, and his friend Titian Peale; Audubon is universally known, and stands preeminent; and the learned Nuttall and excellent and enthusiastic Townsend are much respected. Most of these men have compassed sea and land, and encountered many perils and hardships to find their specimens. They have explored the mountains of the North, the swamps of Florida, the prairies of the West, and accompanied the Exploring Expedition to the Ant- arctic, and round the world. As bot- anists, the Bartrams, Barton, and Col- ins, of Philadelphia, Torrey, of New York, Gray and Nuttall of Cambridge, Darlixigton, of Westchester, are much esteemed. The first botanical garden in our country was that of the Bartons, near Philadelphia; and the first work on botany was from Barton, of the same city. Logan, Woodward, Brails- ford, Shelby, Cooper, Horsfield, Col- den, Clayton, Muhlenburg, Marshall, Cutler, and Hosack, were also distin- guished in this delightful branch. A study of the shells of our country has raised to eminence the names of Barnes, Conrad, Lea, and Raffinesque. The magnificent fresh-water shells of our Western rivers are unrivalled in the Old World in size and beauty. How interesting would be a collection of all the specimens which the organic kingdom of America presents, properly classified and arranged according to the regions and States whence they were brought I Paris has the museum of the natural history of France, and London of Great Britain; but Wash- ington has no museum * of the United States, though so much richer in all these specimens. In mineralogy, the work of Cleve- land is most distinguished. Shepherd, Mather, Troost, Torrey, and a few others, still pursue mineralogy for its own sake; but, generally, our mineral- ogists have turned geologists, studying rocks on a large scale, instead of their individual constituents, and vieing with their brethren in Europe in bold and successful generalization, and in the application of physical science to their subject. Maclure was one of the pio- neers, and Eaton and Silhiman contrib- uted much to the stock of knowledge. This school has given rise to the great geological surveys made or progressing in several of the States. Jackson, in Maine, Hitchcock, in Massachusetts; Yanuxen, Conrad, and Mather, in New York; the Rogerses, in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Virginia; Ducatel, in Maryland; Owen and Locke, in the West; Troost, in Tennessee; Horton, in Ohio; the courageous, scientific, and * We now have several such mueeum.s in Washington. American Slavery and Finance& 33 lamented Nicolet, in Missouri, Iowa, and Wisconsin, have made contribu- tions, not only to the geology of our country, but to the science of geology itself, which are conceded to be among the most valuable of the present flay. The able reports of Owen and Nicolet were made to Congress, and deserve the highest commendation. In geographical science, the explora- tions of Lewis and Clark; of Long, Nicolet, and the able and intrepid Fremont; the effective State survey of Massachusetts; the surveys of our pub- lie lands; the determination of the boundaries of our States, and espe- cially those of Pennsylvania, by Ritten- house and Elliott; of part of Louisiana, by Graham and Kearny; of Michigan, by Talcott; and of Maine, by Graham; have gained us great credit. The na- tional work of the coast survey, begun by the late Mr. ilassler, and prosecutCA through all discouragements and diffi- culties by that indomitable man, has reflected honor upon his adopted coun- try, through the Government which liberally supported the work, and through whose aid it is now progress- ing, under new auspices, with great energy.* The lake survey is also now advancing under the direction of Cap- tain Williams, of the Topographical Corps. Among the important recent explorations, is that of the enlightened, untiring, and intrepid Fremont, to Oregon, which fixes the pass of the Rocky Mountains within twenty miles of the northern boundary of Texas. Lieutenant Fremont is a member of the Topographical Corps, which, together with that of Engineers, contains so many . distinguished officers, whose la- bors, together with those of their most able and distinguished chiefs, Colonel Totten and Colonel Abert, fill so large a portion of the public documents, and are so well known and highly appre- ciated by both Houses of Congress and * Our Coast Survey, as commenced by flassler, and being completed by nacbe, Is admitted in Eu- rope to be tbe best in tbe wo~ld. voL. vx.3 a by the country. The Emperor of Rus- sia has entered the ranks of our Topo- graphical Corps, and employed one of their distinguished members, Captain Whistler, to construct his great railroad from St. Petersburg to Moscow. The travels of our countrymen, Stephens, to Yucatan and Guatemala, to Egypt, Arabia, and Jerusalem, and of Dr. Grant to Nestoria, have increased our knowledge of geography and of antiqui- ties, and have added new and striking proofs of the truths of Christianity. Fossil geology occupied much of the time and attention of the greal~philoso- pher and statesman, Jefferson, and he was rewarded by the discovery of the megatherium. The mastodon, exhumed in 1801, from the marl pits of New York, by Charles Wilson Peale, has proved but one of an order of animal giants. Even the tetracaulodon, or tusked mas- todon, of Godman, upon which rested his claims to fame, is not the most cu- rious of this order, as the investigations of Hayes and Homer have proved. This order has excited the attention, not only of such minds as Cooper, Har- lan, and Hayes, but has also occupied the best naturalists of France, Britain, Germany, and Italy. Fossil conchology has attracted the attention of Conrad, the Lees, and the Rogerses, not only calling forth much ingenuity in description and classifica- tion, but also throwing great light upon the relative ages of some of the most interesting geological formations. The earthquake theory of the Rogerses is one of the boldest generalizations, founded upon physical reasoning, which our geologists have produced. In the parallel ridges into which the Apalachian chain is thrown, they see the crests of great earthquake waves, propagated from long lines of focal earthquake action, more violent than any which the world no* ~witnesses. The geologist deals in such sublime con- ceptions as a world of molten matter, tossed into waves by violent efforts of escaping vapors, cooling, cracking, and 34 like Cr088. rending, in dire convulsion, lie then ceases to discuss the changes and for- mation of worlds, and condescends to inform us how to fertilize our soil, where to look for coal and iron, copper, tin, cobalt, lead, and where we need not look for either. He is the Milton of poetry, and the Watt of philosophy. And here let m6 add, that the recent application of chemistry to agriculture is producing the most surprising results, in increasing and improving the prod- ucts of the earth, and setting at de- fiance Malthuss theory of population. In medicine, that great and most useful branch of physics, our country- men have been most distinguished. From the days of the great philosopher, physician, patriot, and statesman, Ben- jamin Rush, down to the present period, our country has been unsur- passed in thin branch; but I have not time even to give an outline of the eminent Americans, whose improve- ments and discoveries in medicine have contributed so much to elevate the character of our country, and advance the comfort and happiness of man. Rush, one of the founders oC this branch in America, was one of the signers of our Declaration of Independence, and his school of medicine was as inde- pendent and national as his course in our Revolutionary struggle. Statistics are chiefly concerned, as furnishing the facts connected with government and political economy, but they are also ancillary to physics. The statistical work of Mr. Archibald Russell, of New York, which immediately preceded the last census, contained many valuable suggestions, some of which were adopt- ed by Congress; and had more been incorporated into the law, the census would have been much more complete and satisfactory. The recent statistical work of Mr. George Tucker, of Virginia, on the census of 1840, is distinguished by great talent and research, and is in- valuable to the scholar, the philoso- pher, the statesman, and philanthro- pist. THE CROSS. HOLY FATHER, Thou this day Dost a cross upon me lay. If I tremble as I lift, First, and feel Thine awful gift, Let me tremble not for pain, But lest I may lose the gain Which thereby my soul should bless, Through mine own unworthiness. Let me, drawing deeper breath, Stand more firmly, lest beneath Thy load I sink, and slavishly In the dust it crusheth me. Bearing this, so may I strength Gather to receive at length In turn eternal glorys great And far more exceeding weight.

The Cross 34-36

34 like Cr088. rending, in dire convulsion, lie then ceases to discuss the changes and for- mation of worlds, and condescends to inform us how to fertilize our soil, where to look for coal and iron, copper, tin, cobalt, lead, and where we need not look for either. He is the Milton of poetry, and the Watt of philosophy. And here let m6 add, that the recent application of chemistry to agriculture is producing the most surprising results, in increasing and improving the prod- ucts of the earth, and setting at de- fiance Malthuss theory of population. In medicine, that great and most useful branch of physics, our country- men have been most distinguished. From the days of the great philosopher, physician, patriot, and statesman, Ben- jamin Rush, down to the present period, our country has been unsur- passed in thin branch; but I have not time even to give an outline of the eminent Americans, whose improve- ments and discoveries in medicine have contributed so much to elevate the character of our country, and advance the comfort and happiness of man. Rush, one of the founders oC this branch in America, was one of the signers of our Declaration of Independence, and his school of medicine was as inde- pendent and national as his course in our Revolutionary struggle. Statistics are chiefly concerned, as furnishing the facts connected with government and political economy, but they are also ancillary to physics. The statistical work of Mr. Archibald Russell, of New York, which immediately preceded the last census, contained many valuable suggestions, some of which were adopt- ed by Congress; and had more been incorporated into the law, the census would have been much more complete and satisfactory. The recent statistical work of Mr. George Tucker, of Virginia, on the census of 1840, is distinguished by great talent and research, and is in- valuable to the scholar, the philoso- pher, the statesman, and philanthro- pist. THE CROSS. HOLY FATHER, Thou this day Dost a cross upon me lay. If I tremble as I lift, First, and feel Thine awful gift, Let me tremble not for pain, But lest I may lose the gain Which thereby my soul should bless, Through mine own unworthiness. Let me, drawing deeper breath, Stand more firmly, lest beneath Thy load I sink, and slavishly In the dust it crusheth me. Bearing this, so may I strength Gather to receive at length In turn eternal glorys great And far more exceeding weight. The Cr088. 85 No, I am not crushed. I stand. But again Thy helping hand Reach to me, my pitying Sire: I would bear my burden higher, Bear it up so near to Thee, That Thou shouldst bear it still with me. He, upon whose careless head Never any load is laid, With an earthward eye doth oft Stoop and lounge too slothfully: Burdened heads are held aloft With a nobler dignity. By Thine own strong arm still led, Let me never backward tread, Panic-driven in base retreat, The path the Masters steadfast feet Unswervingly, if bleeding, trod Unto victory and God. The standard-bearer doth not wince, Who bears the ensigns of his prince, Through triumphs, in his galled palm, Or turn aside to look for balm? Nay, for the glory thrice outweighs The petty price of pains he pays! Till the appointed time is past Let me clasp Thy token fast. Ere I lay it down to rest, Late or early, be impressed So its stamp upon my soul That, while all the ages roll, Questionless, it may be known The Shepherd marked me for His own; Because I wear the crimson brand Of all the flock washed by His hand For my passing pain or loss Signed with the eternal cross. 36 The Englich Pre88. THE ENGLISH PRESS. I-v.. IT was in January, 1785, that there appeaied, for the first time, a journal with the title of The Daily Universal 1?egister, the proprietor and printer of which was John Walter, of Printing House Square, a quiet, little, out-of-the- way nook, nestling under the shadow of St. Pauls, not known to one man in a thousand of the daily wayfarers at the base of Wrens mighty monu- ment, but destined to become as fa- mous and as well known as any spot of ground in historic London. This newspaper boasted but four pages, and was composed by a new process, with types consisting of words and syl- lables instead of single letters. On New Years day, 1788, its denomination was changed to The Times, a name which is potent all the world over, whither- soever Englishmen convey themselves and their belongings, and wherever the mighty utterances of the sturdy Anglo- Saxo:i tongue are heard. It was long before the infant Jupiter began to exhibit any foreshadowing of his fu- ture greatness, and he had a very diffi- cult and up-hill struggle to wage. The .3iiorning Post, The iforning Herald, The Horning Chronicle, and The General Advertiser amply supplied or seemed to supply the wants of the reading public, and the new competitor for public fa- vor did not exhibit such superior abili- ty as to attract any great attention or to diminish the subscription lists of its rivals. The Horning Herald had been started in 1780 by Parson Bate, who quarrelled with his colleagues of The Post. This journal, which is noiV the organ of mild and antiquated conser- vatism, was originally started upon liberal principles. Bate immediately ranged himself upon the side of the Prince of Wales and his party, and thus his fortunes were secured. In 1781 his paper sustained a prosecution, and the printer was sentenced to pay a fine of 100, and to undergo one year~s im- prisonment, for a libel upon the Russian ambassador. For this same libel the printers and publishers of The London Courant, The .Yoon Gazette, The Gazet- teer, The Whitehall Evening Journal, The St. Jamess Chronicle, and The Middlesex Journal received various sentences of fine and imprisonment, together with, in some cases, the indignity of the pil- lory. Prosecutions for libel abounded in those days. Horace Walpole says that, dating from Wilkess famous No. 45, no less than two hundred informa- tions had been laid, a much larger num- ber than during the whole thirty-three years of the previous reign. But the great majority of these must have fallen to the gound, for, in 1791, the then at- torney-general. stated that, in the last thirty-one years, there had been seventy prosecutions for libel, and about fifty convictions, in twelve of which the sentences had been severeincluding even, in five instances, the pillory. The law of libel was extremely harsh, to say the least of it. One of its dogmas was that a publisher could be held criminally liable for the acts of his servants, unless proved to be neither privy nor assenting to such acts. The monstrous part of this was that, after a time, the judges refused to receive any exculpatory evidence, and ruled that the publication of a libel by a publishers servant was proof sufficient of that publishers criminality. This rule actually obtained until 1843, when it was swept away by an act of Parlia- ment, under the auspices of Lord Camp- bell. The second was even worse; for it placed the judge above the jury, and superseded the action of that dearly prized safeguard of an Englishmans

The English Press. IV. 36-46

36 The Englich Pre88. THE ENGLISH PRESS. I-v.. IT was in January, 1785, that there appeaied, for the first time, a journal with the title of The Daily Universal 1?egister, the proprietor and printer of which was John Walter, of Printing House Square, a quiet, little, out-of-the- way nook, nestling under the shadow of St. Pauls, not known to one man in a thousand of the daily wayfarers at the base of Wrens mighty monu- ment, but destined to become as fa- mous and as well known as any spot of ground in historic London. This newspaper boasted but four pages, and was composed by a new process, with types consisting of words and syl- lables instead of single letters. On New Years day, 1788, its denomination was changed to The Times, a name which is potent all the world over, whither- soever Englishmen convey themselves and their belongings, and wherever the mighty utterances of the sturdy Anglo- Saxo:i tongue are heard. It was long before the infant Jupiter began to exhibit any foreshadowing of his fu- ture greatness, and he had a very diffi- cult and up-hill struggle to wage. The .3iiorning Post, The iforning Herald, The Horning Chronicle, and The General Advertiser amply supplied or seemed to supply the wants of the reading public, and the new competitor for public fa- vor did not exhibit such superior abili- ty as to attract any great attention or to diminish the subscription lists of its rivals. The Horning Herald had been started in 1780 by Parson Bate, who quarrelled with his colleagues of The Post. This journal, which is noiV the organ of mild and antiquated conser- vatism, was originally started upon liberal principles. Bate immediately ranged himself upon the side of the Prince of Wales and his party, and thus his fortunes were secured. In 1781 his paper sustained a prosecution, and the printer was sentenced to pay a fine of 100, and to undergo one year~s im- prisonment, for a libel upon the Russian ambassador. For this same libel the printers and publishers of The London Courant, The .Yoon Gazette, The Gazet- teer, The Whitehall Evening Journal, The St. Jamess Chronicle, and The Middlesex Journal received various sentences of fine and imprisonment, together with, in some cases, the indignity of the pil- lory. Prosecutions for libel abounded in those days. Horace Walpole says that, dating from Wilkess famous No. 45, no less than two hundred informa- tions had been laid, a much larger num- ber than during the whole thirty-three years of the previous reign. But the great majority of these must have fallen to the gound, for, in 1791, the then at- torney-general. stated that, in the last thirty-one years, there had been seventy prosecutions for libel, and about fifty convictions, in twelve of which the sentences had been severeincluding even, in five instances, the pillory. The law of libel was extremely harsh, to say the least of it. One of its dogmas was that a publisher could be held criminally liable for the acts of his servants, unless proved to be neither privy nor assenting to such acts. The monstrous part of this was that, after a time, the judges refused to receive any exculpatory evidence, and ruled that the publication of a libel by a publishers servant was proof sufficient of that publishers criminality. This rule actually obtained until 1843, when it was swept away by an act of Parlia- ment, under the auspices of Lord Camp- bell. The second was even worse; for it placed the judge above the jury, and superseded the action of that dearly prized safeguard of an Englishmans like English Press. liberties, it asserting that it was for the judge alone, and not for the jury, to decide as to the criminality of a libeL Such startling and outrageous doctrines as these roused the whole country, and the matter was taken up in Parliament. Fierce debates fol- lowed from time to time, and the as- sailants of this monstrous overriding of the Constitutionfor it was nothing lesswere unremitting in their efforts. Among the most distinguished of these were Burke, Sheridan, and Erskine, the last of whom was constantly engaged as counsel for the defence in the most celebrated libel trials of the day. In 1791, Fox brought in a bill for amend- ing the law of libel, and so great had the change become in public opinion, through the agitation that had been carried on, that it passed unanimously in the House of Commons. Erskine took a very prominent part in this measure, and, after demonstrating that the judges had arrogated to themselves the rights and functions of the jury, said that if; upon a motion in arrest of judgment, the innocence of the de- fendants intention was argued before the court, the answer would be, and was, given uniformly, that the verdict of guilty had concluded the criminality of the intention, though the consider- ation of that question had been by the judges authority wholly withdrawn from the jury at the trial. The bill met with opposition in the House of Lords, espcially from Lord Thurlow, who procured the postponement of the second reading until the opinion of the judges should have been ascer- tained. They, on being appealed to, declared that the criminality or inno- cence of any act was the result of the judgment which the law pronounces upon that act, and must therefore be in all cases and under all circumstances matter of law, and not matter of fact, and that the criminality or innocence of letters or papers set forth as overt acts of treason, was matter of law, and not of fact. These startling assertions had not much weight with the House of Lords, thanks to the able arguments of Lord Camden, and the bill passed, with a protest attached from Lord Thurlow and five others, in which they predicted the confusion and destruc- tion of the law of England. Of this bill, Macaulay says: Fox and Pitt are fairly entitled to divide the high honor of having added to our statute book the inestimable law which places the liberty of the press under the protection of juries. Intimately connected with this struggle for the liberty of public opinion was another mighty engine, which was brought to bear, and that was the Public Association, with its legitimate offspring, the Public Meet- ing. The power and influence which this organization exerted were enor- mous, and, though it was often em- ployed in a bad or unworthy cause such, for instance, as the Protestant agitation, culminating in Lord George Gordons riots in 1780yet it has been of incalculable advantage to the prog- ress of the state, the enlightenment of the nation, and the advancement of civilization, freedom, and truth. Take, for instance, the Slave-Trade Associa- tion, the object and scope of which are thus admirably described by Erskine May, in his Constitutional History of England: It was almost beyond the range of politics. It had no constitutional change to seek, no interest to promote, no prejudice to gratify, not even the national welfare to advance. Its clients were a despised race in a distant clime an inferior type of the human family for whom natures of a higher mould felt repugnance rather than sympathy. Benevolence and Christian charity were its only incentives. On the other hand the slave-trade was supported by some of the most powerful classes in the countrymerchants, shipowners, plant- ers. Before it could be proscribed, vested interests must be overborne ignorance enlightenedprejudices and indifference overcomepublic opinion converted. And to this great work did Granville Sharpe, Wilberforce, Clarkson, and other noble spirits de 88 like English Pres8. vote their lives. Never was cause sup- ported by greater earnestness and ac- tivity. The organization of the society comprehended all classes and religious denominations. Evidence was collect- ed from every source to lay bare the cruelties and iniquities of the ~traffic. illustration and argument were inex- haustible. Men of feeling and sensi- bility appealed with deep emotion to the religious feelings and benevolence of the people. If extravagance and bad taste sometimes courted ridicule, the high purpose, just sentiments, and elo- quence of the leaders of the movement won respect and admiration. Tracts found their way into every house, pul- pits and platforms resounded with the wrongs of the negro; petitions were multiplied, ministers and Parliament moved to inquiry and action Parliament was soon prevailed upon to attempt the mitigation of the worst evils which had been brought to light, and in little more than twenty years the slave trade was utterly condemned and prohibited. And this magnificent result sprang fromaPublicAssociation. Jnthis,the most noble crusade that has ever been undertaken by man, the newspapers bore a conspicuous part, and though, as might be expected, they did not all take the same views, yet they rendered good service to the glorious cause. But this tempting subject has carried us away into a rather lengthy digression from our immediate topic. To return, therefore: In 1786 there was a memorable ac- tion for libel brought by Pitt against The IIfornirty Herald and The Korning Advertiser, for accusing him of having gambled in the public funds. He laid his damages at 10,000, but only ob- tained a verdict for 250 in the first case, and 150 in the second. In 1789 John Walter was sentenced to pay a fine of 50, to be exposed in the pil- lory for an hour, and to be imprisoned for one year, at the expiration of which he was ordered to find substantial bail for his good behavior for seven years, for a libel upon the Duke of York. In the following year he was again prose- cuted and convicted for libels upon the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York, and the Duke of Clarence, but, after undergoing four months of his second term of one years imprisonment, he was set free, at the instance of the Prince of Wales. The last trial for libel, previous to the passing of Foxs libel bill, was that of one Stockdale, for publishing a defence of Warren Hastings, a pamphlet that was consid- ered as libellously reflecting upon the House of Commons. However, through the great exertions of Erskine, his counsel, he was acquitted. In 1788 appeared the first daily even- ing paper, The Star, which continued until 1831, when it was amalgamated with The AThion. The year 1789 is memorable for the assumption of the editorship of The 3krning Chronicle by James Perry, under whose management it reached a greater pitch of prosperity and success than it ever enjoyed either before or sincegreater, in fact, than any journal had hitherto attained. One of the chief reasons of this success was that he printed the nights debates in his next mornings issue, a thing which had never before been accomplished or even attempted. Another secret of Perrys success was the wonderful tact with which, while continuing to be thoroughly outspoken and independent, he yet contrivedwith one exception, hereafter to be noticedto steer clear of giving offence to the Government. He is thus spoken of by a writer in The Edinlnergh Review: He held the office of editor for nearly forty years, and he held firm to his party and his prin- ciples all that timea long time for political honesty and consistency to last! He was a man of strong natural sense, some acquired knowledge, a quick tact, prudent, plausible, and with great heartiness and warmth of feeling. His want of education, however, now and then betrayed him into errors, and a curious instance of this is, that on one occasion, when he meant to say epithalamia, he wrote and printed epicedia, a mistake which he corrected 17~e Engli8h Pre8s. 39 with the greatest coolness on the fol- lowing day thus: For epicedia read epithalamia. The next event of importance is the appearance of Bells Weekly Messenger, in 1796, a newspaper that met wi.~h immediate success, and is the only one of the weeklies of that period which have survived to the present time. The year 96 is also remarkable for an ac- tion brought by The Telegraph against The Morning Post, for damages suffered by publishing an extract from a French paper, which purported to give the in- telligence of peace between the Em- peror of Germany and France, but which was forged and surreptitiously sent to The Telegraph by the proprietors of The Aforning Post. The result was that The Telegraph obtained a verdict for 100 damages. In 1794, The Morn- ing Advertiser had been established by the Licensed Victuallers of London, with the intention of benefiting by its sale the funds of the asylum which that body had recently established. It at once obtained a large circulation, inas- much as every publican became a sub- scriber. It exists to the present day, and is known by the slang solrri~uet of the Tub, an appellation suggested by its elient~ile. Its opinions are radi- cal, and it is conducted not without a fair share of ability, but, occasionally venturing out of its depth, it has more than once been most successfully and amusingly hoaxed. One of these cases was when a correspondent contributed an extraordinary Greek inscription, which he asserted had been recently discovered. This so-called inscription was in reality nothing but some Eng- lish doggerel of anything but a refined character turned into Greek. In 1797, Canning brought out The Anti-Jacobin as a Government organ, and Giffordwho began life as a cob- blers apprentice at an out-of-the-way little town in Devonshire, and after- ward became editor of The Quarterly Review in its palmiest dayswas in- trusted with its management. The Anti-Jacobin lasted barely eight months, but was probably the most potent satiri- cal production that has ever emanated from the English press. The first talent of the day was engaged upon it; and among its contributors we find Pitt, Lord Mornington, afterward Marquis of Wellesley, Lord Morpeth, afterward Earl of Cariisle, Jenkinson, afterward Earl of Liverpool, Canning, George Ellis, Southey, Lord Bathurst, Adding- ton, John Hookham Frere, and a host of other prominent names at the time. The poetry of The Anti-Jaeobinits strongest featurehas been collected into a volume, which has passed through several editions. This journal was the first to inaugurate sensation headings; for the three columns which were respectively entitled Mistakes, Misrepresentations, Lies, and which most truculently ,slashed away at the opponents of the political opinions of The Anti-Jacobin, decidedly come under that category. We have now arrived at another era of persecution. Those were ticklish times, and Pitt, fearing lest revolution- ary theories might be promulgated through the instrumentality of the press, determined to tighten the reins, and curb that freedom of expression which, after an interval of rest from prosecution, was manifestly degenerat- ing. Poor Perry was arraigned on a charge of exhibiting a leaning toward France, and he and his printer were fined and sent to prison. Pitt really appears to have had good ground for action, in one instance, at least, for The Courier had made certain statements which might fairly be construed as hostile to the Government, and favor- able to France. Moreover, it was stated in the House of Commons by the at- torney-general, that a parcel of un- stamped newspapers had been seized in a neutral vessel bound to France, con- taming information which, if any one had written and sent in another form to the enemy, he would have commit- ted the highest crime of which a mau 40 fl7te Engli8h Press. can be guilty. Among other things, the departure of the West India fleet under the convoy of two frigates only was noticed, and the greatest fears were expressed for its safety in conse- quence. Another thing mentioned was~ that as there was to be a levy en masse in this country, the French would not be so ill advised as to come here, but would make a swoop upon Ireland. A bill was brought forward, the chief provisions of which were that the pro- prietors and printers of all newspapers should inscribe their names in a book, kept for that purpose at the stamp office, in order that the book might be produced in court on occasion of any trial, as evidence of the proprietorship and responsibility, and that a copy of each issue of every newspaper should be filed at the stamp office, to be pro- duced as good and sufficient evidence of publication. A vehement debate followed, in the course of which Lord William Russell declared the bill to be an insidious blow at the liberty of the press; and Sir W. Pulteney said that the liberty of the press was of such a sacred nature that we ought to suffer many inconveniences rather than check its influence in such a manner as to endanger our liberties; for he had no hesitation in saying that without the liberty of the press the freedom of this country would be a mere shadow. But the great speech of the debate was that of Sir Francis Burdett, who did not, then foresee that the time would come when he himself should make an at- tack upon the press. The liberty of the press, he said, is of so delicate a nature, and so im- portant for the preservation of that small portion of liberty which still re- mains to the country, that I cannot al- low the bill to pass without giving it my opposition. A good Government, a free Government, has nothing to ap- prehend, and everything to hope from the liberty of the press; it reflects a lustre upon all its actions, and fosters every virtue. But despotism courts shade and obscurity, and dreads the scrutinizing eye of liberty, the freedom of the press, which prics into its secret recesses, discovering it in its lurking holes, and drags it forth to public de- testation. If a tyrannically disposed prince, supported by an unprincipled, profligate minister, backed by a no- toriously corrupt Parliament, were to cast about for means to secure such a triple tyranny, I know of no means he could devise so effectual for that pur- pose as the bill now upon the table. Spite, however, of this vigorous op- position, the bill passed, and among other coercive measures it decreed heavy penalties against any infringe- ment of the stamp act, such as: Every person who shall knowingly and wil- fully retain or keep in custody any newspaper not duly stamped, shall for- feit twenty pounds for each such un- stamped newspaper he shall so have in custody every person who shall knowingly or wilfully, directly or in- directly, send or carry or cause to be sent or carried out of Great Britain any unstamped newspaper, shall forfeit one hundred pounds, and every person during the present war who shall send any newspaper out of Gs~eat Britain into any country not in amity with his Majesty, shall forfeit five hundred pounds. Stringent measures these, with a vengeance! The onslaught ini- tiated by Parliament was well second- ed by the judges, and Lord Kenyon especially distinguished himself as an unscrupulous (the word is not one whit too strong) foe to the press. To such an extent was this persecution carried, that the printer, publisher, and proprietor of Tke (laurier were fined and imprisoned for the following libel upon the Emperor Paul: The Emperor of Russia is rendering him- self obnoxious to his subjects by va- rious acts of tyranny, and ridiculous in the eyes of Europe by his inconsistency. He has now passed an edict. prohibit- ing the exportation of timber deal, etc. To fine a man 100 and imprison him for six months for this was a little overstepping the mark, and a reaction soon followed, as a proof of which may The English Press. 41 be noticed the act 89th and 40th George ILL, cap. 72, which allows the newspaper to be increased from the old regulation size of twenty-eight inches by twenty to that of thirty inches and a half by twenty. William Cobbett now makes his bow as an English journalist. He was al- ready nitorious in America, as the au- thor of the Letters of Peter Porcupine, published at Philadelphia; and, upon his return to England, he projected an anti-democratic newspaper, under the title of The Porcupine, the first number of which appeared in November, 1800. It was a very vigorous production, and at once commanded public attention and a large sale. Nevertheless it was but short lived, for the passions and fears to which it ministered soon caimed down; and, its occupation being gone, it naturally gave up the ghost and died. Among other celebrities who now wrote for the newspapers are Porson, the accomplished but bibulous Greek scholar and critic; Tom Camp- bell, several of whose most beautiful poems first appeared in the columns of The Morning Chronicle, Charles Lamb, Southey, Wordsworth, and Mackintosh. These last five wrote for The Morning Post, and raised it, by their brilliant contributions, from the last place among the dailiesits circulation had actually sunk to three hundred and fifty before they joined its ranksto the second place, and caused it to tread very close- ly upon the heels of The Chronicle. Tom Campbell, besides his poetry, wrote prose articles, and was also regularly engaged as a writer in The Star. Por- son married James Perrys sister, and many scholarly articles which graced the columns of The Morning Chronicle toward the close of the eighteenth cen- tury are generally believed to have emanated from his pen. Mackintosh had written foreign political articles in The Oracle and Morning Chronicle, but, marrying the sister of Daniel Stuart, the proprietor of The Morning Po8t and The Courier, he transferred his services to those journals, as well as occasion- ally to The Star, which belonged to a brother of Stuart. Southey and Words- worths contributions to Stuarts papers were principally poetry. Charles Lambs contributions were principally short, witty paragraphs, which he contributed to any of the papers that would receive them, and for which he received the magnificent remuneration of sixpence each! Coleridge had first appeared in the newspaper world as a contributor of poetry to The Morning Chronicle, but was soon after regularly engaged upon The Morning Post and The Courier. Some of his prose articles have been collected together into a volume, and republished with the title of Essays on His Own Times. He was especially hostile to France, and the best proof of the ability and vigor of his anti- Gallican articles is that Napoleon ac- tually sent a frigate in pursuit of him, when he was returning from Leghorn to England, with the avowed intention of getting him into his power if possi- ble. The First Consul had endeavored to get him arrested at Rome, but Cole- ridge got a friendly hintaccording to some from Jerome Bonaparte, and ac- cording to others from the Pope, who assisted him in making his escape. Bonaparte had probably gained intelli- gence of the whereabout of Coleridge from a debate in the House of Com- mons, in the course of which Fox said that the rupture of the Peace of Amiens was owing to Coleridges articles in The Morning Post, and added that the writer was then at Rome, and there- fore might possibly fall into the hands of his enemy. Napoleon was very much irritated by the attacks upon him in The Morning Chronicle as well as by those in Cobbetts Political Register The Porcupine under a new name the Courrier Fran~,ois de Londresthe French emigris paperand LAmligu, which was rather a political pamphlet, published at periodical intervals, than a regular newspaper. He therefore thought proper peremptorily to call 42 17w Engli8h Pre& ~. upon the English Government to put these papers down with a high hand. l3ut the British cabinet sent this noble reply: His Majesty neither can nor will in consequence of any representation or menace from a foreign power make any concession which may be in the small- est degree dangerous to the liberty of the press as secured by the Constitution of this country. This liberty is justly dear to every British subject; the Con- stitution admits of no previous re- straints upon publications of any de- scription; but there exist judicatures wholly independent of the executive, capable of taking cognizance of such publications as the law deems to be criminal; and which are bound to in- flict the punishment the delinquents may deserve. These judicatures may investigate and punish not only libels against the Government and magistracy of this kingdom, but, as has been re- peatedly experienced, of publications defamatory of those in whose hands the administration of foreign Governments is placed. Our Government neither has, nor wants, any other protection than what the laws of the country af- ford; and though they are willing and ready to give to every foreign Govern- ment all the protection against offences of this nature which the principles of their laws and Constitution will admit, they can never consent to new-model those laws or to change their Constitu- tion to gratify the wishes of any for- eign power. But Napoleon indignantly declined to avail himself of the means of redress suggested to him, and continued to urge the English Government; who at length made a sort of compromise, by undertaking a prosecution of Peltier, the proprietor of LAmi~igu. Mackin- tosh was his counsel; and in spite of his speech for the defence, which Spencer Perceval characterized as one of the most splendid displays of elo- quence he ever had occasion to hear, and Lord Ellenborough as eloquence almost unparalleled, Peltier was found guiltybut, as hostilities soon after broke out again with France, was never sentenced. The best part of the story, however, is, that all the time ministers were paying Peltier in private for writ- ing the very articles for which they prosecuted him in public! This did not come out until some years after- ward, when Lord Castlereagh explained the sums thus expended as grants for public and not private service, and for conveying instructions to the Continent when no other mode could be found. The trial of Peltier aroused a strong feel- ing of indignation in the country; the English nation has always been very jealous of any interference with its laws at the dictation of any foreign potentate, as Lord Palmerston on a re- cent occasion found to his cost. Cobbett was soon after tried for a libelnot, however, upon Napoleon, but upon the English Government. There must have been an innate ten- dency in Cobbetts mind to set him- self in opposition to everything around him, for whereas he had made America too hot to hold him by his anti-repub- lican views, he now contrived to set the authorities at home against him by his advanced radicalism. He had to stand two trials in 1804, in connection with Robert Emmets rebellion. On the second of these he was fined 500, and Judge Johnson, one of the Irish judges, who was the author of the libels com- plained of, retired from his judicial position with a pension. These reflec- tions in question upon the Irish au- thorities would hardly be called libels now-a-days, consisting as they did chiefly of ridicule and satire, which was, after all, mild and harmless enough. In 1810, Cobbett got into trouble again. Some militia soldiers had been flogged, while a detachment of the German Legion stood by to maintain order. Cobbett immediately published a diatribe against flogging in the army and the employment of foreign mercenaries. He was indicted for a libel upon the German Legion, convicted, and sentenced to two y*~ars imprisonment, to pay a fine of 1,000, and to find secu4ty in 3,000 for his good behavior during seven yearsa Ike Englidl Press. 43 sentence which created universal dis- gust among all classes, and which was not too strongly designated by Sydney Smith as atrocious. The Oraclewhich, by the way, boasted Canning among its contribu- torswas rash enough to publish an article in defence of Lord Melville. The House of Commons fired up at this, and, led on by Sheridanquantum mutatus ab jib IFox, Wyndham, and others, who had formerly professed themselves friends to the liberty of the press, but who were now carried away by the virulence of party spirit, caused the publisher to be brought before them, and made him apologize and make his submission upon his knees. In 1805 appeared The News, a paper started by John Hunt and his brother Leigh, then but a mere boy, but who had, nevertheless, had scme experience in newspaper writing from having been an occasional contributor to The Travel- ler, an evening paper, that was after- ward amalgamated with The Globe, which still retains the double title. The year 1808 was fruitful in prosecu- tions for libels, but is chiefly remark- able for the appearance of Hunfs new paper, The E miner. This was con- ducted upon what was styled by their opponents revolutionary principles, an accusation which Leigh Hunt after- ward vehemently repudiated. This same year also gave birth to the first religious paper which had as yet ap- peared, under the name of The Instruc- tor, as well as to The Anti- Gallican, which seems to have quickly perished of spontaneous combustion, and The Political Register, an impudent piracy of the title of Cobbetts paper, and di- rected against him. In 1809, Govern- ment passed a bill in favor of news- papers, to amend some of the restric- tions under which they labored. This was done on account of the high price of paper:. and yet in the following year another attempt was made to ex- clude the reporters from the House of Commons. These men had always done their work well and honestly, although in their private lives some of them had not borne the very best char- acter. A capital story is told of Mark Supple, an Irish reporter of the old school, who was employed on The Ghronicle. One evening, when there was a sudden silence in the midst of a debate, Supple bawled out: A song from Mr. Speaker. The members could not have been more astonished had a bombshell been suddenly dis- charged into the midst of them; but, after a slight pause, every onePitt among the firstwent off into such shouts of laughter, that the halls of the House shook again. The sergeant~ at- arms was, however, sent to the gallery to ascertain who had had the audacity to propose such a thing; whereupon Supple winked at him and pointed out a meek, sober Quaker as the culprit. Broadbrim was immediately taken into custody; but Supple, being found out, was locked up in a solitary chamber to cool his heels for a while, and then having made a humble apology, to the effect that it was the dhrink that did it, or something of the kind, was set at liberty. But the reporters at the period of this unjust and foolish exclusion for it was successful for a timewere a very different class of men; and Sheri- dan told the House that of about twenty-three gentlemen who were now employed reporting parliamentary de- bates for the newspapers, no less than eighteen were men regularly educated at the universities of Oxford or Cani bridge, Edinburgh or Dublin, most of them graduates at those universities, and several of them had gained prizes and other distinctions there by their literary attainments. It was during this debate that Sheridan uttered that memorable and glowing eulogium upon the press which has been quoted in the first of the present series of articles. It has been shown that at one time the church was the profession which most liberally supplied the press with writers; but now the bar appears t~ 44 The Engli8h Pre8g. have furnished a very large share, and many young barristers had been and were reporters. The benchers of Lin- colns Inn endeavored to put a stop to this, and passed a by-law that no man who had ever been paid for writing in the newspapers should be eligible for a call to the bar. This by-law was ap- pealed against in the House of Com- mons, and, after a debate, in which Sheridan spoke very warmly against the benchers, the petition was with- drawn upon the understanding that the by-law should be recalled. From that time to the present, writing in the newspapers and reporting the debates have been the means whereby many of the most distinguished of our lawyers have been enabled to struggle through the days of their studentship and the earlier years of their difficult career. The last attempt of the House of Commons against the press culminated in Sir Francis Burdetts coming for- ward in its behalf and,in an article in Cobbetts paper, among other things he asserted that the House of Commons had no legal right to imprison the People of England. In acting thus, Sir Francis amply atoned for the ridiculous attempt which, prompted by wounded vanity, he had made a few years before to engage the interference of the House of Commons in his behalf in what he called a breach of privilegethe said breach of privilege consisting merely in an advertisement in The True Briton of the resolutions passed at a public meet- ing to petition against his return to Parliament. The results of his bold attack upon the power of the House of Commons, his imprisonment, the riots, and lamentable loss of life which fol- lowed, are so well known as to render any particularizing of them here un- necessary. Originating with this affair was a Government prosecution of The Day, the upshot of which was that Eugenius Hoche, the editorwho was also proprietor of another flourishing journal, The .Yationcd Registerone of the most able, honorable, and gentle- manly men ever connected with the press, of whom it has been truly said that during the lapse of more than twenty years that he was connected with the journals of London, he never gained an enemy or lost a friend, was most unjustly condemned to a years imprisonment. The next important event is the trial of the Hunts for a libel in The Examiner in 1811. Brougham was their counsel, and made a masterly defence; and, though Lord Ellenborough, the pre- siding judge, summed up dead against the defendantsthe judges always ap- pear to have done sothe jury acquit- ted them. Yet Brougham in the course of his address drew the following un- favorable picture of the then state of the press: The licentiousness of the press has reached to a height which it certainly never attained in any other country, nor even in this at any former period. That licentiousness has indeed of late years appeared to despise all the bounds which had once been prescribed to the attacks on private character, insomuch that there is not only no personage so important or exaltedfor of that I do not complain-but no perspn so hum- ble, harmless, and retired as to escape the defamation which is daily and houriy poured forth by the venal crew to gratify the idle curiosity or still less excusable malignity of the public. To mark out for the indulgence of that propensity individuals retiring into the privacy of domestic lifeto hunt them down and drag them forth as a laugh- ing stock to the vulgar, has become in our days with some men the road even to popularity, but with multitudes the means of earning a base subsistence. Soon after this trial and another provincial one connected with the same libel one gets quite sick of the word in which the defendants were found guilty in spite of Broughams exertions in their behalf and the previous ver- dict of the London jury in the case of the Hunts, a debate arose in the House of Commons on the subject of ex-offleio informations generally, and especially with regard to their applicability to the The Engli8h Press. 45 case of newspapers. In the course of this debate Lord Folkestone charged the Government with partiality in their prosecutions, and said: It appears that the real rule which guides these prosecutions is this: that The Couiie~ and the other papers which support the ministry of the day, may say whatever they please without the fear of prose- cution, whereas The Examiner, The In- dependent IFhig, The Statesman, and papers that take the contrary line, are sure to be prosecuted for any expres- sion that may be offensive to the min- ister an accusation which was de- cidedly true. In 1812 the Hunts were again prose- cuted for a libel upon the Prince Re- gent, and sentenced to be imprisoned two years, and to pay a. fine of 500. But the imprisonment was alleviated in every possible way, as we gather from Leigh Hunts charming descrip- tion of his prison in his Autobiography. I papered the walls with a trellis of roses; I had the ceiling colored with clouds and sky; the barred windows were screened with venetian blinds; and when my book cases were set up with their busts and flowers, and a pianoforte made its appearance, per- haps there was not a handsomer room on that side of the water There was a little yard outside, railed off from another belonging to a neighboring ward. This yard I shut in with green palings, adorned it with a trellis, bor- dered it with a thick bed of earth from a nursery, and even eontrived to have a grass plot. The earth I filled with flowers and young trees. There was an apple tree from which we managed to get a pudding the second year. As to my flowers, they were allowed to be perfect. We have now arrived at a period which may almost be called that of the present, inasmuch as many well. known names which still continue to adorn our current literature first begin to appear, together with many others, the bearers of which have but recently departed from among us. Cyrus Red- ding, John Payne Collier, and Samuel Carter Hall still survive, and, it is to be hoped, are far off yet from the end of their honorable career; and William Hazlitt, Theodore Hook, Lord Camp- bell, Dr. Maginn, Dr. Croly, Thomas Barnes, William Jordan, and many others, belong as much to the present generation as to the past. Among other distinguished writers must be mentioned Jeremy Bentham and David Ricardo, who contributed articles of sterling merit upon political economy and finance to the newspapers, and es- pecially to The !iforning Chronicle, in which journal William Hazlitt succeed- ed Lord Campbell, then plain John Campbell, as theatrical critic. Cyrus Redding was at one time editor of Galignanis Miessenger, and was after- ward connected with The Pilot, which was considered the best authority on Indian matters, and in some way or another, at different times, with most of the newspapers of the day. John P. Collier wrote in The Times and Morn- ing Chronicle, Thomas Barnes in The Morning Chronicle and Champion, Croly and S. C. Hall in The New Timesa newspaper started by Stoddart, the editor of The Times, after his quarrel with Walter Magiun in The New Times, Standard, John Bull, and many others, William Hazlitt in The Morning Chronicle, Examiner, and Atlas, and Theodore Hook in ,John Bull, of which he was the editor. In 1815, the advertisement duty, which had hitherto stood at three shil- lings, was raised to three shillings and sixpence, and an additional halfpenny was elapped on to the stamp duty. There were then fifty-five newspapers published in London, of which fifteen were daily, one hundred and twenty- two in the provinces of England and Wales, twenty-six in Scotland, an~ forty-nine in Ireland. And here let us pause to considsr the position which the press had reached. It had survived all the attempts made to crush it; nay, more, it had tri- umphed over all its foes. Grateful to Parliament, whenever that august. *~ 46 Life on a Blockader. semblage befriended it, and standing manfully at bay whenever its liberties had been threatened in either House, it had overcome all resistance, and Lords and Commons recognized in it a safe and honorable tribunal, before which their acts would be impartially judged, as well as the truest and most legitimate medium between the rulers and the ruled. The greatest names of the day in politics and in literature were proud to range themselves under its banners and to aid in the glorious work of extending its influence, devel- oping its usefulness, and elevating its tone and character; and the people at large had learned to look upon it as the firm friend of national enlighten- ment, and the most trustworthy guard- ian of their constitutional liberties. LIFE ON A BLOCKADER. LIFE in the camp and in the field has formed the staple of much writing since the commencement of the war, and all have now at least a tolerable idea of the soldiers ordinary life. Our sail- ors are a different matter, and while we study the daily papers for Army news, we are apt to ignore the Navy, and for- get that, though brave men are in the field, a smaller proportion of equally brave serve on a more uncertain field, where not one alone but many forms of death are before them. Shot and shell it is the soldiers duty to face, and the sailors as well, but one ball at sea may do the work of a thousand on shore: it may pass through a vessel, touching not a soul on board, and yet from the flying splinters left in its path cause the death of a score; its way may lie through the boilers, still touching no one, and yet the most horrible of all deaths, that by scalding steam, result. It may chance to hit the powder maga- zine, and sudden annihilation be the fate of both ship and crew; or, passing below the water line, bring a no less certain, though slower fatethat which met the brave little Keokuk at Charleston, not many months since. Life at sea is a compound of dangers, and though the old tar may congratu- late himself in a stormy night on being safe in the maintop, and sing after Dibdin Lord help us! how I pitys All unhappy folks on shore to the majority of our present Navy, made up as it is, in part at least, of volunteer officers and men, it is essen- tially distasteful, and endured only as the soldier endures trench duty or forced marchesas a means of sooner ending the Rebellion, and bringing white-winged Peace in the stead of grim War. The history of our ironclads, from their first placing on tl~e stocks, to the present time, when Charleston engross- es them all, is read with avidity, but few know anything of life on our block- aders, or, thinking there is not the dig- nity of danger associated with them, take little or no interest in what they may chance to see concerning them. Those who have friends on blockade duty may be interested to know more of their daily life than can be crowded into the compass of home letters, and the writer, one of the squadron off Wil- mington, would constitute himself his- torian of the doings of at least one ship of the fleet. Wilmington, Charleston, and Mobile, alone remain of all the rebel ports, but

Life on a Blockader 46-55

46 Life on a Blockader. semblage befriended it, and standing manfully at bay whenever its liberties had been threatened in either House, it had overcome all resistance, and Lords and Commons recognized in it a safe and honorable tribunal, before which their acts would be impartially judged, as well as the truest and most legitimate medium between the rulers and the ruled. The greatest names of the day in politics and in literature were proud to range themselves under its banners and to aid in the glorious work of extending its influence, devel- oping its usefulness, and elevating its tone and character; and the people at large had learned to look upon it as the firm friend of national enlighten- ment, and the most trustworthy guard- ian of their constitutional liberties. LIFE ON A BLOCKADER. LIFE in the camp and in the field has formed the staple of much writing since the commencement of the war, and all have now at least a tolerable idea of the soldiers ordinary life. Our sail- ors are a different matter, and while we study the daily papers for Army news, we are apt to ignore the Navy, and for- get that, though brave men are in the field, a smaller proportion of equally brave serve on a more uncertain field, where not one alone but many forms of death are before them. Shot and shell it is the soldiers duty to face, and the sailors as well, but one ball at sea may do the work of a thousand on shore: it may pass through a vessel, touching not a soul on board, and yet from the flying splinters left in its path cause the death of a score; its way may lie through the boilers, still touching no one, and yet the most horrible of all deaths, that by scalding steam, result. It may chance to hit the powder maga- zine, and sudden annihilation be the fate of both ship and crew; or, passing below the water line, bring a no less certain, though slower fatethat which met the brave little Keokuk at Charleston, not many months since. Life at sea is a compound of dangers, and though the old tar may congratu- late himself in a stormy night on being safe in the maintop, and sing after Dibdin Lord help us! how I pitys All unhappy folks on shore to the majority of our present Navy, made up as it is, in part at least, of volunteer officers and men, it is essen- tially distasteful, and endured only as the soldier endures trench duty or forced marchesas a means of sooner ending the Rebellion, and bringing white-winged Peace in the stead of grim War. The history of our ironclads, from their first placing on tl~e stocks, to the present time, when Charleston engross- es them all, is read with avidity, but few know anything of life on our block- aders, or, thinking there is not the dig- nity of danger associated with them, take little or no interest in what they may chance to see concerning them. Those who have friends on blockade duty may be interested to know more of their daily life than can be crowded into the compass of home letters, and the writer, one of the squadron off Wil- mington, would constitute himself his- torian of the doings of at least one ship of the fleet. Wilmington, Charleston, and Mobile, alone remain of all the rebel ports, but Life on a Blockader. 47 it is with the first we have to do where it is, how it looks, & c. Right down the coast, some 450 miles from New York, and a hundred or more from the stormy cape of Hatteras, you will see the river which floats fhe merchandise to and from the docks at Wilmington, emptying into the ocean at Cape Fear, from which it takes its name. The river has two mouths, or rather a mouth proper, which opens to the south of the cape, and an opening into the side of the river, north of the cape called New Inlet. Perhaps more seek entrance by this inlet than the mouth, which is guarded by Fort Gas- well, a strong, regularly built fort, once in Union hands, mounting some long- range English Whitworth guns. One other fort has been built here since the commencement of the war. This inlet is guarded by a long line of earthworks, mounted by Whitworth and other. guns of heavy caliber. Wilmington lies some twenty miles from the mouth, and fif- teen north of New Inlet. One great characteristic of this coast is the columns of smoke, which every few miles shoot up from its forests and lowlands. All along the toasts may be seen mounds where pitch, tar, and tur- pentine are being made. These prim- itive manufactories for the staple of North Carolina are in many places close down to the waters edge, whence their products may easily be shipped on schooners or light-draft vessels, with little danger of being caught by the blockaders, who draw too mudi water to make a very near approach to shore. So much for the coast we guard; now for ourselves. Our vessel, of some thirteen hundred tons, and manned by a crew of about 200 all told, reached blockade ground the early part of March. Our voyage down the coast had been unmarked by any specinl incident, and when at dusk, one spring afternoon, we descried a faint blue line of land in the distance, aad knew it as the enemys territory, speculation was rife as to the prospect of prizes. About ti r. M. a vessel hove in sight, which, as it neared, proved to be a steamer of about half our tonnage. Our guns were trained upon the craft, but, instead of running, she steamed up toward us. We struck a light, but it was as loth to show its brightness as the ancient bushel-hidden candle. A rope was turpentined, and touched with burning match, but the flame spread up and down the whole spiral length of the rope torch, to the infinite vexation of the lighter. Fierce stampings and fiercer execrations swift- ly terrorized the trembling quartermas- ter, who, good fellow, did his best, and then, frightened into doing something desperate, made this blaze. We hailed them while waiting for fire to throw signals, letting them know who we were; but the wind carried away our shoutings, and the vessel actually seem- ed inclined to run us down. Worse yet what could the little vixen mean I a bright light, flashed across her decks, showed gathering round her guns a swift-moving band of men. Her crew were training their guns upon us for our swift capture or destruction: she could not see our heavy weight of metal, for our ports were closed. She might be a friend, for so her signal lights seemed to indicate; but if of our fleet, how should we let her know in time to save the loss of life and irrepar- able harm a single ball from her might do? She had waited long enough for friendly signals from us, and the wind, which swept our shouts from hearing, brought to us from them, first, questions as to who we were,then threats to fire if we did not quickly tell, and then orders passed to the men at the fore- most gun: One point to the starboard train her! words which made their aim on us more sure and fatal. Bear a hand with that fire and torch! Be quick, for Gods sake, or well have a shot through us, and that from a friend, unless we blaze away like lightning with our rockets. The crew were step- ping from the gun to get out of the 48 Ilife on a Blockader. way as it was fired; the captain of the gun held the lock string in his hand; but the instant had not been lost, and our rockets, springing high in air, told our story. Danger is past: we learn they are not only friends, hit to be neighbors, and steam in together to our post rather nearer the shore than other vessels here. Days pass on in watching, and as yet no foreign sail. We study the line of our western horizon, and find it well filled in with forts, embrazures, earth- works, black-nosed dogs of war, and busy traitors. As time goes on, a new thing opens to the view: a short week ago it seemed but a molehill: now it has risen to the height of a man, and hourly increases in size. Two weeks, and now its summit is far above the reach of spade or shovel throw, and crowned by a platform firmly knit and held together by well-spliced timbers. As to its object we are somewhat du- bious, but think it the beginning of an earthwork fortress, built high in order that guns may be depressed and brought to bear on the turrets of any Monitors which might possibly come down upon this place or Wilmington. At night we draw nearer to the shore, watching narrowly for blockade run- ners, which evade us occasionally, but oftener scud away disappointed. One night or early morning, 3 A. M. by the clock, we tried to heave up anchor; the pin slipped from the shackles, and the anchor, with forty fathoms of chain attached, slipped and sank to the bot- tom in some eight fathoms of water. The next day we steamed into our moorings of the previous night and sought to drag for it. While arrang- ing to do so, we saw a puff of smoke from the shore. Bang! and a massive cannon ball tore whizzing over our heads. The shore batteries had us in their range, and the firing from the far- reaching Whitworth guns grows more rapid. Puff after puff rolls up from the long line of battery-covered hillocks, under the bastard flag, and the rolling thunder peals on our ears with the whizzing of death-threatening balls. Oh! the excitement of watching and wondering where the next ball will strike, and whether it will crush a hole right through us, wasting rich human life, and scattering our decks with torn- off limbs and running pools of blood. Quickly as possible we up anchor and away, and soon are out of reach of balls, which splash the water not a ships length from us. Even then we invol- untarily dodge behind some pine board or other equally serviceable screen; and a newspaper, if that were nearest, would be used for the same purposeso say those who have tasted many a naval fight. In fact, the dodge is as often after the ball has hit as before, as this story of one of our brave quartermas- ters will prove: Under fire from rebel batteries, he noted the cloud of smoke which burst from one of the forts em- brazureswatched sharply for the ball heard the distant roar and its cutting whiz overheadwatched still further, saw it fall into the sea beyond, and then sang out to the captain, There it fell, sir! and like lightning dodged behind a mast, as though the necessity had but just occurred to him. As our rebel friends see their shot falling short of us, the firing ceases, and thus harmlessly ends the action which for a few moments threatened so much, teaching us the folly of too near approaches to land, or attempts to bat- ter down, to which we have often been tempted, the earthworks daily erecting. It is folly to attempt it, because the disabling of these few blockade steam- ers would open the port to all who choose to barter with our Southern foes; and, en passant, this will explain why here and elsewhere the rebels build their works under the very noses of our men-of-war. Thus a vessel runs the blockade, and takes into them English Whitworth guns, which send balls fly- ing through the air a good five miles, and whose range is longer than our far- famed Parrott rifled cannon. These Life on~ a Blockader. 49 Whitworths they place concealed in hillsides, or in forests back of the places where they build the regular fort to protect them. If our vessels approach to batter down these germs of forts, fire is opened on us from these long ran- gers, and nine chances out of ten we~ are disabled before we can so much as touch them with our guns; so that for ourselves we accomplish nothing, there- by benefiting them. Week days and Sundays pass on alike as far as outside incident is concerned, but new features in each other open to view as time goes on. Naval discipline develops the bump of reverence, or at any rate fosters it for a time, and to the volunteer in his first days or weeks passed on board a man-of-war, the dig- nified captain in the retirement of his cabin is an object of veneration, and the slight peculiarities of some other officers, merely ornamental additions to shining characters. On a Sunday, for instance, in the early part of the cruise, the said bump receives as it were a strengthening plaster, at the sight of officers and men in full dressthe first resplendent in gold-banded capsmul- tiplied buttonsshining sword hilts, et cetera, et cetera, and the men in white ducks, blue shirts, et cetera, scat- tered about the decks in picturesque groups. The captain, from the fact of his occupying a private cabin, and see- ing the officers merely to give orders or receive reports in the line of their duty, comes but little in contact with them, and, as there is a certain idea of gran- deur in isolation, obliges a degree of reverence not accorded to those with whom one is in constant intercourse. A slight feeling of superiority always exists in the minds of those of the reg- ular navy over the volunteer officers, and though at first the ward-room mess all seemed hail fellow, well met, fa- miliarity develops various traits and tendencies, which, in a mess of eight or nine, will not be persuaded to form a harmonious whole. Our lieutenant, for instance, who, in the first days of the VOL. vi.4 cruise, appeared a compound of all the Christian graces, and a pattern of a gentleman, develops a pleasant little tendency to swear viciously on slight provocation, and, though rather afraid to indulge his propensities to the full, lest the rules of naval service be vio- lated, and disgrace follow, still recre- ates himself privately, by pinching the little messenger boys till they dance, and gritting his teeth, as if he longed to do more, but didnt dare. It is won- derful how salt water develops char- acter. Our (on land) delxnrnaire, chival- rous executive, is merged in the swear- ing blackguard as far as he can be; and yet strange as it may seem, no man can be braver in time of danger, or appar- ently more forgetful of self. Our pay- master, too, has suffered a sea change: the gentleman is put away with his Sunday uniform, and taken out to air only when it is politic to do so: wine and cigars, owned by somebody else, occasion its instant appearance. No man on ship can show more deference for anothers feelings where the captain is concerned; no man more thorough disregard where the sailors come into question. Yet this man has also his redeeming points or point, made per- ceptible by a solitary remark, remem- bered in his favor at times when the inclination has been to call him a hypo- critical scoundreL One of the mess, rather given to profanity, said to him one day: Paymaster, whats the rea- son you never swear? Because, was the answer, I never set an example at home which I would not wish my chil- dren to follow, and so Ive got out of the way of it. Various criticisms might be made on officers and men: there are characters enough among them to furnish material for a volume. Some are moderately patriotic, but would have been as much so on the other side, had as strong in- ducements been held out in the way of loaves and fishes. Others love the cause for itself, and hold life cheap if its sacrifice may in any way advance it. 50 Life on a Blockader. Blockade duty is perhaps a harder test of this love than actual field service; and as months pass on, it be- comes almost unendurable. The first few days can be taken up in sight see- ing on board, and the most novel of these said sights is the drill which fob lows the daily call to quarters. The rapid roll Qf the drum is the signal: here, there, everywhere, on berth deck, spar deck, quarter deck, men spring to their feet, jump from their hammocks, and every door and passage way is blocked up by the crowd, who rush to their respective quarters, and about the armory, each seeking to be the first, who, fully equipped with cutlass, gun, and sabre-bayonet affixed, shall be in his place. Another instant, and all stand about their several guns in rows, awaiting orders from their officers, who sing out in clear commanding tones, as though a real fight were impending: Pass 9-inch shell and load! They drive it home. Now run out! train her two points off port quarter; elevate for five hundred yards! Fire! Run her iii! Run out starboard gun! Run her home! Train her three points off starboard quarter! Fire! Highup on the bridge of the hurri- cane deck, stands the first lieutenant, overlooking the men as they work the guns, train, load, run out, and mimic fire. Suddenly he shouts through the trumpet: Boarders and pikemen at port quarter! First boarders advance! Second boarders advance! Repel boarders! Retreat boarders! Pike- men cover cutlass division! Fire! Repel boarders! The second hand scarcely sweeps over a quarter of its dial before the men have crowded around the port bulwarks, and are -slashing the air with a most Quixotic furythen crouch on bent knee, to make ready their pistols, while in their rear, -marines and pikemen, musket and rifle armed, snap their pieces, and pour into -an imaginary foe a vast volley of im- aginary balls; then pierce the air with savage bayonet thrusts. The farce, and yet a most useful farce, is gone through with. The retreat is ordered to be beat and all retire; refill the armory with their deadly rifles and side arms, and then return to their respective watches, work, or recreationsome gathering round a canvas checker board; some polishing up bright work; others making pants, shirts, or coats, or braiding light straw hats. Some are aloft, and watching with eager eyes to catch the first glimpse of a sail on the distant horizon; and this he must do from his loftly outlook before the officer of the deck or quartermaster espies one, as they sweep the sky with their long-reaching glasseselse he may suffer reprimand and prison fare. These and our meals are epochs which measure out the time, between which the minutes and hours pass most wearily, and are filled with longings for home or some welcome words from there, the next meal, or the drum beat to quarters. Said one to me whose time is not used up as is that of the watch officers, by four-hour watches twice in the twenty-four hours: When breakfasts done, the next thing I look forward to is dinner, and when thats done, I look for supper time, and then wait in patience till the clock strikes ten, and the master at arms~ knocks at our several doors, saying: Four bells, gentlemen; lights out, sirs. So time drags often for weeks together. No new excitement fills the head with thought, and more or less of ennui takes hold on all. In fact, some con- sider life on shipboard not many re- moves from prison life; and a man over- flowing with the sap of life, whose mus- cles from head to foot tingle for a good mile run across some open field, a tramp through a grand forest, or climb of some mountain crag, and who loves the freedom of good solid terra firma he, I say, feels like a close-caged lion. - After every calm comes a storm, and so, after weeks of listless waiting, doing nothing, seeing nothing, hearing noth- ing, a very gale - of bustle comes on. Sail ho! comes from the lookout aloft. One point off our starboard bow! Man the windlass and up an- chor! shouts the officer of the deck, as the strange sail bears down steadily toward us, finally showing signals which tell us shes a friend and brings a mail. The Iroquois steams out to meet her; their anchors drop, and they hold friendly confab. We, too, soon come up, and hear that letters, papers, fresh meat, and ice await us, on the good old Bay State steamer Massachu- setts. We prepare to lower boats and get our goodies, when we are told from the Iroquois that a sail lies far off to the N. N. E., and are ordered off on chase. It never rains but it pours, think we. Letters, goodies, and now a chance at a prize! Begone dull care! Ay, ay, sir! responds swift- vanishing ennui, as our eyes are strain- ed in the direction we were told the vessel was seen. No sign of one yet; but as we enter on our second mile, our lookout cries for the first time: A sail! dead ahead, sir! After a five miles run, we near the vessel sufficient- ly to make out that she is the brig Perry, one of Uncle Sams swiftest sail- ing vessels, and so we quit chasing, and return to get our letters and provisions ere the Massachusetts starts again. An hour from our first meeting we are back, and find her heaving anchor to be off, for she runs on time, and may not delay here; so haste away with the boats, or we lose mails, provisions, and all. The boat returns well laden with barrels of potatoes, quarter of beef, and chunks of ice, but no mail. Letters and papers all sent on board the Iro- quois, says the Massachusetts; so if we have any, there they are, but no word of any for us is sent; so with hearts dis- appointed, but stomachs rejoicing in the prospect of ice water and fresh meat, we settle down. Our tongues, under red-tape discipline, keep mum, but inwardly we protest against this deprivation, brought about by the wild-goose chase on which we 51 were ordered. Well, to-morrow the State of Georgia is expected down from Beaufort, and she will bring us a mail, we hope. The morrow comes, and at daydawn she heaves in sight, just halt- ing as she nears the flagship, to report herself returned all right, and then down toward uswith a mail, we trust. She is hardly ten ships lengths away, when she spies a sail to southward, notifies us, and we both make chase. She is deeply laden, we but lightly, so we soon outstrip her, and overtake the sail, which is a schooner, and looks sus- picious, very. We order her to heave to, which order is wilfully or unwit- tingly misunderstood. At any rate she does not slacken her speed, till she finds our guns brought to bear, and we nearly running her down. Then she stops: we send a boat with officers and men to board her and see if we have really a prize, and all is excitement. One officer offers his share for ten dol- larsanother for twentya third for a V, and one for fifty cents; but would-be salesmen of their shares are far more numerous than buyers. And soon the boat returns, reporting the vessel as bound for Port Royal, with coffee, sugar, and sutlers stores. Her papers are all right, and she may go on with- out further hinderance. Now back to the State of Georgia for our mails. Our mails! our mails! is the hungry cry of our almost homesick hearts. As we get within hailing distance, we sing out for our letters, and are answered: While you were chasing the schooner, we left your mail on board the Iro- quois. The devil you did! say some in bitter disappointment, but red tape demands that we wait till the flagship sees fit to signal us to come for letters. The hours pass wearily. We have waited weeks for home news, and, now that it is here, we must wait againa day, two daysa week even, if it suits the flagships convenience. At last the signals float and read: Letters for the ; come and get them. At last! The seals are broken and we Life onct Blockader. 52 Life on a Blockader. read the news. One tells of a sick mother, dying, and longing to see her son. Another is from Ms lady love: we know by the way he blushes, the fine hand and closely written pages, and various other symptoms. And our fleet of ironclads are busy at Charles- ton. Heaven help the cause they work for! Now we must hasten with our answers, to have them ready for send- ing at a moments notice, when it is signalled: A vessel bound North, and will carry your mails, if ready. As the sun goes down, the horizon is lit up with bonfires stretching along the coast for miles. These fires mean something, we say knowingly; depend upon it, the rebs expect some vessel in to-night. Nothing came of it, how- ever, though the following afternoon we saw a steamer with two smoke stacks come down the river and take a look, perhaps to see as to her chances of getting out that night. The twilight darkened into night, and n1~ht wore on into the small hours, and now we gazed into the gloom anxiously, for at this time, if any, she would seek to run out. With straining eyes and the most in- tense quiet, we listen for the sound of paddle wheels. A stranger passing along our decks, seeing in the darkness the shadowy forms of men crouched in listening attitudes, would have fancied himself among a body of Indians watching stealthily some savage prey. The night passes on; gray dawn tells of the suns approach, and soon his streaming splendor lights up sea and land. We look to see if our hoped-for prize still waits in the river, but no she is not there. The day wears on and still no signs of her. If she has slipped by us, it is through the mouth and not the inlet, we feel sure, but still are chagrined, and, doubting the possi- bility of ever catching one, go to bed with the blues. The next day we brighten up a little, to be saddened the more, for the Mas- sachusetts on her return trip tells us that, so far from there being good news from Charleston, we have only the worst to hear. The brave little Keo- kuk is riddled with balls and sunk, and the fleet of ironclads have retired from before the city. It is a costly ex- perience, though it may yet bear pre- cious fruit, for they tell us it has re- vealed what was necessary to make our next attack successful. What it is, we cannot learn, the authorities meaning in the future, doubtless, to wait till deeds have won them praise, before they make promises of great work. Night draws on again, and we move in toward shore. Signal lights are burning, and huge bonfires, built be- hind the forests, that their glare may not light up the water, but their reflec- tion against the background of the sky shows blockade runners the lay and bearings of the land. Something will surely be done to-night, and we keep vigilant watch. Two oclock A. M., and a sound is heard, whether of pad- dle wheels, surf on the beach, or blow- ing off of steam, we cannot tell. Its paddle wheels, says our ensign, and reports quickly to the captain. The first lieutenant springs on deck, a steam whistle is heard, so faint that only steam-taught ears know the sound, and word is passed to slip our chain and an- chor, and make chase in the direction of the sound. They spring to the chain and work with a will to unshackle it quickly, but things are not as they should be; the hammer is not at hand, and the pins not fixed for speedy slip- ping out, even when struck a sharp, heavy blow. I think I see a dark ob- ject off the direction of the sound we heard, sir, says some one. Confound the chain! will it never unshackle I they exclaim, as they seek to unloose it. At last it slips, we steam up, and are off in pursuit, but which way shall we turn,andwhereshallwechase~ There is no guiding sound now, and we pad- dle cautiously on, spending the balance of the night in this blind work, feeling for the prize which has slipped from our fingers, for, as day dawns, we see a Life am ~ Blockader. 53 large steamer, safe under the walls of the fort. If disappointments make philosophers, we ought to rank with Diogenes. The next day is filled with growls and ifs and ands, and if this had been so and so, and but for that neg- lect, which we shall know how to avoid next time, etc., etc. The afternoon of another day comes on, and then a sail is descried, and off we go after it. Seven or eight miles run brings us close to it; still it pays no attention, but keeps straight on. The captain orders a ball to be fired across her bows, which explodes so near as to splash great jets of water over them. Her crew and captain strike sail, and let go halliards, while they fly behind masts, down cockpit, or wherever tJ:iey can get for safety. Finding no further harm is meant than to bring them to, they answer back our hailsay they are going to Beaufort, quite a different direction from the one they are head- ingand seem generally confused. As an excuse they say their compass is out of order, and as they appear to be wreckers, we allow them to go on with- out further molestation, and steam back to our moorings, consoling ourselves by the fact that these bootless chases are using up coal, and thereby hastening the time of our going to Beaufort to coal up, where we shall have a chance to step once more on terra firma. Another night passes, and there are no indications of runners having tried to escape us; but at sunrise we see, far to the south, a schooner, and soon the flagship signals that a prize has been taken by one of our fleet. It looks very much like the schooner we let go yes- terday, and our head officers swear, if it i.~ that schooner, never to let another go so easily. One declares the vessel is loaded with cotton, and worth at least $100,OOQ, but that, notwithstanding, he will sell his share for $500 in good gold. No one bids so high. Our en- sign offers his for one dollar, and the paymaster sells his to the surgeon for fifty cents, the magnificence of which bargain the latter learns from the cap- tain, who says his share will be about seven and a half cents! We steam alongside, and learn that our prize is the schooner St. George, bound for Wilmington, via the Bermudas, with a cargo of salt, saltpetre, etc., and worth perhaps four thousand dollars. We send our prize list on board the flag- ship, and have a nice chat over the capture. It puts us in good humor, and our vessels ekase~e around each other till afternoon, when we separate, to hear shortly that the schooner, on being searched, has disclosed rich mer- chandise, gold, Whitworth guns, & c., hidden under her nominal cargo of salt. So hurra again for our prize list! This ainwet makes up for the loss of the steamer. As we are on the point of letting go our anchor, the distant boom of cannon is heard, and the flagship orders us to repair to the seat of danger with all speed. We haste away, and as we go, hear a third gun fired. It comes from the direction of the brig Perry, and we cut through the water toward it, at a twelve-knot rate, for a good half hour, but hearing no more firing, put in near the shore to watch for the rebel vessel, as we think those guns were intended to put us on our guard. It soon grows dark; lights are ordered out, and each man blinds his port. No talking above a whisper must be heard; we are to be still as an arctic night. Midnight passes, and lights still flicker along the shore. It is so dark we cannot see the land, though not more than a mile from it, and only know what it is by our compass and bearings, and the fires which lighten up the clouds in spots right over them. One, two, and three oclock have passed; no sail or sound yet, and the night so dark we cannot see a ships length away. Half past three, and we begin to heave anchor. The rattle of the chains is just enough to drown the sound of paddle wheels should a steamer approach, and the 54 Lffe ~m a BlocX~ader. Bound of her own wheels would in turn drown our noise; so if one does run in to land, it may be over us, for any warning we should have of its where- about. Suddenly the acting master ,jumps, looks for an instant across the bows into the thick darkness, and bids a boy report to the captain and lieutenant a vessel almost on us. The man at the windlass is stopped, unshackles the chain, and lets the anchor go with a buoy attached. Captain and lieutenant come on deck, and order to blaze away with our fifty-pound Parrott. Crash! through the still air rings the sharp re- port, and the ball goes whizzing through the gloom, in the direction the vessel was seen. The bright flash of the gun, and the thick cloud of smoke make the darkness tenfold more impenetrable. For halt an hour, we chase in every direction, then fire again toward the shore. It is just four; a gray light is working up through the mist, and we catch the faintest glimpse of the Daylight, one of our fleet. A few minutes later, and we see a speck near the shore, which the spyglass shows to be the steamer we chased and lircd after in the night. The surf beats about her; in her frantic efforts to es- cape, she in the darkness has been run ashore by our close pursuit. We steam up, to get within range and destroy, if we cannot take her, when the Daylight, now discovering her, opens fire. Once, twice, three times she has banged away a broadside at the rebel sidewheel, and now the batteries on shore in turn open fire on her. The sea fog hangs like a shroud over and between us and the land, which looms up mysteriously, stretching its graylength along the west- ern horizon. Spots of fire bursting from the midst of it, tearthrough the fog cloud right at us. It seems, in its vast, vague undefinedness, rather an old-time drag- on, with mouth spouting fire and thun- der, than harmless earth. The smoke of our own guns settles around us; our ears ring with our own firing: the ex citement of the moment is intense. The jets of flame seem to spout right at one, and the inclination to dodge becomes very strong. The Daylight has stopped firing: what is the matter? The fog lifts slightly, and as the flagship ad- vances to join in the fight, we see that the Daylight is moving back to reload and let her pass in, which she does, en- tering the circle of the rebel fire be- tween us and them. She finds it out quickly, for their guns are brought to bear on her, and the balls strike the water frightfully near. She turns, but, as she leaves the fiery circle, delivers, one after the other, a whole broadside of guns, followed by the Penobscot, who too gives them a few iron pills. From six to eight A. M., the vessels gather in a cluster at safe di~tance from the land, and the commanders of the different vessels repair on board the flagship to consult what next shall be done. Meanwhile the spyglass shows crowds of rebels along the shore, and great efforts seem to be making to get the steamer off. Puffs of steam and clouds of black smoke from her chim- neys show that she is blowing off steam, firing up, and pushing hard gainst the shore. Now her paddle wheels are working; her stern is afloat. Again and again it is reported, Shes getting herself off the beach; shell soon be off! but it does not appear to hasten the powers that be, who appa- rently have decided that, as it will not be high tide till nearly one r. M., she is safely aground till then. Finally, after long delay, it is decided that all hands shall be piped to break- fast, and we go in for a regular fight afterward. So the boatswain blows his whistle, and each man goes to his mess. Breakfast is leisurely gone through with, and then the drum beats all to quarters. And now it looks like serious work. Men gather round their guns eager for battle, and the surgeon stands ready, instruments before him, for whatever may come. But hardly are they ready for the fight, when the Buckle, Draper; Church and State. 55 rebel steamer, with its traitor flag float- ing high in air, has extricated itself from the beach, and is steaming down the coast as fast as it can go. The golden opportunity is lostwas Aost when the morning hour was spent in unnecessary discussion, eating, and drinking. Still they try to make up for lost time by rapid firing now, for she may be taking in a precious and comforting cargo of arms and other stores of war. The shots fall close about her, but a little short. Whit- worth guns protect her as she goes, for our steamers dare not venture too near land, lest some long-range ball smash through their steam chests. The bat- teries from which the rebels fired were mostly erected after the steamer ran ashore, and seemed to consist princi- pally of field pieces and guns hastily drawn to the spot, with no earthworks to protect them. This speedy work of theirs was in strong contrast to our slow motions. With a spyglass we could see telegraph poles stretched along the shore. The steamer had probably not been ashore one hour, when eight miles south to the fort, and eight or ten miles north to Wilming- ton, the news had spread of its arrival, and busy hands bestirred themselves, dragging up guns and ammunition to cover their stranded prize. Aa soon as sunlight lit up the beach, squads of men were seen pulling at ropes to work the vessel off the sandy beach. While they were thus engaged, breakfast was being quietly eaten on board our ves- sels! We kept up our fire till the steamer got under the guns of the fort and out of our reach, and then retired; and so ended our chase in nothing but noise and smoke. We have given the reader a clue to a little of the inefficiency of the Wil- mington blockade. In our next paper, we shall endeavor to picture some of the effects of naval life on character, and the strange experiences one can have on shipboard, even in the monot- ony of life on a blockader. BUCKLE, DRAPER; CHURCH AND STATE. FOURTH PAPER. Ix the first paper of this series, refer- ence was made to the Principles of Unity and Individuality as dominating over distinctive epochs of the worlds progress; and certain characteristics of each epoch were pointed out which may be briefly recapitulated. Up to a period of time which is commonly said to commence with the publication of Lord Bacons Novum Organum, the pre- ponderating tendency in all the affairs of Societyin Government, in Religion, in Thought, in Practical Activities was convergent and toward Consolida- tion, Centralization, Order, or, in one word, Unity; with a minor reference only to Freedom, Independence, or In- dividuality. A change then took place, and the Tendency to Unity began to yield, as the major or chief tendency in society, to the opposite or divergent drift toward Disunity or Individual- ity, which gradually came to be pre- eminently active. The Spirit of Disin- tegration which thus arose, has exhib- ited and is still exhibiting itself in Re- ligious ~iffairs, by the destruction of the integrality of the Church, and its di- vision into numerous sects; and in the State, by the Democratic principle of popular rule, as opposed to the Monar- chical theory of the supremacy of one.

Buckle, Draper; Church and State 55-65

Buckle, Draper; Church and State. 55 rebel steamer, with its traitor flag float- ing high in air, has extricated itself from the beach, and is steaming down the coast as fast as it can go. The golden opportunity is lostwas Aost when the morning hour was spent in unnecessary discussion, eating, and drinking. Still they try to make up for lost time by rapid firing now, for she may be taking in a precious and comforting cargo of arms and other stores of war. The shots fall close about her, but a little short. Whit- worth guns protect her as she goes, for our steamers dare not venture too near land, lest some long-range ball smash through their steam chests. The bat- teries from which the rebels fired were mostly erected after the steamer ran ashore, and seemed to consist princi- pally of field pieces and guns hastily drawn to the spot, with no earthworks to protect them. This speedy work of theirs was in strong contrast to our slow motions. With a spyglass we could see telegraph poles stretched along the shore. The steamer had probably not been ashore one hour, when eight miles south to the fort, and eight or ten miles north to Wilming- ton, the news had spread of its arrival, and busy hands bestirred themselves, dragging up guns and ammunition to cover their stranded prize. Aa soon as sunlight lit up the beach, squads of men were seen pulling at ropes to work the vessel off the sandy beach. While they were thus engaged, breakfast was being quietly eaten on board our ves- sels! We kept up our fire till the steamer got under the guns of the fort and out of our reach, and then retired; and so ended our chase in nothing but noise and smoke. We have given the reader a clue to a little of the inefficiency of the Wil- mington blockade. In our next paper, we shall endeavor to picture some of the effects of naval life on character, and the strange experiences one can have on shipboard, even in the monot- ony of life on a blockader. BUCKLE, DRAPER; CHURCH AND STATE. FOURTH PAPER. Ix the first paper of this series, refer- ence was made to the Principles of Unity and Individuality as dominating over distinctive epochs of the worlds progress; and certain characteristics of each epoch were pointed out which may be briefly recapitulated. Up to a period of time which is commonly said to commence with the publication of Lord Bacons Novum Organum, the pre- ponderating tendency in all the affairs of Societyin Government, in Religion, in Thought, in Practical Activities was convergent and toward Consolida- tion, Centralization, Order, or, in one word, Unity; with a minor reference only to Freedom, Independence, or In- dividuality. A change then took place, and the Tendency to Unity began to yield, as the major or chief tendency in society, to the opposite or divergent drift toward Disunity or Individual- ity, which gradually came to be pre- eminently active. The Spirit of Disin- tegration which thus arose, has exhib- ited and is still exhibiting itself in Re- ligious ~iffairs, by the destruction of the integrality of the Church, and its di- vision into numerous sects; and in the State, by the Democratic principle of popular rule, as opposed to the Monar- chical theory of the supremacy of one. 56 Bucldi3, Draper; Church and State. We have now arrived, in the course of our development as a race, at the culminating point of the second Stage of Progressthe Era of Individuality. The predominant tendency of on? time in things Religious, Governmental, In- tellectual, and Practical, is toward the utter rejection of all clogs upon the personal freedom of Man or Woman. This is seen by the neglect into which institutions of all kinds tend to fall, and the disrespect in which they are held; in the movements for the aboli- tion of Slavery and Serfdom; in the recognition of the peoples right of rule, even in Monarchical countries; more radically in the Womans Rights Crusade, and in the absolute rejection, by the School of Reformers known as Individualists, of all governmental authority other than that voluntarily accepted, as an infringement of the in- dividuals inherent right of self-sov- ereignty. This Spirit of Individuality, this de- sire to throw off all trammels, and to live in the atmosphere of ones own person- ality, exhibits itself in a marked degree in the literature of our day. It is the animating spirit of John Stuart Mills work On Liberty a work which, as the writer has elsewhere shown, was substantially borrowed, although with- out any openly avowed acknowledg- ment of indebtedness, from an Ameri- can publication. It is this spirit which has inspired some of the most remarka- ble of Herbert Spencers Essays; and is distinctively apparent in the Fourth one of the Propositions which Mr. Buckle affirms to be the basis of the history of civilization; and in the gen- eral tenor of Prof. Drapers Intellect ual Development of Europe. The gist of this doctrine of Individ- uality, as it is now largely prevalent in respect to the institutions of the Church and the State, and which is squarely affirmed in the proposition above men- tioned, is this: Men and Women do not wish nor do they need a Spiritual Society to teach them what to believe, nor a Political Society to teach them what to do. If they are simply left alone, they will thrive well enough. An Ecclesiastical Organization is not only useless, but positively injurious; it is a decided hinderance to the progress of humanity; and the same is true of a Civil Organization, except in so far as it serves the purpose of protection to person and property. It is intended to show in this article the erroneousness of this doctrine; to point out that Religious and Political Institutions have, in the past,. been great aids to human advancement that they nrc still so; and will be in the future. In this manner we shall meet the arguments of those who re- gard such institutions as having always been unnecessary and a hinderance; and of those who, while considering them as essential in the past, believe that they are now becoming obsolete, are detrimental to the canse of human progress, and in the future to be wholly dispensed with. Mankind in its entirety resembles a pyramid. At the base are the ignorant and superstitious nations of the earth, comprising the great majority of its in- habitants. A step higher includes the next greatest number of nations, in which the people are less ignorant and less degraded, but still very low as re- spects organization and culture. So, as we rise in the scale of national de- velopment, the lines of inclusion con- tinually narrow, until we reach the apex, occupied by the most advanced nation or nations. That which is true of nations is so of classes and of individuals composing classes. Every community has its nat- ural aristocracy, its superior men and women. These constitute the top of the pyramid of Society; and comprise those in whom intellectual powers, moral purposes, and practical capacities are most highly developed and combined. Below them comes the somewhat larger body of persons who are less endowed in respect to the qualities just enumer Buckle, Draper; Church and State. 57 ated. Below these comes, in turn, the still greater congregation who are still less gifted; and so on, the number in- creasing as the range of general capa- city decreases, until we reach the laser which embodies the great mass of So- ciety; who, though measurably affec- tionate, well-intentioned, and docile, are ignorant, superstitious, and simple minded, wanting in any large degree of high moral purpose, and constantly prone to the development of the vi- cious and depraved passions incident to this lower stratum of life. It is evident that to meet the needs of these widely different grades of in- dividuals, widely different manners, customs, and institutions are indis- pensable. Culture, delicacy, and intel- ligence have their own attractions, which are wholly diverse from those of crudeness, coarseness, and simplicity. The surroundings which would bring happiness to the lover of art or the man of large mental endowment, would render miserable the peasant who still lacked the development to appreciate the elegancies of refinement; while the tidy cottage and plain comforts which might constitute the paradise of the humble and illiterate rustic, would be utterly inadequate to the requirements of larger and more highly organized natures. The Constitution and Structure of Society should be of such a nature, therefore, for the purposes of human growth and happiness, as to allow the needs and wants of every one of its members to be adequately supplied. As yet there hus been no such arrangement of our social organization. In nations governed by Monarchical or Aristo- cratic rule, the institutions of the coun- try are made to satisfy the demands of the privileged classes; with scarcely any reference to the wants of the mass- es. In Democratic communities, the opposite method is adopted; and the character of their public organizations and of their public opinionthe latter always the most despotic of institutions is determined by the average notions of the middle class, which ordinarily furnishes the bulk of the voters; with little consideration to the desires of the higher or the necessities of the lower orders. The institutions of any people, civil or religious, are, therefore, representa- tive, in the main,, of the state of devel- opment of the dominant and control- ling class in the community. In a Mo- narchical or Aristocratic nation it is the upper portion of the body politic whose condition is chiefly indicated. In this case, the manners, customs, laws, etc., of the country are in advance of the great body of the people, who have yet to grow up to them. In Dem- ocratic states, the manners, customs1 laws, etc., conform to the stage of ad- vancement which the majority of the people have reached. They are thus above the level of the lower classes, who are not sufficiently developed to par- ticipate in their full benefits; and below the capacity of the superior ranks, who, though fitted for the right use and enjoyment of more liberal and higher social adaptations, are neverthe- less obliged to cramp their natures and dwarf their activities to the meas- ure of the capacities of the more numer- ous circle of citizens. Three classes have thus far been named as the personnel of any Society. There is, however, a body of individ- uals which, although made up of per- sons from the three classes above indi- cated, constitute, in a peculiar sense, a distinct order. This includes the Phi- losophers, Poets, Scientiststhe Think- ers of all kindswho are in advance of the best institutions of either Mon- archical or Democratic countries; who see farther into the future than even the great bulk of men of intelligence and high development; who especially understand the transient nature and inadequate provisions of existing so- cieties, and feel the need of better con- ditions for intellectual, social, and moral growth. 58 Buckle, Draper; Church and Stai~e. It is from this body of men that the incentives to progress chiefly spring. They behold the errors which encumber old systemsthey are, in- deed, too apt to conceive them as wholly composed of errors. To them, the common and current beliefs appear to be simply superstitious. It irks them that humanity ~iould wallow in its ignorance and blindness. They chafe and fret against the organizations which embody and foster what they are firmly convinced is all false. The Church is, in their eyes, only a vast ag- glomeration of priests, some of them self-deceived through ignorance; most of them not so, but deliberately bol- stering up an obsolete faith for place, profit, and power. The State, both as existing in the past and now, is like- wise, in their understanding, a tremen- dous engine of tyranny, keeping the light of knowledge from the masses; withholding liberty; and hindering the prosperity of mankind. That there is much truth in such opinions, too much by far, is not to be denied. That Society needs regenera- tion in all departments of its lifepo- litical, religious, industrial, and social is plainly apparent. But there is an essential omission in the kind of reform which is spontaneously taking place at this time, and which is lauded by Mill, Buckle, Spencer, Draper, and the ad- vanced Thinkers of the day generally, as the true direction in which change should be made; an omission which will bring Society to disastrous revolu- tion, even, it may be, to fatal overthrow, unless supplied. The tendency of modern reform in reference to the institutions of Church and Stateand these, in the sense in which they are here used, include all other institutionsis, as has been said, to do away with the former altogether, and to restrict the latter to the sole functions of protection of person and property. Reformatory ideas come, it has also been said, from that small cir- cle of men and women in Society, who are in advance of the general develop- ment of the age even as represented in the superior classmeaning by this, the class which, in the average estimate, oc- cupies the highest position; as, for in- stance, the Aristocracy in England, and the Wealthy Families of America. Human Society, in all its Institu- tions, has been, thus far in the his- tory of the world, a thing of spontane- ous, instinctual, or automatic growth. There has never been and is not to- day, so far as is publicly known, any & ie?we of Social Organization; any System of Laws or Principles embody- ing the true mode of Social Construc- tion. There has not been, in other words, any discovery of the right Prin- ciples upon which the affairs of man- kind should be conducted in reference to their mutual relationships; and hence, there is no real knowledge, but only conjecture, of what are the right relations. Might has always bcen the accepted Right and the only Standard of Right in the regulation of Society. The opinions of the Ruling Power give tone to human thought and action. While Kings and Oligarchies were in the ascendency, the Standard of Right the Kings or the Oligarchs will were based on his or their ideas of right. Later, when the People secured the conduct of their own affairs, the voice of the Majority became the voice of God, as expressed in the popular motto: Voz p~puli, voz Dei. Having then no Standard of true So- cial Organization, it is natural, though short sighted, that the reformatory par- typerceiving the insufficiencies and drawbacks of our present Societary Arrangements, feeling that they have no need of the Governmental and Reli- gious institutions of the day, that these - are, indeed, rather hinderances than aids to their progressshould think that the people of the whole world, of the civilized nations, or of one civilized nation, at least, were in like state of preparation, and that those Institutions could be safely and advantageously dis Buckle, Draper; Church and State. 59 pensed with. There could scarcely be a greater mistake. There are but com- paratively few individuals in the world who are so highly developed in their intellectual and moral capacities, and in practical ability also, as to be c~m- petent to be a law unto themselves in the general conduct of life. The great mass of mankind, even in the most ad- vanced communities, need still the guiding hand of a wisely constituted and really paternal Government, and the religions admonitions of a true priesthood. The greatest danger with which Society is threatened in modern times, arises from the lack of these es- sential concomitants of any high civil- ization. The degradation, squalor, ig- norance, and brutality of the lowest classes; the irreverence, disrespect, dis- honesty, and moral blindness of the middle orders; and the apathy, heart- lessness, unscrupulousness, selfishness, cupidity, and irreligion of the upper stratum of Society, are alike due to the absence of a rightly organized State, which should command the allegiance, and of a rightly constituted Church, which should absorb the devotion, of the whole community. The Constitution of Society must be moulded with reference to the charac- ter of the individuals in it. Of these, some are sagacious, executive, intel- ligent, benevolent, sympathetic, philan- thropic, self-reliant; possessed of all the qualities, in fine, which inspire respect and confidence in their fellow men, and cause them to be recognized as leaders. Others are timid, ignorant, feeble- minded, credulous, prone to lean upon others, hero worshippers; people whose natural bent it is to follow some one in whom they put faith. The sentiment of loyalty is inherent in the human breast, and will find an object whereon to fasten. At one time it is an Alexan- der; then a Washington, a Napoleon, or a Wellington; at another, a Clay, a Webster, or a Grant. There are ranks and orders in Society as there are ranks and orders among individuals. And as the inherent rank of an individual is, as a general rule, recognized and ac- corded, no matter what may be the social constitution of the land in which he lives, so it is with classe8. Theo- retically, all individuals and orders are equal in the United States. But the Law of Nature is stronger than the laws of man; and the men and women of superior endowment in moral pow- er, intellectual force, or practical abil- ity, receive the voluntary homage of those who feel themselves to be in- ferior. In considering the nature of the In- stitutions which Society needs, we have simply to consider by what mode we may best provide for the normal tend- encies which ever have been and ever will be active hi man. It is not in our power to change these tendencies, nor to prevent their play. But we may so order our social polity as to as8ist their natural drift, or to olstruct it. In the one case, the affairs of the community are conducted with harmony, and with the least possible friction. In the oth- er, they are discordant, and are forced to reach their proximately proper ad- justment through antagonism and struggle. It is the difference between the ship which ffies swiftly to her des- tined port with favoring winds, fair skies, and peaceful seas, and one which struggles wearily to her harbor through adverse gales and stormy waves, bat- tered, broken, and tempest tossed. The great mass of the people have always looked to the more highly developed of their race for practical guidance in the secular concerns of life, and for spiritual guidance in religious things. That they have done so, and that the Church and the State have been large factors in the sum of human progress, we shall presently see. We shall also see brought out more distinctly and clearly the fact, that the dominant classes in Society, whether the form of Government be a Monarchy, an Oli- garchy, or a Democracy, are, in the main, and except, perhaps, in transi 60 Buckle, Draper; Church and State. tional epochs, the classes who possess, in reality, superior capacities of the quality the age most requires in its leaders. In the earliest ages of the world, when brute force was regarded as the highest attribute of greatness, the men of might, the renowned warriors, the Nimrods and the Agamemnons, occu- pied the highest pinnacle of Society, and received homage from their fellows as supreme men. Of their age they were the supreme men. To our enlightened epoch, the fighting heroes of the past are but brutal bullies a little above the level of the animals whose powers and habits they so sedulously emulated. But if we plant ourselves in thought back in that savage era, if we reflect that its habits and instincts were al- most wholly physical, that the chief controlling powers of the time were the arm of might and superstition, and if we ponder a moment upon the force of will, the dauntless courage, the inexora- ble rigor, the terrible energy, the cease- less activity, and the gigantic personal strength which must have combined in a single man to have enabled him to rule so turbulent and so animal a peo- ple; we shall be apt to understand that the only being who could, in that age, stand first among his fellows, must have been the superior brute of all. If we consider still further the fero- cious natures of the men of that time, we shall perceive the necessity which existed for a strong Government, regu- lating all the affairs of Society, and ad-. ministered by the most severe and sav- age chieftain; one who could hold all others in subjection by the terror of his might, preserve a semblance at least of order in the community, and protect his subjects from outside wrong. But what could hold him in subjec- tionan irresponsible despot, without human sympathy, without any awa- kened sense of moral responsibility, capricious, self-willed, ambitious, lust- ful, vindictive, without self-control, and possessing absolute power over the lives and property of his subjects? Nothing but the dread of an offended God or gods. And, as a consolidated despotism, wielded by brute force, was the best form of Government possible in this age; so a worship based chiefly upon the incitements and terrors of re- tributive lawthe holding out of in- ducements of reward for the good, and of determents of direful punishment for the wicked, in a future worldwas the best religion for which the time was prepared. Tracing the history of the worid down to later times, we shall find the same state of things in society at large, until a period which it is difficult to fix, but which, we may say, did not fairly begin until the beginning or the middle of the eighteenth century. Down to that time, physical force was the dominant element among the na- tions. The great warriors were still the prominent men upon the stage of action, though many of the brutal characteristics of the earlier ages had disappeared. The people were still ig- norant, credulous, childlike, and looked to the Feudal Aristocracy for direction and supportan Aristocracy founded on superiority of warlike talent; thus fitly representing the leading spirit of the age, and the proper guardians of the people in this warlike time. The Catholic Church, and, at a later period, the Protestant sects, held the upper classes from oppressing the lower, and taught the latter to respect and defer to the former. The Feudal Lords were thus the Social providence and protection of the poor and weak, think- ing and acting for them in things be- yond their range of capacity; while these, in turn, performed the agricul- tural and other labors to which they were competent. Each class occupied its appropriate position and fnlfilled its legitimate calling. The superior or- ders held the superior situations; and were recognized for what they really were, leaders and guides. The masses of the community were faithful and Budde, Drtzper; Ckwch and State. obedient as followers. The Church in- spired each with a feeling of devotion to duty, protected the subject and con- trolled the ruler. In its function of a Governmental arrangement, the Feudal System was admirably adapted to~ the necessities of the time. In its religious capacity, the Catholic Church was the bulwark of Social order during the Middle Ages. About the period of time mentioned above, the warlike spirit which had theretofore pervaded the world and controlled its destinies, began to yield before the enlightenment of civilization. Commercial, industrial, and intellec- tual pursuits commenced to assume the leading position among the interests of Society. At the same time physical force and hereditary blood began to give way, as tokens of superior charac- ter, to intellectual greatness and execu- tive commercial ability. The struggle which then commenced between the Aristocracy of Birth and the Aristoc- racy of Genius in all its forms, mental or practical, is still pending in the Old World. In America it has declared itself in favor of the latter. The only Noblemen here recognized are those of Natures makethose who bear in their organizations and culture the stamp of superiority. These are, in the main, quickly recognized and acknowledged; whether they exhibit their genius in the field of Literature, Science, Inven- tion, Government, Religion, Artor in the thousand Commercial and Indus- trial Enterprises which are characteris- tic of this era, and especially of this country. With the breaking up of the Feudal $ystem and the advent of modern com- mercial activities, a great change took place in the organization of Society. Under this system a community was, as has been indicated, made up in such a manner that the whole body formed, so to speak, one family, having mutual interests; each individual performing those functionsfor the benefit of the wholefor which he was, as a general 61 rule, best fitted. The most warlike, sagacious, executivethose, in short, who were best capacitated for leaders and protectors, being at the head, and looking after the welfare of the whole; while others occupied such stations and rendered such services as their qualifi- cations made them adequate to, in subordination to these leaders. Thus the interests of community were linked immediately together. They formed a grand Co~iperative Association, in which each member recognized his ob- ligations to the whole body of associ- ates, and to every individual associate, and measurably fu~/illed those olkgatwne as they were understood at that day. The poor were not left to fall into star- vation and misery for the want of work; there were no paupers; and the rich and powerful classes did not neg- lect the affairs of the indigent and weak as those who had no claim upon them. On the contrary, they felt that mankind were the children of one Father, and their brethren. They felt that their superior powcrs devolved upon them aecompanying responsibili- ties; that because they were comnpara- tively far seeing and strong, they were bound by all the nobler sentiments of manhood to watch over and guide the short sighted and the feeble. Under the inspiration of the Catholic Church a Church whose persistent efforts were ever devoted in a marked degree to the amelioration of the physical no less than the spiritual conditions of humanity, a Church which strove in the darkest hours of its history and al- ways to stand between the helpless and suffering and their oppressorsthey accepted this office and fulfilled its functions. To the best of their under- standingwith the light they then had, considering the times in which they lived, and the state of the worlds progressthey executed well and faith- fully the duties which pertained to it. Far better, indeed, as we shall present- ly see, than the opulent and powerful perform the same duties in our day. 02 Buak2e, Draper; Church and State. With the commencement of more peaceful times and the gradual civiliza- tion of Society, the necessity of personal protection which had, in great measure, given rise to the Feudal System, passed away. Civil law acquired the prot~etive power which had formerly resided in the arm of physical force. Travel became safe. The accumulations of industry were less liable to be wrenched from their legitimate owner by the hand of the robber. There was a rapid open- ing up of intelligence among the masses. Individual energy was stimulated. Commerce received a wonderful impe- tus. The bounds of personal freedom were enlarged. Men felt no longer the necessity of association for the sake of safety. They felt, moreover, the rest- less surging of new-born powers within them; and longed to give them exer- cise. So the old forms of community life were slowly broken up. Individ- uals embarked in various enterprises; now no longer consociated with others in mutual c& iperation, but for their in- dividual benefit. Thus competitive in- dustry gradually supplanted the old method of co& jperative or associated in- dustry, as seen in its crude and imper- fect form, and the inauguration of the false and selfish system which still pre- vails began. There could be but one result to a mode of commercial and industrial traffic and a system of labor and wages which pits the various classes of Society together in a strife for the wealth of the world, the fundamental principle of which strife is, that it is perfectly right to take advantage of the necessities of our neighbors in order to obtain their means for our own enrichment. For this was the principle which in- stinctively sprang up in the world as the basis of business, and which has never been changed. Traffic originated in the necessities of life, and was ex- tended by the desire to obtain wealth. Each individual perceived some want in his neighbor, and forthwith proceeded to supply this want, charging just as much for the thing supplied as the de& ~e for the article or his need of it would force the person supplied to pay; without reference to the equitable price, estimated with respect to the labor be- stowed in supplying the want. This principle of trade, originating in the most complete selfishness, and, viewed from any high moral point, both un- just and dishonest, has always been and is to-day the fundamental principle of our Political Economy. That a thing is worth what it will bring, is a basic axiom of all trade. The only price which is recognized in commerce is the market price; which is, again, what a commodity will bring. What a commodity will bring is what the necessities of mankind will make them pay. Thus is exhibited the curious spectacle of the existence of a Religion which inculcates good will and love to our neighbor as the foundation of all true civilization and virtue, coexisting side by side with a Commercial Sys- tem, a relic, like slavery, of ancient bar- barism, which forces all men to traffic with each other on the principle that our neighbor is an object of legitimate prey. Of course, In a System of Competitive Industry thus carried on, the wealth of the world would fall into the hands of those of superior powers; while the feeble, the stolid, and the ignorant would be left poor and helpless. And, as the different classes of the community would be no longer directly associated with each other in their labors and in- terests, but would be, on the contrary, competitorsand as the fact that there had been free competition would be held by all classes to absolve them from any responsibility as to each others welfareit would inevitably result that the weaker orders should fall into indigence, degradation, wretch- edness, starvation, and premature death. Such has been the case. With the advent of Competitive Industry in Eu- rope and Americato confine ourselves to these countrieswith the disintegra- tion of the Social System in which the Buckle, Drayer; Church and State. 63 different classes were associated in mutu- ally dependent and co~iperative efforts; with the abrogation, on the part of the superior body of citizens, of all respon- sibility for, and direct interest in, the affairs and comfort of the lower orders, has come Pauperism, Social Instability, and a degree of misery and depravity among the poorest of the masses, never before known in the history of the world, all things being taken into con- sideration. It is a well-known saying of Political Economists, that the rich are daily growing richer, and the poor poorer. It might be added with truth: and more degraded and dangerous. The effects of this method of (Join- petitive Industry upon the higher class- es have been scarcely less injurious, though in a different direction. It has bred an intense selfishness and an apathy in respect to the sufferings of others which no lover of his race can contemplate without emotions of an- guish. Not only is the idea of any effort for the permanent relief of the poorer classes, for taking them under special care and making their welfare the business of Society, not entertained by any large number of persons; but those who do feel keenly the necessity of such a step, and whose sympathies are aroused by the sufferings of the masses around them, are too deeply imbued with the ease-loving spirit of the age, too much wedded to their own comfort, to take any active measures for the realiza- tion of their desires, or to forego their momentary interests to secure them. The rich heap up riches by the iniquitous trade-system which drifts the earnings of the laborers into their net, and are dead to the call of those whom they are, unconsciously in most cases, defrauding. Nay! they even struggle to wring from them the largest possible amount of work for the small- est possible pay! Day by day they grow more exacting as they grow wealthier; day by day the laboring orders sink into more harassing and hopeless conditions. Had the functions of Government in our own country and in England been those only of protec- tion to persons and property; had not the general and local authorities in some degree assisted the oppressed toil- ers; had not the Church by her ad- monitions and pleadings kept some sparks of feeling alive in the breast of the people of this money-getting age, and stimulated somewhat their benev- olence, the laboring classes of England and America would long since have sunk to utter destitution. Nor would this have been all. For when the mass of the people reach such a point; when they are driven to despair, as they are now fast being driven, and would long ago have been driven but for the cir- cumstances stated, then comes the ter- rible reaction, the frightful revolution, the upheaval of all order, anarchy, and who shall tell what else I The Riot of July is still ringing its solemn warn- ingall unheededin the ears of this people. Society has yet and speedily to lift the masses out of their ignorance, poverty, squalor, and accompanying brutality, or to sink awfully beneath their maddened retaliation. In thus criticizing the Industrial Polity of modern times as, in the re- spects indicated, inferior to that of the Feudal System, the writer does not wish to be understood as affirming any more than is really said. The idea which it is desired to express is this: that the plan upon which this system was foundedthe mutual interdependence of classes and their reciprocally co~iper- ative laborwas far superior to the method of Competitive Industry now in vogue; and the true typewhen rightly carried out, without the draw- backs and the evils of the Feudal Sys- temof Social organization. That there are compensations in our modern mode, and that, on the whole, Society advances in adopting it, is true. But it will take a further step in advance when it reverts to that plan on the footing above indicated; when it adopts the plan without the evils which 64 Buckle, Draper; Ukurek and State. in an ignorant and undeveloped age necessarily accompanied it. It has not been forgotten that the Church has arrayed itself, to no small extent, against the advent of new knowledge; that the State has sup- pressed the enlarging tendencies of in- dividual liberty; and that both have been, in this way and in other ways, as Mr. Buckle and Professor Draper have clearly shown, clogs upon the hurrying wheels of the nations. It is precisely because they have been and are still so, that they served and do serve the cause of progress. It has been previously stated that new truths come from the body of ad- vanced Thinkers, who constitute a fourth and comparatively small class in the community. The discoverer of a new truth sees the immense advan- tages which would accrue to Society from a knowledge of it, and is eager for its immediate promulgation and accep- tance; and, if it be of a practical na- ture, for its incorporation into the working principles of the Social polity. This may be true. But there is another verity of equal importance, which ordi- narily he does not take into considera- tion, namely: that the great mass of the people who form Society are not pre- pared for the change which he contem- plates. They comprehend and act more slowly than the Thinkers. The novelty must be brought home to their under- standings gradually, and assimilated. Old forms of thought, old associations, encrusted prejudices, the deep-seated opinions of years must be modified be- fbre the new will find a lodgment in their convictions. It is well that the Thinker should urge with impetuous and ardent zeal his side of the case; that he should insist upon the immediate adjustment of thought or activity in accordance with advanced right. It is true that he will not instantly succeed. It is equally true that, with human nature and Society as they now are, he would destroy all order if he did. Men can live only in that portion of truth which they are competent to appreciate. Place the Indian in the heated city, and make him conform to the usages of city life, he pines and dies. If it were possible to take away from the igno- rant and child-minded races of the earth or portions of community their superstitious faith, and substitute the higher truths of a more spiritual inter- pretation, yet would they not subserve their religious purposes. So, when the new verity is held up to view, to the great mass who cannot understand it, it is no truth, but a lie. They oppose it. Thus the discovery becomes known. Diseussion excites new thought. The Thinkers array themselves upon one side, urging forward; the State and the Church, representing the body of So- ciety, take the other, standing sturdily stilI~ or hesitating, doubting either the validity of the alleged truth or its uses. Between the clash of contending opin- ions the new ideas take shape in the awakened minds which are prepared for them. These come shortly to be the majority. The State and the Church gradually and imperceptibly modif~y their methods or their creeds; and so, safely and without disaster, hu- manity takes a step in advance. It would be better, indeed, if this slow process were not necessary. When the whole scope of Fundamental Truths is apprehended; when a Science of the Universe is known; when truth is no longer fragmentary; and when there is mutual confidence and coiiperation among the different classes of com- munity, it will not be necessary. But until then, any attempt to force an in- stantaneous acceptance of new truths or an immediate inauguration of new methods upon the mass of the people will only serve, if successful, to over- throw order in Society, and introduce Social anarchy in its stead. From such an attempt came the chaos of the French Revolution ;from an endeavor to inaugurate ideas essentially correct among a people noway ready to com Lookout 3fountctin. prehend them rightly. The Conserva.. tive Element is as essential to the well- being of society as the Progressive. To eliminate either is to destroy its balanced action; and to give it over to stagnation on the one hand, or to frenzy on the other. The Thinkers of the past have done, and those of the present are doing, good work for hu- inanity, on the Progressive side. The Church and the State of the past have done, the Church and the State of the present are doing, good work for hu- manity, on the Conservative side. Through the instrumentality of the Thinkers, the Church, and the State, the world has been brought slowly, steadily, and safely along the path of progress, now gaining in one way, and now in an- other; at times abandoning one line of advance, only to go ahead upon a differ- ent one; yet always moving onward, and standing to-day, in spite of its seeming retrogressions, at the highest point of development which it has ever touched. The Church and the State of the fu- ture will be the subject of subsequent consideration. LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. FOR months that followed the triumph the rebels had boasted they wrought, But which lost to them Chattanooga, thus bringing their triumph to nought; The mountain-walled citadel city, with its outposts in billowy crowds, Grand soarers among the lightnings, stern conquerors of the clouds! For months, I say, had the rebels, with the eyes of their cannon, looked down From the high-crested forehead of Lookout, from the Missions long sinuous crown Till GRANT, our invincible hero, the winner of every fight! Who joys in the strife, like the eagle that drinks from the storm delight! Marshalled his war-worn legions, and, pointing to them the foe, Kindled their hearts with the tidings that now should be stricken the blow, The rebel to sweep from old Lookout, that cloud-post dizzily high, Whence the taunt of his cannon and banner had affronted so long the sky. Brave THOMAS the foeman had brushed from his summit the nearest, and now The balm of the midnights quiet soothed Natures agonized brow: A midnight of murkiest darkness, and Lookouts dark undefined mass Heaved grandly a frown on the welkin, a barricade nothing might pass. Its breast was sprinkled with sparkles, its crest was dotted in gold, Telling the camps of the rebels secure as they deemed in their hold. Where glimmered the creek of the Lookout, it seemed the black dome of the night Had dropped all its stars in the valley, it glittered so over with light: There were voices and clashings of weapons, and drum beat and bugle and tramp, Quick fittings athwart the broad watchfires that spotted the grays of the camp: Dark columns would glimmer and vanish, a rider flit by like a ghost; There was movement all over the valley, the movement and din of a host. Twas the legion so famed of the White Star, and led on by GEARY the brave, That was chosen to gather the laurel or find on the mountain a grave. They crossed the dim creek of the Lookout, and toiled up the sable ascent, Till the atoms black crawling and struggling in the dense upper darkness were blent. VOL. vx.5 65

Lookout Mountain 65-67

Lookout 3fountctin. prehend them rightly. The Conserva.. tive Element is as essential to the well- being of society as the Progressive. To eliminate either is to destroy its balanced action; and to give it over to stagnation on the one hand, or to frenzy on the other. The Thinkers of the past have done, and those of the present are doing, good work for hu- inanity, on the Progressive side. The Church and the State of the past have done, the Church and the State of the present are doing, good work for hu- manity, on the Conservative side. Through the instrumentality of the Thinkers, the Church, and the State, the world has been brought slowly, steadily, and safely along the path of progress, now gaining in one way, and now in an- other; at times abandoning one line of advance, only to go ahead upon a differ- ent one; yet always moving onward, and standing to-day, in spite of its seeming retrogressions, at the highest point of development which it has ever touched. The Church and the State of the fu- ture will be the subject of subsequent consideration. LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. FOR months that followed the triumph the rebels had boasted they wrought, But which lost to them Chattanooga, thus bringing their triumph to nought; The mountain-walled citadel city, with its outposts in billowy crowds, Grand soarers among the lightnings, stern conquerors of the clouds! For months, I say, had the rebels, with the eyes of their cannon, looked down From the high-crested forehead of Lookout, from the Missions long sinuous crown Till GRANT, our invincible hero, the winner of every fight! Who joys in the strife, like the eagle that drinks from the storm delight! Marshalled his war-worn legions, and, pointing to them the foe, Kindled their hearts with the tidings that now should be stricken the blow, The rebel to sweep from old Lookout, that cloud-post dizzily high, Whence the taunt of his cannon and banner had affronted so long the sky. Brave THOMAS the foeman had brushed from his summit the nearest, and now The balm of the midnights quiet soothed Natures agonized brow: A midnight of murkiest darkness, and Lookouts dark undefined mass Heaved grandly a frown on the welkin, a barricade nothing might pass. Its breast was sprinkled with sparkles, its crest was dotted in gold, Telling the camps of the rebels secure as they deemed in their hold. Where glimmered the creek of the Lookout, it seemed the black dome of the night Had dropped all its stars in the valley, it glittered so over with light: There were voices and clashings of weapons, and drum beat and bugle and tramp, Quick fittings athwart the broad watchfires that spotted the grays of the camp: Dark columns would glimmer and vanish, a rider flit by like a ghost; There was movement all over the valley, the movement and din of a host. Twas the legion so famed of the White Star, and led on by GEARY the brave, That was chosen to gather the laurel or find on the mountain a grave. They crossed the dim creek of the Lookout, and toiled up the sable ascent, Till the atoms black crawling and struggling in the dense upper darkness were blent. VOL. vx.5 65 Lookout 3Thu#dai7~. 66 Mists, fitful in rain, came at daydawn, they spread in one mantle the skies, And we that were posted below stood and watched with our hearts in our eyes; We watched as the mists broke and joined, the quick flits and the blanks of the fray; There was thunder, but not of the clouds; there was lightning, but redder in ray; Oh, warm rose our hopes to the White Star, oh, wild went our pleadings to heaven; We knew, and we shuddered toknow it, how fierce oft the rebels had striven; We saw, and we shuddered to see it, the rebel flag still in the air; Shall our boys be hurled back God of Battles! oh, bring not such bitter despair! But the battle is rolling still up, it has plunged in the mantle oerhead, We hear the low hum of the volley, we see the fierce bomb-burst of red; Still the rock in the forehead of Lookout through the rents of the windy mist shows The horrible flag of the Crossbar, the counterfeit rag of our foes: Portentous it looks through the vapor, then melts to the eye, but it tells That the rebels still cling to their stronghold, and hope for the moment dispels. But the roll of the thunder seems louder, flame angrier smites on the eye, The scene from the fog is laid opena battle field fought in the sky! Eye to eye, hand to hand, all are struggling ;ha, traitors! ha, rebels, ye know Now the might in the arm of our heroes! dare ye bide their roused terrible blow? They drive them, our braves drive the rebels! they flee, and our heroes pursue! We scale rock and trunkfrom their breastworks they run! oh, the joy of the view! Hurrah, how they drive them! hurrah, how they drive the fierce rehels along! One more cheer, still another! each lip seems as ready to burst into song. On, on, ye bold blue-coated heroes! thrust, strike, pour your shots in amain! Banners fly, columns rush, seen and lost in the quick, fitful gauzes of rain. Oh, boys, how your young blood is streaming! but falter not, drive them to rout! From barricade, breastwork, and riflepit, how the scourged rebels pour out! We see the swift plunge of the caisson within the dim background of haze, With the shreds of platoons inward scudding, and fainter their batteries blaze; As the mist curtain falls all is blank; as it lifts, a wild picture out glares, A wild shifting picture of battle, and dread our warm hopefulness shares; But never the braves of the White Star have sullied their fame in defeat, And they will not to-day see the triumph pass by them the%foeman to greet! No, no, for the battle is ending; the ranks on the slope of the crest Are the true Union blue, and our banners alone catch the gleams of the west, Though the Crossbar still flies from the summit, we roll out our cheering of pride! Not in vain, 0 ye heroes of Lookout! 0 brave Union boys! have ye died! One brief struggle more sees the banner, that blot on the sky, brushed away, When the broad moon now basking upon us shall yield her rich lustre to-day: She brings out the black hulk of Lookout, its outlines traced sharp in the skies, All alive with the camps of our braves glancing down with their numberless eyes. See, the darkness below the red dottings is twinkling with many a spark! Sergeant Teague thinks them souls of the rebels red fleeing from ours in the dark; But the light shocks of sound tell the tale, they are battles fierce fireworks at play! It is slaughters wild carnival revel bequeathed to the night by the day. Dawn breaks, the sky clearsha! the shape upon Lookouts tall crest that we see, Is the bright beaming flag of the White Star, the beautiful Flag of the Free! How it waves its rich folds in the zenith, and looks in the dawns open eye, With its starred breast of pearl and of crhnson, as if with heavens colors to vie! Hurrah!~ rolls from Moccasin Point, and Hurrah! from bold Camerons Hill! Hurrah! peals from glad Chattanooga! bliss seems every bosom to fill! One Night. ~67 Thanks, thanks, 0 ye heroes of Lookout! 0 brave Union boys! during Time Shall stand this, your column of glory, shall shine this, your triumph sublime! To the deep mountain den of the panther the hunter climbed, drove him to bay, Then fought the fierce foe till he turned and fled, bleeding and gnashing, away! Fled away from the scene where so late broke his growls and he shot down his glare, As he paced to and fro, for the hunter his~wild craggy cavern to dare! Thanks, thanks, 0 ye heroes of Lookout! ye girded your souls to the fight, Drew the sword, dropped the scabbard, and went in the full conscious strength of your might! Now climbing oer rock and oer tree mound, up, up, by the hemlock ye swung! Now plunging through thicket and swamp, on the edge of the hollow ye hung! One hand grasped the musket, the other clutched ladder of root and of bough: The trunk the tornado had shivered, the landmark pale glimmering now, And now the mad torrent s white lightning ;no drum tapped, no bugle was blown To the words that encouraged each other, and quick breaths, ye toiled up alone! Oh, long as the mountains shall rise oer the waters of bright Tennessee, Shall be told the proud deeds of the White Sta,r, the cloud-treading host of the free! The camp-fire shall blaze to the chorus, the picket-post peal it on high, How was fought the fierce battle of Lookouthow won TIlE GRAND FIGHT OP THE SKY! ONE NIGHT I. FRoM the window at which I write, in these November days, I see a muddy, swollen river, spread over the meadows into a dingy lake; it is not a pictur- esque or a pretty stream, in spite of its Indian name. Beyond it the land slopes away into a range of long, low hills, which the autumn has browned; the long swaths of fog stretching be- tween river and hill are so like to them and to the dissolving gray sky that they all blend in one general gloom. This picture filling my eye narrows and shapes itself into the beginning of my story: I see a lazy, dirty river on the outskirts of a manufacturing city; where the stream has broadened into a sort of pond it is cut short by the dam, and there is a little cluster of mills. They all belong to one work, however, and they look as if they had been set down there for a few months only; contract seems written all over them, and very properly, for they are running on a Government order for small arms. There is no noise but an underhum of revolving shafts and the smothered thud of trip hammers. Ore dust black- ens everything, and is scattered every- where, so that the whole ground is a patchwork of black and gray; else- where there is snow, but here the snow is turned to the dingy color of the place. It is very quiet outside, being early morning yet; a cold mist hides the dawn, and the water falls with a winter hiss; the paths are indistinct, for the sky is oniy just enough lighten- ing to show the east. The coal dust around one door shows that the fires are there; a cavernous place, suddenly letting a lurid glow out upon the night, and then black again. It is only a narrow alley through the building, making sure of a good draft; on one side are the piles of coal, and on the other a row of furnace doors.

One Night 67-79

One Night. ~67 Thanks, thanks, 0 ye heroes of Lookout! 0 brave Union boys! during Time Shall stand this, your column of glory, shall shine this, your triumph sublime! To the deep mountain den of the panther the hunter climbed, drove him to bay, Then fought the fierce foe till he turned and fled, bleeding and gnashing, away! Fled away from the scene where so late broke his growls and he shot down his glare, As he paced to and fro, for the hunter his~wild craggy cavern to dare! Thanks, thanks, 0 ye heroes of Lookout! ye girded your souls to the fight, Drew the sword, dropped the scabbard, and went in the full conscious strength of your might! Now climbing oer rock and oer tree mound, up, up, by the hemlock ye swung! Now plunging through thicket and swamp, on the edge of the hollow ye hung! One hand grasped the musket, the other clutched ladder of root and of bough: The trunk the tornado had shivered, the landmark pale glimmering now, And now the mad torrent s white lightning ;no drum tapped, no bugle was blown To the words that encouraged each other, and quick breaths, ye toiled up alone! Oh, long as the mountains shall rise oer the waters of bright Tennessee, Shall be told the proud deeds of the White Sta,r, the cloud-treading host of the free! The camp-fire shall blaze to the chorus, the picket-post peal it on high, How was fought the fierce battle of Lookouthow won TIlE GRAND FIGHT OP THE SKY! ONE NIGHT I. FRoM the window at which I write, in these November days, I see a muddy, swollen river, spread over the meadows into a dingy lake; it is not a pictur- esque or a pretty stream, in spite of its Indian name. Beyond it the land slopes away into a range of long, low hills, which the autumn has browned; the long swaths of fog stretching be- tween river and hill are so like to them and to the dissolving gray sky that they all blend in one general gloom. This picture filling my eye narrows and shapes itself into the beginning of my story: I see a lazy, dirty river on the outskirts of a manufacturing city; where the stream has broadened into a sort of pond it is cut short by the dam, and there is a little cluster of mills. They all belong to one work, however, and they look as if they had been set down there for a few months only; contract seems written all over them, and very properly, for they are running on a Government order for small arms. There is no noise but an underhum of revolving shafts and the smothered thud of trip hammers. Ore dust black- ens everything, and is scattered every- where, so that the whole ground is a patchwork of black and gray; else- where there is snow, but here the snow is turned to the dingy color of the place. It is very quiet outside, being early morning yet; a cold mist hides the dawn, and the water falls with a winter hiss; the paths are indistinct, for the sky is oniy just enough lighten- ing to show the east. The coal dust around one door shows that the fires are there; a cavernous place, suddenly letting a lurid glow out upon the night, and then black again. It is only a narrow alley through the building, making sure of a good draft; on one side are the piles of coal, and on the other a row of furnace doors. 08 One Night. The stoker is sitting on a heap of cin- der. He is only an old man, a little stooping, with a head that is turning ashes color; his eye is faded, and his face nearly expressionless, while he sits perfectly still on the heap, as if ~e were a part of the engine which turns slowly in a shed adjoining and pants through its vent in the roof. He has been sit- ting there so long that he has a vague notion that his mind has somehow gone out of him into the iron doors and the rough coal, and he only goes round and round like the engine. Yet he never considered the matter at all, any more than the engine wanted to use its own wheel, which it turned month after month in the same place, to propel it- self through the world; just so often he opened and shut each door in its turn, fed the fires, and then sat down and sat stilL He was looking at a boy of six, asleep at his feet on a pile of ashes and cinder, which was not so bad a bed, for the gentle heat left in it was as good as a lullaby, and Shakspeare long ago told us that sleep has a preference for sitting by hard pillows. The child was an odd bit of humanity. An acci- dent at an early age had given it a hump, though otherwise it was fair enough; and now perhaps society would have seen there only an animal watching its sleeping cub. Presently the boy woke and got on his feet, and began to walk toward the cold air with short, uncertain steps, almost fall- ing against a furnace door. The old man jumped and caught him. Ta, ta, Nobby, he said, whats thou doin? Thems hotter nor cender. Burnt child dreads firedid knowst twas fire? He had a sort of language of his own, and his voice was singularly harsh, as if breathing in that grimy place so long had roughened his throat. There, go, Nobby, look thee out an see howst black she is. Ta, but its hawt, and he rubbed his forehead with his sleeve; its a deal pity this hot can nawt go out wheres cold, an peo- ple needin it. Her& s hot, theres cold, but twill stay here, as it loved the place twas bornhome, like. Why, Net, that thee? There was no door to the place to knock at or open, but the craunch of a foot was heard on the coal outside, and a girl came in, moist and shivering. The stoker set her down in a warm corner, and looked at her now. Is thee, my little Net? he re- peated. Yes, and Ive brought your break- fast, father; twas striking six before I come in. Too early, my girl, sleep her sleep out. Heres hot an cosey like, an time goes, an I could wait for break- fast, till Im home. Ill nawt let my little girls sleep. No, father, I couldnt sleep after five, anyway; and I thought I must bring your breakfast to-day. Youll walk back through the cold easier after something hot to eat. Thats my dear little girl. Shiver- in yet, she is. There, lay down on this, raking out a heap of fresh ashes, them warm an soft like, an go ye to sleep till I go. No, I must heat your coffee, she answered, steadying the pot before one of the furnaces with bits of coal. Ware that door doan fly back an hurt ye; them does so sometimes. Yes, Ill be careful. Why, youve got Whitney here! He come down to-night, Net. By himself somehow, though I doan kuaw how Lord kep his short feet from the river bank an the floom. An he couldnt go back, nor I couldnt go with him. Hes slep on the cender, nice; alls a cradle to Nobby. Yes, cinders a good bed, when the eyes are shut, said the girl, bitterly. The coffee was smoking hot when I started, but its cold out this morning, so theres all this to be done over. Yes, outdoors has cooled it. The world was hungry, like, an wanted to One Night. 69 eat it. Small nubbin for all the world, but it stole the hot an the smell o the meat. The girl did not reply to this bit of pleasantry. She was about eighteen, and her face would have been strikingly pretty except for the eager, hungering look of the eye; but in every motion, every look, and even the way in which she wore her neat and simple clothing, there was the word unsatisfied. Finally, she brought coffee and meat to him. Here, Net, take ye a sip, said he; twill warm ye nice. Shiverin yet she is; deed the mornins clammy cold; theres naw love in thet. Drink! I cawnt take ye home so, an my times most up; its gettin light. But she refused it, and sat and watched him as he ate, never taking her eyes from his face. Father, she presently said, what do you do here? The old stoker laughed: Do, my girl? Why, keep up the fires. Its like Im a spoke in a wheel or summut. I keeps the fires, an the fires makes the angeen go, an thet turns the works thet makes the pistols, sot folks may kill theirsels. Theres naw peace any- wheres in the world. I didnt mean that; but what do you do the rest of the time? Dont you think? Arent you tired of this place, father? Sometimes its like I think so; but hows the use, my Net? Heres rough, an heres rough too, touching his chest. On smooth floors, such as I couldnt work, if we could get there. Hows the use o hem tired? Weve got to keep steady at summut. Its best to be content, like Nobby there; cenders as good a bed as the kings got. Well, if you were tired, youre going to rest now, so I wish you were. Whats that mean? Youve got through here, thats all, cried the girl, with a smothered sob. He set down his pot of coffee and his pail: Who told ye so? he do.. manded. Margery Eames. Catching the girls hand, the old man half dragged her through the opening into a yard devoted to coal storage. Pickixig their way through the spotted mire, they entered a shed where trip hammers were pounding in showers of sparks, stepped over a great revolving shaft, and came to a stair- way; up, up, to the fifth floor, where the finishing rooms were. Faint daylight was straggling through the narrow windows, and most of the lamps were out, those that were burning being very sickly, as if they did it under protest. A number of women were employed here, because much of the work was merely automat- ic, and just now men were scarce and women would work cheaper. The women were coarse and rough, rather the scum of the cityperhaps some might have fallen; but the place was noisome and grimy, with a sickening smell of oil everywhere, repulsive enough to be fit for any workers. The stoker and his daughter walked to the farther end, and came to where a little group of women were sitting round a bench; one of the group tipped a wink to the rest. Hows coal an fires now, Adam ~ she said. Did ye tell my girl anythin? he demanded. Of course I did. What wast then? Well, said she, wiping her greasy hands on the bosom of her dress, I watched on the road for her this morn- ing, an I told her. What? I told her she neednt try to put on airs, she was only a stokers daugh- ter, an hell not have that place any more. Did ye knaw she didnt knawt? Yes. What do you care, old dusty? Shes got a good place. ~ Yes, she has, Lords good fort. Shall we fight it out, Adam? Hold on till I wipe my hands. Nawt till one can fight by hersel, Margery. I forgive yer spite, an hope Lord woan bring it back to ye ever. Whats said can nawt be helped. Come, Net. Youre a mean creature, Margery, to tell him that, said one, after they were gone. I expected to hear you tell him about the place his girls got. Lord I hes innocent as a baby about it, an thinks shes on the way up, while every- body else knows it, an knows its the way down. Tis that, said Margery, but Ive that much decency that I didnt say it. Let the old man take one thing at a time; hell know it soon enough when she fetches up at the bottom. What did you want to trouble old Adam for? Because I did! cried the woman, with a sudden flash; because I like to hurt people. Ive been struck, an stabbed, an bruised, an seared, an people pointin fingers at me, whose heart wasnt foulern theirs, if my lips were. Its all cut an slash in the world, an the only way to get on with pain when youre hit, is to hit some- body else. Id rather find a soft spot in somebody than have a dollar give me, sure~ s my name~ s Margery. What business has he to have any feelins, workin year after year down there in the coal? Why havent people been good to me? I never come up here into this grease; people sent me; an when hits the game Ill do my part. I hope his girls a comfort to him; hell be proud enough of her some time, you see. to On~e Hi~yht. I oughtnt to have told you till after to-morrow, father. Theres howt seems hard, thet it must come to Christmas. An when Ive been here so long, twenty year noo, Net. Oh, dont call me that any more, father; I dont like it. Why nawt, little girl? What should I call her? You used to love to hear it. Not now, not now, said the gil,in a choking voice, not to-day, not till Christmas is over. Call me Jane. Yes, twenty year ago I come here, an Ive been settin on them piles o cen- der ever sence. Deed I most love them doors an the rake an poker. Ive hed my frets about it sometimes, but I doan want to go though. And I say its a shame in them to use you so!~ cried the girl. Making their money hand over hand, and to go and grudge you this ash hole, for the sake of saving! Theyll get no good from such reckoning. I wish their cruel old mill would burn down! No, Jane, hold hersel I Heres fire .should I do it? Its Cowless work. I hate him. The mills their own, Jane; they gev me what they liked; Ive no claim. Mr. Cowles do as he think best for tmilL Then to do it just now I I hope his dinnerll be sweet. I nawt meant my girl to knawt till Christmas wor done. But yell nawt mind it, Jane, yell nawt I Well nawt lose Christmas, too, for it come for us. Mr. Cowles doan own thet. Well hey thet anyhow, an keep it. Shell nawt fret hersel, my little girl! Adam seated his girl again, opened Jane did not answer. the doors one after another, and raked Well get on somehoo, Lord knaws and fed the fires; then he shut them, hoo. We never starved yet, an youve and stood his rake in the corner, and got a good place. Itll all be right, an seated himself. Christmas day to-morrow I Well, its come out, he said; but I got a good place! Oh, father! I didnt mean ye should know, yet. Why, Jane, I thought so. Doan Margery~s ill willed, but its like she they use her well? didnt think. Yes, they do, quickly answered the ORe Ntghz~. 71 girl; I dont know why I spoke so. Im a bit discontented, perhaps, but dont you fear for me, father; and we mustnt fretanyway, till after to- morrow. Shes nawt content, is she? said the stoker, settling his head into his hands. Ive hed my frets, too, alone here, thinkin summut like I should liked to knaw books, an been deffer- ent, but its like Id nawt been content. Lord knows. Deed I loves them doors an the old place here, but seems as if summut was sayin theres better things; its like there is, but nawt for such as me. I doan care for mysel, but Id like to hey more to gev my little girl. You give me all youve got, father, and I ought to be satisfied. But Im notits not your blame, father, but I know Im not,~ she said, with sudden energy. I dont know what I want; its somethingit seems as if I was hungry. Nawt hungry, Jane I Shes nawt starvin I No, I dont want any more to eat, nor better clothes, she said, getting out the words painfully. Its something else; I cant tell what it is, unless Im hungry. Well, I knaw I doan understan her, said the man sadly. I doan knaw my little girl. Is it him shes thinkin of? The fire-glow on the girls face hid any change that may have come there, and she only drew a little farther away, without answering. Ive nawt seen many people, Jane, but sometimes I likes an dislikes, as Nobby does, an I doan like him. An I doan like hini to be nigh my girl; theres naw truth in him. I wish shed say shell hey naw more speech with him.~ No, no, fat her, dont ask me that. I dont care for him, but I cant promise not to speak to himI do! I do! Oh, father I sobbed the girl, everything comes at once! The old man drew her head on his knee, and even his rough voice grew softer, talking to his little girl. He beat and kissed her. I wish twere nawt so, he said; but mebbe Im wrong. Lord keep my little girl, an well nawt fret, but be happy to-morrow. Another man came in with a big tread. It was the engineer, a hale, burly fellow, with a genuine, rollicking kindness. He tossed the boy into the air, pinched Janes cheek, and gave his morning salutation in several lusty thumps on the stokers back. Rippin day thisll be, Adam, said he; say twont, an Ill shake your ribs loose. Just such a days I like to breathe in; an when Ive set all night in my chair there, not sleepin of course, but seem that everlastin old crosshead go in an out, an that wheel turnin away just so fast an no faster, I swear I do go to sleep with my eyes open; an when it gets light such a days this, I get up an shake myselfthis fash- ion, giving him an extra jerk. Keep up heart, Adam; I know it, an I dont know what Cowles is thinkin of. I dont want to crowd you out, an you ought to be the last one to go. Id quit em for it myself afford it or not, only twont do you no good. Merry Christmas, Mr. Grump!, cried Nobby, rubbing his eyes. Youve slept over, my young un, laughed the engineer; youre one day ahead. Of course the palty mill must run to-morrow. Mine dont, I warrant. My machinery runs on a fat turkey, twenty pound if hes an ounce. Thats me. Yes, and weve got a turkey too, chimed Nobby. I warrant you have. An he had as good an appetite when he was alive as anybody elses turkey; them fellows do gobble their grub quite conscien- tiously, fattin emselves without know- in or carin whether rich or poorll eat em. Ill bet yourss as fat an goods Mr. Prescotts, or old Cowlessdamu him! No, I dont mean quite that, so One Night. near Christmas, but he ought to be choked with his own dinner, Ill say that. Keep up good heart, Adam; an now clear out, every one! cut home to yer breakfasts! My watch now, an I wont have one of ye round~~scud! or wait a minute an Ill pitch ye out. II. After his breakfast, Adam walked back to the factory. He was wonder- ing, as he went along, why they should begin with him if they wanted to save expense. Eighteen dollars a month was a good deal to him, hut what was it ~ the mill? Every turn of the water wheel, he thought, made more money than his days wages. But pos- sibly Mr. Prescott had found out that his son fancied Jane, and meant to drive them out of town. The very day that Mr. Prescott saw him first, Mr. Cowles, the manager, told him he wasnt needed any longer, that the un- der engineer would see to the fires. That was punishing him for anothers faultjust the way with rich men; and for a while he almost hated Mr. Pres- cott. Adam Craig had had a peculiar life, as he thought. He wanted education, money, and such other things, besides something to eat and wear; but they never came to him, and he drifted into a place at the machine shops, and got the stamp put on him, and then went his round year after year with less and less thought of stepping out of it. Yet he always believed he once had some un- common stuff in him, and he claimed his own respect for having had it, even if he had lost it now; he had his own way of proving it too. His wife was the mirror by which he judged himself. She was a German woman, whom he found in the city hospital; or rather she found him, shot through the throat by the accidental discharge of a rifle. She was just from the fatherland, and could not speak a word of English; with his swollen head he could not speak at all; but she watched him through it, and by the signs of that language which is common to all na- tions, they managed to understand each other, and signalized the day of his re- covery by marrying. This was the pride of Adams whole life, and con- vinced him he was made capable of being somebody; he held his wife to be a superior woman, and her appreci- ation was a consolation that never left him. She knawed me, he used to say, she saw into me better nor I did. And though he would talk stoutly sometimes for democracy, he had an odd notion that marrying a Continental European gave him some sort of dis- tinction; and all his troubled talks with himself ended in his saying: Ah, well, if Id been born in Germany, I might been somebody. Adam watched for Mr. Cowles most of the forenoon, determined to ask about his dismissal; at last the man- ager strolled through the shops, and Adam made a desperate effort, and went to him. He turned short about, as the stoker spoke. Mr. Cowles, was ye told to send me away? Told! Who should tell me? But I thoughtI thought Mr. Pres- cott might said summut Do you suppose he concerns him- self about you? Im master here, and I dont ask what I shall do. Adam took hope: Hey ye said sure I must go, Mr. Cowles? Ive been here so long, an noo Im old. Ive got gray at tmill, touching his head as he spoke. Youve had your wages regular, havent you? said Cowles, roughly. I dont inquire how long youve been here. Would I keep an old lathe that was worn or that I had no use for, be. cause Id had it a good while? Stay round to-day, if you like, and then go. But eighteen dollars is nawt much to tmill, said Adam, humbly; doan~ be hard, an gev me a chance, a chance to help mysel I Twinters hard, an Ive a family I One Ni~jkt. ,T3 Did I make your family? You should have thought of that long ago. Stand out of the way, if youre done. The stoker clung to the doorpost. Suinmut else I could dothere must be summutye knaw summut else, Mr. Cowles? Something else to do, you fool! What could you dorun the engine? tend the planers? If I wanted you at all, I should keep you where you were. He moved off at this. Adam seated himself on the familiar cinder heaps and grieved in his simple way, for a time feeling almost bitter. Little Nobbys deformity was one of the strange things that made Adam think. Several years before, he had the child with him at the factory one night, just old enough to walk a little. In Adams momentary absence the boy managed to get upon a box near one of the furnace doors, and, rolling against the blistering iron, was horri- bly burned; yet unaccountably he did not die, but grew bent into a scarred, shapeless body, though his face was a sweet, childish one, innocent of fire. Nobby, as Adam called him after that, was a silent preacher to the stoker. When a clergyman asked him once if he was a Christian, he pointed to Nob- bys back: I knaw theres a Lord, he said, or else Nobbyd died, burnt so sore thet way; an I knaw Hes good, or Nobbyd been a fool aterward, like children thet burn theirsels. Saved Nobby from dyin an from bein worse nor dead, both, Lord meant him good. The boy was Adam Craigs grand- son. His firstborn, Tom, was wild, and went to seathe old storyleaving wife and unborn child for his father to look to. Six years had gonethe seventh began at New Years; the boy was born, burnt, saved alive, and not idiotic; its mother had died; Adams life was outrunning the childs, and he would soon have to leave it to go on by itself; but bis faith in his sons re- turn never shook. Himll come back, he would say, simply, and in perfect confidence, I knawt well. Lord never burnt Nobby for nawt. Hims nawt dead; himll come back some time, I knaw. III. Adam went back at noon, and found something else to take his thoughts: Nobby was in his painsa sad rem- nant of his terrible mishap. These were irregular, and he had been free for several months, but he had been ex- posed to the cold to-day. There was little to be done. At such times Adam could only cry over him, hold him in his arms while he was twisting his crooked body so that it would hardly stay in or upon anything, and say: Poor, poor Nobby. Himll nawt die, Katry; but how can he live? Lord send back Tom! Jane was busy somewhere, and did not come home till evening. Her fi~ther had been turned out of his place; Nobby was in his pains again, after they had been hoping he wouldnt have any more; and to-morrow was Christ- mas! As she said, everything came at once. Things seemed to swim before her eyesNobbys pain was the most real of alland as she could not help him, she wanted to get out of sight. It was all true. Aching and longing intolerably for something more than she had known, she had met Will Pres- cottand he had loved herhe said so; and he had promised her books and pictures, and chances for travel and study. She went into the best room, already trimmed for to-morrow; the Christmas tree was clustered with gifts and with candles ready for lighting, and the motto was on the top, 6ott sur hfitfe. Jane looked it all over, and her lip quivered. This is pure and honest, as it says,~ said she; and Im a lie myself, cheating father. Christmas to-morrow! twont T4 One Night. last long; if he only knew I go toI wont say the wordwould he ever care about me again? She went into the other room for her shawl. Hes my little girl got to go out to- night? said Adam. Well, theres to-morrow. Doan stay late, Net, kiss- ing her good-by. She pulled the hood over her face and went out, taking the road to the city, never slackening her pace till the lights along the way grew thicker, and she came upon the pavements. Cross- ing the great thoroughfare, she turned into a narrow street, and from that descended a short flight of steps into a narrower one lit only by a great lamp in front of a door, with the word Tanrehaus above it; she went in here unhesitatingly. A large room with a bar on one side, small tables in the middle, and a stage at the farther end; some tables had occupants, drinking and looking at several women dancing on the stage. This was Janes place; the dance house wanted her face at its tables, and as there was nothing else open, in very desperation she went. She turned into a smaller room where the private tables were, to which she belonged; at first they had tried to teach her to dance, but she would not learn. The furniture was worn, with a slimy polish in spots; an unclean, sti- fling smell in the air; a few coarse prints of racers and champions hung around; and in one place a drunken artist had sketched one night a Crucifixion on the wall; the owner was angry enough, but something held back his hand from touching it, and it staid there, covered by an old newspaper. As Jane laid away her shawl and hood, a woman came forward to meet her. What are you here for? she said, fiercely; this is Christmas eve! theres none for meI wish I could cry, but my tears are dried up, snatching her tawdry cap from her head and stamp- ing on it; but youre not a devil yet. Go home, if youve got a home! out the back wayquick! The woman caught her shoulder, pulled away the paper, and pointed to the picture on the wall. Look at that! When I see that, I think sometimes Im in hell! What has that got to do with me? Do you want to get out of the reach of that? Go home, go home, shaking her furi- ously. I cant! I cant! cried Jane, des- perately. He wont let me. Twas here or the street, I thought; Ive been here three weeks, and to-nights no more n other nights. A voice called in the front room, and the woman put on her cap and ran in; Jane stood where she left her. She hardly knew what moved her to-night; she saw her own body walking about, tense and foreign, as though some pos- session had it; she had felt a new, strange kind of strength all day, after she had her cry out. She looked up at the picture again, saying slowly to her- self: Its for themIve got father, and mother, and sister, and brethren. Nine oclock struck, and people be- gan to come in; there was likely to be a rush to-night, and the players in the front room commenced their liveliest round of operatic airs. One after an- other turned into the side room, and the calls for service grew lively. Jane moved among them mechanically, thinking all the while of Nobby tossing in his pain; of the tree waiting for to-morrow; of her father turned out of his place; of the rent and the grocers bill that were about due; and of her own wages, pretty much all that was left. Was it such a terrible sin to be therefor them? Then she shivered to think she might be sliding down. No, no, she would be keptthey should be taken care of but she wouldnt fall while she had them to think of. A hot flush colored her face as she thought of young Prescott, confusing her so that she almost stumbled. What One Night. (5 would he think if he knew where she worked? No matter, he shouldnt know it. He would take her out of this by and by, and after that she would tell him all about it, and what she did it for, and he would love her all the better for it. The hours struck and went by, and the room grew hotter and noisier. Once the tables were emptied; but a fresh party came in, and their leader waved them to seats with maudlin politeness. He was a handsome young man, partly drunk already; he pushed the woman he had with him into a chair, and dropped into another himself. His back was toward Jane; she stood still a minute, then walked slowly, as if something dragged her, till she could see his face. The glass she held fell from her hand with a crash, but she stood dumb and white, and clung trembling to the table. He started, but gave her a nod. You, Will Prescott! Oh, my God! You here,Jane! And youre one of em too! I didnt think it quite so soon. She did not seem to hear the last words. The blood surged back to her face, and she sank at his feet. No, no, she moaned,Im not, Im notIm only here. You wont think worse of me, Will, seeing I did it for them? I must work somewhere, and this was all I could find. Say you dont think that! Say you believe me! He smiled in a drunken way, with- out speaking. Say it, Will! Say you love me, and take me out of this! Ho,.ho ! thats a devilish good one! Youre here, and som I; Im just a little merry to-nightcouldnt wait till to-morrow. Were well met, Janethese are my friends; heres my most par-ticular friend, laying his hand on his companions shoulder. The girl seemed to be stunned so that she did not understand. See it, hey? Say you love me! You do it beautifully, Janedo some more. Did you ever think I loved you? Oh, yes! and that I wanted to marry youof course! If your face hadnt looked prettiern it does now, damn me if Id ever looked twice at it! He turned his chair a little. Whats that! he screamed, catch- ing sight of the painting on the wall Take it away! You put it there, you wretch! staring at it with his eyes fixed. The noise brought the owner to the doora burly Dutchman. Landlord, put that thing away cover it up! Damnation! Do I want to come here to be preached at I Who pulled that paper off, I say? said the man. I pinned The Clipper over it. You did it, I swar! Be off with yer! Oh, let her stay, Lumpsey, said a woman that came in from the bar; shell be one on em when she gits round. I wont; I wont have nobody here thats bettern we be no longer. Heres yer pay; an~ now, missis, start yerself, an dont yer come nigh here agen thout yerll behave decent an be one on us. He tossed some bank notes toward her, took her by the shoulders, and shoved her out, shutting the door upon her. Iv. Everybody had gone out on Christ- mas evedarting about in sleighs; at service in the churches; at a party given in their set; shopping, as if their lives depended on it. Buying, selling, visiting, looking, the city was all astir. In the churches, soberly gay with ever- green trimming, like a young widow very stylish in black, but very proper withal, people were listening to the anthems, and everything about the place was wide awake, unless it was the chimes taking a nap until twelve oclock; drygoods men ran to and fro, dropping smiles, and winding them~ (6 One Night. selves up in a great medley reel of silks, laces, and things of virtu in general; next door, the booksellers were resplen- dent in dazzling bindings, pictures and photographs of everything and every- body, all of which were at everybodys disposaltake em all home, if you pleased; livery stables were as bare as if there had been an invasion of the country that day, and smiling keepers touched their pockets, and shook their heads pityingly at late comers; and even in the markets jolly butchers laughed, and sawed, and cut, and counted their moneyand those leath- ery fellows that were never jolly, sud- denly found out a new commercial maxim, that jollity is the best policy, and they fell to laughing too. Christ- mas is coming! thought everybody. Christmas is coming! and some of the lively small bells in the towers, not grown yet to years of ripe discretion, whispered to each other, and had to bite their tongues to keep from shout- ing it right out. The dance house and the narrow al- ley left behind, Jane was in the street too; she went with the crowd, pulling her hood so as to hide her face. She glanced at the costly goods that lay in confusion on the counters of the stores, and smiled bitterly, taking hold of her own cheap dress; the sleighs almost ran over her, they shot back and forth so wildly, to her whirling brain; a German air that a band was playing on a serenade somewhere in the distance seemed to roar in her ears like thun- der. She stopped before a confection- ers. The hot smell of meats came up through the grating where she stood; the window was ablaze with gas, piled high with pyramids of glittering frost, which rose out of a heaped profusion of carved lobster and turkey, and fruits and candies; she saw girls with pretty faces and nice dresses waiting on the fashionable crowd inside, and said to herself that she ought to be there. Some one touched her. It was a girl younger than herself~ who stood glar ing at the window, shivering in her ragged clothing; her eyes looked un- naturally large out of her sharp, pinched face, daubed with tears and dirt. Look a thar! she cried eagerly, catching Janes arm, see them! Why bent them mine? Why bent I in thar, a buyin o them? I ort to ride, ortnt I? Why bent I got nice things on, like a them thar? Pinchin Daves got my dress for three shillin to-night the last un I been a savin; must ha some drink, sot Id be forgettinto- night, to-night, ye see, I sayhoh! Giving a wild laugh, the girl ran off. A man inside was looking angrily through the window; so Jane turned from the thoroughfare, and finally struck into the road by which she came. The street lamps had given way to the moon. The flats adjoining the city were all white except marshy spots; passing two tall buildings, that made a sort of gateway, the country spread to the sky unbroken, except where rows of dreary houses, shadowy with- out the twinkle of a light, stood on some new land; this was not the fash- ionable road, an~ it was empty. How pure and cool it was! In the city, there was straggling moonlight, dark- ened by the brick walls, but no moon; out here, the moon had just broken from a bank of cloud low down, piled on a bank of snow, all looking snowy and alike, the horizon line being hardly distinguishable; the light poured from the edge in a shining flood, and rippled without a sound over the crisp, crusted snowall of one kin, cold, sparkling, desolate. Jane noted nothing of this; she walked dizzily along the road. Only one day since morning, after living a whole lifetime in that! She scooped up a handful of snow, and rubbed it furiously into her face and eyes, they burned so; her eyes were dry, melting the snow without feeling wet any. Clear back in the morning, Margery Eames met her; then the day dragged along as if it never would go, and she One .Yi9ht. ate nothing but the tears she swal- lowed; going down those steps, through that dreadful door, waiting on those tablesthe evening, till Will Prescott came in. She had wanted so to have what others had, to study, to painV such things as she had seen, and she couldnt make a stroke I to learn to sing, as she had heard them sing in the churches; to see Germany~ that her mother had told her about; she want- ed to be lovednot like father and Nobby, but another way too; she had a right to have such thingsother people had them. lie had praised her, stroked her hair; said she was too pale, but no matter, shed brighten up by and by; she was his little bluebell he had found in the woods, that he was going to make over into a red rose; she should have everything she wanted, and go with him everywhere, pretty soon only be patient; if he could wait, couldnt she? And she had been pa- tient, without telling father about it, though somehow he found out; she had waited in the road an hour more than once for a kind word and a smile as he rode by; she had borne with her hard fare, and waited for him to do the things he promised; and after she had to go into the dance house, she hated it most for his sakeshe hated him to kiss her, for fear hed find some taint on her lips of the place she went to; she thought of him all the while, to keep up courage; of course it was for father and Nobby she did it, but he helped her. It was all over now. She came to the bridge over the river, and stopped on it. Just then she happened to think of a choral her mother liked to sing: A mighty for- tress is our God. A fortressnot hers. Did He sometimes turn against people and crowd themwho crowded the girl at the confectioners window? Was there any God at all? Not in the city; only two sorts of people were there, who either lived in fine houses, and had no souls at all, or else went about the streets, and had lost them. Was there (PT any God out here? If there was, He wouldnt have let Mr. Cowles turn her father off, and she wouldnt be out in the cold; there wasnt any anywhere. Jane looked down at the water. It was muddy, but it gave a wavering re- flection as the wind ruffled it; now and then a piece of driftwood glided from under the, bridge, and was borne along toward the factory dam. Her mind flashed round to the factory, and home, and the Christmas tree for to-morrow, and she laughed bitterly. Jump! She had lost him, all that had been keeping her up so longhe never meant to marry her, though he said so, and she believed him. Everything went with that love; what was there left? What matter what came now? Jump! But father and Nobby? She couldnt leave them unprovided for. Money, money! she must have money, for them. The bells began to chime very softly, as they always did at twelve oclock of this night in the year. They seemed to say: Come! come! come! She caught at the sound. There was money in the city, and one way yet to earn it. Theyre calling me! she cried, clutching her dress wildly with both hands; theyre pushing me into hell why shouldnt I go? Theyll have money, and Im gone already. She turned, and walked back with- out faltering, to the edge of the city, and stopped between the two buildings. There was an alley close by, like one she knew so well; by the noise there was revel in it. She hesitated a minute, crouching out of sight in the shadow of the buildings. Dont stop here! she muttered to herself; now as well as any other time! and turned into the alley. The light was streaming from a door near the middle, and a man in sailors dress came out and caught a glimpse of her creeping along close to the wall. Hey, lass! he said, merry Christ- mas to ye! Rived in port to-day. Been a cruisin. Locker full, an all T8 One ]fight. hands piped ashore. What craft be youa Dutch galley? Sail down a bit, till I get within speakin distance. She only staggered closer against the wall. Beatin off; hey? Well, las~s, come an drink to better acquaintance. Its the first time, but Ill goIll go with you, she answered. She fol- lowed him to the door. The gas flared full on his face, and she gave a mortal scream. Brother Tom! He made a headlong clutch at her, but she broke away, leaving a fragment of her dress in his hand, and flew round the corner out of his sight. She ran blindly through several streets, but finally she regained the road, and never stopped her headlong speed till she leaned against the door of Adam Craigs cottage. She pushed the door open softly, and went in. Quick as she had been, her brother was there already, standing by Nobbys bed; Adam Craig was there, but his back was turned. Did youtell him? she whispered. Her brother nodded, and put out his hand. She took it, with a half hesita- tion. He understands, he whispered, an- swering the question of her eyes. The old stoker turned around. She made a move to shrink away, but he caught her, and drew her to his breast, crying and sobbing: APHORI5M.~0. VII. Tim sufficient reason why the com- mon developments of intellect are so poor, is not so much in the want of native capacity, as in the low moral estate of our nature. Our hearts are so dry, our better affections so dull, that we are not the subjects of stimulus adequate to the calling forth of efforts suitable to the necessities of the case. Lord, Lord, Lords good! he cried, thank Him fort! Shes saved, my little girl! Ive found nforen Ive lost, to-day. Oh, shes pure yet, shes saved shes nawt lost, my girl, shes nawt! I didnt knawt! didnt knaw what she was doin, but its all right noo! Well never want any more, but if Netd been lostbut shes nawt, nawtshes nawt gone, shes here, an harm neverll come nigh her any more I I knowed Tomd come back, an now Net! they both hey saved each other, Lords good fort! But Nobby? she whispered. Lord brought us one, an noo Hes goin to take back tother, said Adam. The child was twisting in his fathers arms in the height of his pain. I knaw noo why twas I went away thet mornin, an Nobby got tbump, said Adam, looking on sadly. The young sailor made no answer. The partial drunkenness of his first night on shore was gone, and he only held his suffering child, wiping the drops from its face. So they stood watching, and the hou~~ went on. Zuberet! cried Adams wife. Die Weihnachtsglocken I It was the bells, ringing out the full morning caroL The child was lying on his bed; he brightened up a little, then shut his eyes wearily, and stopped writhing. For little Kobby it that moment became true that Christ was born on Christmas day. Here and there, one is so richly en- dowed in mind, that his love of science or art may suffice to tax his powers to the full: but a world could never be constituted of sudh geniuses. The mass of men, if ever to be led up to any high plane of mental life, must be so under the promptings of affections and passions which find their excitement in the more practical spheres of our existence. James Fcnimore Cogper on Seces& ion and State Righte. pi79 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER ON SECESSION AM~ STATE RiGIITS. IN the earlier numbers of The Spirit of the Fair, the newspaper published by a committee of gentlemen for the benefit of the New York Metropolitan Fair, appeared a series of very remark- able papers from the pen of James Fenimore Cooper, the American novel- ist.* The history of these papers is very curious, as announced by the edit- ors of The Spirit of the Fair, in their introductory, as follows: UNPUBLISHED MSS. OF JAMES FENIMOIlE COOPER. Our national novelist died in the autumn of 1850; previous to his fatal illness he was engaged upon a histori- cal work, to be entitled The Men of Manhattan, only the Introduction to which had been sent to the press. The printing office was destroyed by fire, and with it the opening chapters of this work; fortunately a few pages had been set up, and the impression sent to a literary gentleman, then editor of a popular critical journal, and were thus saved from destruction. To him we are indebted for the posthumous articles of Cooper, wherewith, by a coincidence as remarkable as it is auspicious, we now enrich our columns with a contri- bution from the American pioneer in letters. Many readers at the time passed over these papers without the careful atten- tion which they deserved. Others, who perused them more thorough- ly, were struck with the remarkable prescience which the great writers * The stereotype plates of The ~Spirit of the Fair, in which the Cooper articles originally ap- peared, are owned by Mr. Trow. Bound volumes of these interesting papers, containing a record of days so full of patriotism, charity, and inci- dent, may he obtained on application to him. We give this piece of information to our readers not doubting that many of them will be glad to avail themselves of the opportunity to possess theman opportonity which may soon pass away In the rapid development of present events. EDITOR CONTINENTAL. thoughts exhibited on topics which the events now passing before us lend a tremendous interest. Cooper, it must be remembered, uttered his views on Secession, State Rights, etc., upward of fifteen ~year~ ago, and at a period when the horrors of rebellion, as a con- sequence of slavery, were little foreseen as likely to succeed those years of peace and prosperity. Had these opinions been published at the period intended by their writer, they would doubtless have been pronounced visionary and illogical. By a singular succession of events, however, the MS. has been hid- den in the chrysalis of years, until, lot it sees the light of day at a period when the prophetic words of their au- thor come up, as it were, from his grave, with the vindication of truth and historic fidelity. For the benefit of those who have not read these papers in the newspaper where they originally appeared, we make the Jbllowing extracts, feeling assured that no man interested in pass- ing events, or in the causes which led to them, can fail to recognize in these passages the astonishing power and comprehensiveness of the mind that fifteen years ago discussed these vital topics. Let it be remembered, too, that their author was a man whose sympa- thies were largely with his countrymen, not less of the South than of the North, and that it was doubtless with a view of warning his Southern friends of the danger which hovered over the ~insti- tution of slavery, that they were writ- ten. Probably had they appeared in print at that time, they would have pro- duced no effect where mostly effect was aimed at; but now that they have am peared, when the small cloud of evil pointed out has spread over the South- ern land and broken into a deluge of

James Fennimore Cooper on Secession and State Rights 79-84

James Fcnimore Cogper on Seces& ion and State Righte. pi79 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER ON SECESSION AM~ STATE RiGIITS. IN the earlier numbers of The Spirit of the Fair, the newspaper published by a committee of gentlemen for the benefit of the New York Metropolitan Fair, appeared a series of very remark- able papers from the pen of James Fenimore Cooper, the American novel- ist.* The history of these papers is very curious, as announced by the edit- ors of The Spirit of the Fair, in their introductory, as follows: UNPUBLISHED MSS. OF JAMES FENIMOIlE COOPER. Our national novelist died in the autumn of 1850; previous to his fatal illness he was engaged upon a histori- cal work, to be entitled The Men of Manhattan, only the Introduction to which had been sent to the press. The printing office was destroyed by fire, and with it the opening chapters of this work; fortunately a few pages had been set up, and the impression sent to a literary gentleman, then editor of a popular critical journal, and were thus saved from destruction. To him we are indebted for the posthumous articles of Cooper, wherewith, by a coincidence as remarkable as it is auspicious, we now enrich our columns with a contri- bution from the American pioneer in letters. Many readers at the time passed over these papers without the careful atten- tion which they deserved. Others, who perused them more thorough- ly, were struck with the remarkable prescience which the great writers * The stereotype plates of The ~Spirit of the Fair, in which the Cooper articles originally ap- peared, are owned by Mr. Trow. Bound volumes of these interesting papers, containing a record of days so full of patriotism, charity, and inci- dent, may he obtained on application to him. We give this piece of information to our readers not doubting that many of them will be glad to avail themselves of the opportunity to possess theman opportonity which may soon pass away In the rapid development of present events. EDITOR CONTINENTAL. thoughts exhibited on topics which the events now passing before us lend a tremendous interest. Cooper, it must be remembered, uttered his views on Secession, State Rights, etc., upward of fifteen ~year~ ago, and at a period when the horrors of rebellion, as a con- sequence of slavery, were little foreseen as likely to succeed those years of peace and prosperity. Had these opinions been published at the period intended by their writer, they would doubtless have been pronounced visionary and illogical. By a singular succession of events, however, the MS. has been hid- den in the chrysalis of years, until, lot it sees the light of day at a period when the prophetic words of their au- thor come up, as it were, from his grave, with the vindication of truth and historic fidelity. For the benefit of those who have not read these papers in the newspaper where they originally appeared, we make the Jbllowing extracts, feeling assured that no man interested in pass- ing events, or in the causes which led to them, can fail to recognize in these passages the astonishing power and comprehensiveness of the mind that fifteen years ago discussed these vital topics. Let it be remembered, too, that their author was a man whose sympa- thies were largely with his countrymen, not less of the South than of the North, and that it was doubtless with a view of warning his Southern friends of the danger which hovered over the ~insti- tution of slavery, that they were writ- ten. Probably had they appeared in print at that time, they would have pro- duced no effect where mostly effect was aimed at; but now that they have am peared, when the small cloud of evil pointed out has spread over the South- ern land and broken into a deluge of 80 James Fenimore Cooper on Secession and State Ii?~tgkts. devastation, they will at least prove that the words of warning were not perisha1~le utterances signifying noth- ing. SECESSION. The first popular error that we shall venture to assail, is that connected with the prevalent notion of the sover- eignty of the States. We do not believe that the several States of this Union are, in any legitimate meaning of the term, sovereign at all. We are fully aware that this will be regarded as a bold, and possibly as a presuming proposition, but we shall endeavor to work it out with such means as we may have at command. We lay down the following prem- ises as too indisputable to need any arguments to sustain them: viz., the authority which formed the present Constitution of the United States had the legal power to do so. That au- thority was in the Government of the States, respectively, and not in their people in the popular signification, but through their people in the political meaning of the term, and what was then done must be regarded as acts connected with the composition and nature of governments, and of no mi- nor or diTiferent interests of human affairs. It being admitted, that the power which formed the Government was le- gitimate, we obtain one of the purest compacts for the organization of hu- man society that probably ever existed. The ancient allegiance, under which the colonies had grown up to impor- tance, had been extinguished by solemn treaty, and the States met in Conven- tion sustained by all the law they had, and backed in every instance by insti- tutions that were more or less popular. The history of the world cannot, prob- ably, furnish another instance of the settlement of the fundamental contract of a great nation under circumstances of so much obvious justice. This gives unusual solemnity and authority to the Constitution of 1787, and invests it with additional claims to our admira- tion and respect. The authority which formed the Constitution admitted, we come next to the examination of its acts. It is ap- parent from the debates and proceed- ings of the Convention, that two opin- ions existed in that body; the one leaning strongly toward the concentra- tion of power in the hands of the Fed- eral Government, and the other desir- ous of leaving as much as possible with the respective States. The principle that the powers which are not directly conceded to the Union should remain in first hands, would seem never to have been denied; and some years after the organization of the Govern- ment, it was solemnly recognized in an amendment. We are not disposed, however, to look for arguments in the debates and discussions of the Conven- tion, in our view often a deceptive and dangerous method of construing a law, since the vote is very frequently given on even conflicting reasons. Different minds arrive at the same results by dif- ferent processes; and it is no unusual thing for men to deny each others premises, while they accept their con- clusions. We shall look, therefore, solely to the compact itself, as the most certain mode of ascertaining what was done. No one will deny that all the great powers of sovereignty are directly con- ceded to the Union. The right to make war and peace, to coin money, maintain armies and navies, etc., etc., in themselves overshadow most of the sovereignty of the States. The amend- atory clause would seem to annihilate it. By the provisions of that clause three fourths of the States can take away all the powers and rights now resting in the hands of the respective States, with a single exception. This exception gives breadth and emphasis to the efficiency of the clause. It will be remembered that all this can be done within the present Constitution. Jarne8 Ifen2rnore Cooper on Seoe& s~ion and State ]?igAts. 81 It is a part of the original bargain. Thus, New York can legally be de- prived of the authority to punish for theft, to lay out highways, to incor- porate banks, and all the ordinary in- terests over which she at present exe~- cises control, every human being within her limits dissenting. Now as sover- eignty means power in the last resort, this amendatory clause most clearly deprives the State of all sovereign pow- er thus put at the disposition of Con- ventions of the several States; in fact, the votes of these Conventions, or that of the respective Legislatures acting in the same capacity, is nothing but the highest species of legislation known to the country; and no other mode of - altering the institutions would be le- gal. It follows unavoidably, we repeat, that the sovereignty which remains in the several States must be looked for solely in the exception. What, then, is this exception? It is a provision which says, that no State may be deprivei of its equal representation in the Senate, without its own consent. It might well be questioned whether this provision of the Constitution renders a Senate in- dispensable to the Government. But we are willing to concede this point and admit that it does. Can the vote of a single State, which is one of a body of thirty, and which i~ bound to submit to the decision of a legal ma- jority, be deemed a sovereign vote? Assuming that the whole power of the Government of the United States were itt the Senate, would any one State be sovereign in such a condition of things? We think not. But the Senate does ~ot constitute by any means the whole r the half of the authority of this Gov- a-nment; its legislative power is divid- ed with a popular body, without the concurrence of which it can do noth- Lng; this dilutes the sovereignty to a degree that renders it very impercepti- ble, if not very absurd. Nor is this all. After a law is passed by the concur- rence of the two houses of Congress, it vor~. VL6 is sent to a perfectly independent tri- bunal to decide whether it is in con- formity with the principles of the great national compact; thus demonstrating, as we assume, that the sovereignty of this whole country rests, not in its peo- ple. not in its States, but in the Govern- ment of the Union. Sovereignty, and that of the most absolute character, is indispensable t~ the right of secession: nay,, sovereign- ty, in the ordinary acceptation of the meaning of the term, might exist in a~ State without this right of secession. We doubt if it would be held. sound doctrine to maintain that any single State had a right to secede from the German Confederation, for instance; and many alliances, or mere treaties, are held to be sacred and indissoluble; they are only broken by an appeal to violence Every human contract may be said to possess its distinctive character.. Thus, marriage is to be distinguished from a partnership in trade, without recurrence to any particular form of words. Marriage, contracted by any ceremony whatever, is held to be a. contract for life. The same is true of Governments: in their nature they are intended to be indissoluble. We doubt if there be an instance on record of a Government that ever existed, under conditions, expressed or implied, that the parts of its territory might separate at will. There are so many controlling and obvious reasons why such a privi- lege should not remain in the hands of sections or districts, that it is un- necessary to advert to them. But after a country has rounded its territory, constructed its lines of defence, estab- lished its system of custom houses, and made all the other provisions for se~ curity, convenience, and concentration, that are necessary to the affairs of a great nation, it would seem to be very presumptuous to impute to any partic- ular district the right to destroy or mutilate a system regulated with so much care. 82 James Fenimore C~ooper on Secession and State 1?iglde. The only manner in which the right of secession could exist in one of the American States, would be by an ex- press reservation to that effect in the Constitution. There is no such clause; did it exist it would change the whole character of the Government, rendering it a mere alliance, instead of being that which it now isa lasting Union. But, whatever may be the legal princi- ples connected with this serious subject, there always exists, in large bodies of men, a power to change their institu- tions by means of the strong hand. This is termed the right of revolution, and it has often been appealed to to redress grievances that could be re- moved by no other agency. It is un- deniable that the institution of domes- tic slavery, as it now exists in what are termed the Southern and Southwestern States of this country, creates an inter- est of the most delicate and sensitive character. Nearly one half of the en- tire property of the slaveholding States consists in this right to the services of human beings of a race so different from our own as to render any amalga- mation to the last degree improbable, if not impossible. Any one may easily estimate the deep interest that the masters feel in the preservation of their property. The spirit of the age is de- cidedly against them, and of this they must be sensible; it doubly augments their anxiety for the future. The nat- ural increase, moreover, of these human chattels renders an outlet indispen- sable, or they will soon cease to be profitable by the excess of their num- bers. To these facts we owe the fig- ments which have rendered the South- ern school of logicians a little presum- ing, perhaps, and certainly very sophis- tical. Among other theories we find the bold one, that the Territories of the United States are the property, not of the several States, but of their individ- ual people; in other words, that the native of New York or Rhode Island, regardless of the laws of the country, has a right to remove to any one of these Territories, carry with him just such property as he may see fit, and make such use of it as he may find con- venient. This is a novel copartner- ship in jurisdiction, to say the least, and really does not seem worthy of a serious reply. SLAVERY. The American Union has much more adhesiveness than is commonly imagined. The diversity and com- plexity of its interests form a network that will be found, like the web of the spider, to possess a power of resistance far exceeding its gossamer appearance one strong enough to hold all that it was ever intended to enclose. The slave interest is now making its final effort for supremacy, and men are deceived by the throes of a departing power. The institution of domestic slavery cannot last. It is opposed to the spirit of the age; and the figments of Mr. Calhoun, in affirming that the Territories belong to the States, instead of the Govern- ment of the United States; and the celebrated doctrine of the equilibrium, for which we look in vain into the Constitution for a single sound argu- ment to sustain it, are merely the ex- piring efforts of a reasoning that can- not resist the common sense of the na- tion. As it is healthful to exhaust all such questions, let us turn aside a mo- ment, to give a passing glance at this very material subject. At the time when the Constitution was adopted, three classes of persons were held to service in the country~~r. apprentices, redemptioners, and slaves. The two first classes were by no means insignificant in 1789, and the redemp- tioners were rapidly increasing in num- bers. In that day it looked as if this speculative importation of laborers from Europe was to form a material part of the domestic policy of the Northern States. Now the negro is a human being, as well as an apprentice or a redemptioner, though the Consti- tution does not consider him as the Jarne8 Fenirncire cooper on Sece88ion and State ]?igld8. 83 equal of either. It is a great mistake to suppose that the Constitution of the United States, as it now exists, recog- nizes slavery in any manner whatever, unless it be to mark it as an intere~t that has less than the common claim to the ordinary rights of humanity. In N the apportionment, or representation clause, the redemptioner and the ap- prentice counts each as a man, whereas five slaves are enumerated as only three free men. The free black is counted as a man, in all particulars, and is repre- sented as such, but his fellow in slavery has only three fifths of his political value. THE LOVE OF UNION. The attachment to the Union is very strong and general throughout the whole of this vast country, and it is only necessary to sound the tocsin to bring to its maintenance a phalanx equal to uphold its standard against the assaults of any enemies. The im- possibility of the l{orthwestern States consenting that the mouth of the Mis- sissippi should be held by a foreign power, is in itself a guarantee of the long existence of the present political ties. Then, the increasing and over- shadowing power of the nation is of a character so vast, so exciting, so-attrac- tive, so well adapted to carry with it popular impulses, that men become proud of the name of American, and feel unwilling to throw away the dis- tinction for any of the minor considera- tions of local policy. Every man sees and feels that a state is rapidly advan- cing to maturity which must reduce the pretensions of even ancient Rome to supremacy, to a secondary place in the estimation of mankind. A century will unquestionably place the United States of America prominently at the head of civilized nations, unless their people throw away their advantages by their own mistakesthe only real danger they have to apprehend: and the mind clings to this hope with a buoyancy and fondness that are becom- ing profoundly national. We haVe a thousand weaknesses, and make many blunders, beyond a doubt, asapeople; but where shall we turn to find a paral- lel to our progress, our energy, and in- creasing power? That which it has required centuries, in other regions, to effect, is here accomplished in a single life; and the student in history finds the results of all his studies crowded, as it might be, into the incidents of the day.~ 4----- APHO1II5M5.NO. Yin. WE shall never know much while we have so many books. Such was my thought, many years ago; and such does all my observation and experience still confirm. Knowl- edges we may have, even if we do read much: but not much knowledge. But, some will ask, if one has true ideas, though derived from othersis not that knowledge? Yes, if he has ideas: but propositions expressing them are not enough: one may have many of these, and know but little. For ex- ample, let us suppose Locke right about the minds coming into existence as a sheet of white papera man may re- ceive this, and yet not know it. See how easily this may be tested. White paper will receive any impression you please: can the human mind receive the impression that two and two are five, or that a part is equal to the whole? Locke could have answered this, and seemed to save his theory. The bor- rower from Locke cannot. 84 [[he Resurrection Flower. THE RESURRECTION FLOWER. a traveller in Egypt were to bow before the Sphynx, and receive a nod in return, he could scarcely be more surprised than I was to-day, upon see- ing a little, dried-up thingthe re- mains of what had once bloomed and faded mid beleaguering sands spring into life and beauty before my very eyes. AlltheAbbott Collection con- tains nothing more rare or curious. Old, perhaps, as Cheops, and apparently as sound asleep, it is startled at the touch of water, and, stretching forth its tiny petals, wakes into life as brightly as a new-born flower. No one could believe, upon looking at this little ball, hanging on its fragile stem, and resembling both in color and shape a shrunken poppy-head, or some of the acorn tribe, what magical results could arise from merely wetting its sur- faceyet so it is. Sleeping, but not dead, the flower is aroused by being for an instant im- inersed in water, and then supported in an upright position. Soon the upper fibres begin to stir. Slowly, yet visi- bly, they unfold, until, with petals thrown back in equidistant order, it assumes the appearance of a beautifully radiated, starry flower, not unlike some of the Asters in form. Resting a mo- ment, it suddenly, as though inspired by some new impulse, throws its very heart to the daylight, curving back its petals farther still, and disclosing beau- ties undreamed of even in the loveliness of its first awakening. Tu say that, in general effect, its ap- pearance resembles the passion-flower is to give but a poor description, and yet one searches in vain for a more fitting comparison. Lacking entirely the strong contrasts in color of the lat- ter, it yet wears a halo of its own, un- like any other in the whole range of floral effects. When viewed through a powerful lens, the heart of the flower, which, to the naked eye, lies flooded in a warm, colorless light, assumes the most ex- quisite iridescent hues, far more beau- tiful than the defined tints of the pas- sion-flower. Melting to the eye in its juiciness and delicacy, yet firm in its pure outline and rounded finish, it bears the same relation to that chosen type of the great Suffering, that peace bears to passion, or that promise bears to prayer. Soon the aspect of the flower changes. As though over the well-spring of its eternal life hangs some ruthless power forcing it back into darkness, before an hour has passed, we can see that its newly-found vigor is fading away. The pulsing light at its heart grows fainter and fainterslowly the petals raise themselves, to drop wearily side by side upon its bosomand finally, its beauty vanished, its strength exhaust- ed, it hangs heavy and brown upon its stem, waiting for the touch that alone can waken it again. This rare botanical wonder, bloom- ing one moment before admiring eyes, and next lying dried and shrivelled in a tomb-like box, is not without its le- gendary interest, though the odor of its oriental history has, by this time, been nearly blown away by that sharp simoom of investigation, which has al- ready whirled so many pretty fables and theories into oblivion. The story of the flower, as given in 1856, by the late Dr. Deck, the natural- ist, is as follows: While travelling on a professional tour in Upper Egypt, eight years be- fore, engaged in exploring for some lost emerald and copper mines, he chanced to render medical service to an Arab attached to his party. In gratitude, the child of the desert formally presented

The Resurrection Flower 84-88

84 [[he Resurrection Flower. THE RESURRECTION FLOWER. a traveller in Egypt were to bow before the Sphynx, and receive a nod in return, he could scarcely be more surprised than I was to-day, upon see- ing a little, dried-up thingthe re- mains of what had once bloomed and faded mid beleaguering sands spring into life and beauty before my very eyes. AlltheAbbott Collection con- tains nothing more rare or curious. Old, perhaps, as Cheops, and apparently as sound asleep, it is startled at the touch of water, and, stretching forth its tiny petals, wakes into life as brightly as a new-born flower. No one could believe, upon looking at this little ball, hanging on its fragile stem, and resembling both in color and shape a shrunken poppy-head, or some of the acorn tribe, what magical results could arise from merely wetting its sur- faceyet so it is. Sleeping, but not dead, the flower is aroused by being for an instant im- inersed in water, and then supported in an upright position. Soon the upper fibres begin to stir. Slowly, yet visi- bly, they unfold, until, with petals thrown back in equidistant order, it assumes the appearance of a beautifully radiated, starry flower, not unlike some of the Asters in form. Resting a mo- ment, it suddenly, as though inspired by some new impulse, throws its very heart to the daylight, curving back its petals farther still, and disclosing beau- ties undreamed of even in the loveliness of its first awakening. Tu say that, in general effect, its ap- pearance resembles the passion-flower is to give but a poor description, and yet one searches in vain for a more fitting comparison. Lacking entirely the strong contrasts in color of the lat- ter, it yet wears a halo of its own, un- like any other in the whole range of floral effects. When viewed through a powerful lens, the heart of the flower, which, to the naked eye, lies flooded in a warm, colorless light, assumes the most ex- quisite iridescent hues, far more beau- tiful than the defined tints of the pas- sion-flower. Melting to the eye in its juiciness and delicacy, yet firm in its pure outline and rounded finish, it bears the same relation to that chosen type of the great Suffering, that peace bears to passion, or that promise bears to prayer. Soon the aspect of the flower changes. As though over the well-spring of its eternal life hangs some ruthless power forcing it back into darkness, before an hour has passed, we can see that its newly-found vigor is fading away. The pulsing light at its heart grows fainter and fainterslowly the petals raise themselves, to drop wearily side by side upon its bosomand finally, its beauty vanished, its strength exhaust- ed, it hangs heavy and brown upon its stem, waiting for the touch that alone can waken it again. This rare botanical wonder, bloom- ing one moment before admiring eyes, and next lying dried and shrivelled in a tomb-like box, is not without its le- gendary interest, though the odor of its oriental history has, by this time, been nearly blown away by that sharp simoom of investigation, which has al- ready whirled so many pretty fables and theories into oblivion. The story of the flower, as given in 1856, by the late Dr. Deck, the natural- ist, is as follows: While travelling on a professional tour in Upper Egypt, eight years be- fore, engaged in exploring for some lost emerald and copper mines, he chanced to render medical service to an Arab attached to his party. In gratitude, the child of the desert formally presented [The Resurrection Flower. 85 to him this now-called Resurrection Flower, at the same time enjoining upon him never to part with it. Like the fabled gift of the Egyptian, it was supposed to have magic in the web of it. The doctor was solemnly ~s- sured by the Arab, and others of his race, that it had been taken ten years before from the breast of an Egyptian mummy, a high priestess, and was deemed a great rarity; that it would never decay if properly cared for; that its possession through life would tend to revive hope in adversity, and, if bur- ied with its owner, would ensure for him hereafter all the enjoyments of the Seventh Hcaven of Mahomet. When presented, this flower was one of two hanging upon the same stem. Dr. Deck carefully preserved one; the twin specimen he presented to Baron Hum- boldt, who acknowledged it to be the greatest floral wonder he had yet seen, and the only one of its kind he had met with in the course of his extensive travels. For years the doctor carried his treas- itre with him everywhere, prizing it for its intrinsic qualities, and invariably awakening the deepest interest when- ever he chanced to display its wondrous powers. During the remainder of his life he caused the flower to open more than one thousand times, without pro- ducing any diminution of its extraor- dinary property, or any injury to it whatever. It is proper to state that, though closely examined by some of the most eminent naturalists, both at home and abroad, no positive position in the botanical kingdom was ever as- signed to itindeed to this day it re- mains a waif in the floral world, none having determined under what classifi- catioxr it belongs. I need not say that the doctor, while gratefully accepting the gift of his Arab friend, quietly rejected the accompany- ing superstitions. Subsequent trials and proofs positive confirmed his doubts of its hope-inspiring power, while his inclination and good old prejudices tempted him to forego the delights of the Seventh Heaven by be- queathing his treasure to his friend and pupil, Dr. C. J. Eames, of New York, than whom none could regard it with a truer appreciation, or recognize its exquisite perfection with a feeling near- er akin to veneration. It has now been in the possession of Dr. Eames for several years, and has, in the mean time, been nnfolded many hundred times, still without any de- terioration of its mysterious power. It opens as fairly and freshly to-day, as when, under Egyptian skies, more than sixteen years ago, its delicate fibres, heavy with the dust of ages, quivered into a new life before the astonished eyes of Dr. Deck. Well-named as, in some respects, it seems to be, this marvel of the botan- ical world has already given rise to not a few discussions among the scientific and curious, some earnestly proclaim- ing its right to the title of Resurrec- tion Flower, and others denying that it is a flower at all. Indeed, in its un- folded state, its resemblance to a flat- tened poppy-head, and other seed ves- sels, offers strong argument in favor of the latter opinion. In alluding to it, one uses the term flower with de- cided mental reservation beautiful flower, as it seems to be when opened and speaks of its petals with a dep- recating glance at imaginary hosts of irate botanists. Some, it is true, still insist that it is a bonct fide flower; but Dr. Deck himself inclined to the belief that it was the pericarp or seed vessel of some desert shrub, rare indeed, as few or none like it have appeared in centuries, yet not without its analogies in the vegetable world. The famous Rose of Jericho (not that mentioned in the Apocrypha, or the very common kind peculiar to the far East, but that long-lost variety prized by the Crusaders as a holy emblem of their zeal and pilgrimage) was, in all probability, a member of the same genus to which the Resurrection like J?esurrection Flower. Flower belongs. This opinion is sup- ported by the fact that resemblances of the flower, both open and closed, are sculptured upon some of the tombs of the Crusaderstwo, in the Temple Church of London, and several in the Cathedrals of Bayeux and Rouen in Normandy, where lie some of the most renowned followers of Peter the Her- mit. A brother of Dr. Deck, engaged in antiquarian research in the island of Malta, discovered the same device graven upon the knights tombs, and invariably on that portion of the shield, the dexter chief; which was considered the place of highest honor. This gentleman has also furnished the following quotation from an old monk- ish manuscript, describing a wonder obtained from Jerusalem by the holy men, and called by them the Star of Bethlehem, as, if exposea to the moon on the eve of the Epiphany, it would become wondrous fair to view, and like unto the star of the Saviour; and with the first glory of the sun, it would re- turn to its lowliness. Doubtless the old chroniclers, had they lived in these days of evidence and solid fact, would have given some credit to the heavy dews peculiar to moonlight nights, an exposure to which would assuredly have produced all the effect of immersion upon the flower. The fact of so close a representation of the Resurrection Flower being up- on the tombs of the Crusaders~ added to the circumstance that in his Egyp- tian researches he had never met with any allusion to it, induced Dr. Deck to discard the story of its Egyptian origin as untenable. I have unwrapped many mummies myself; he wrote, and have had opportunities of being pres- ent at unrolling of others of all classes, and have never discovered another Res- urrection Flower, nor heard of any one who had; and in the examination of hieroglyphics of every age and variety, I never discovered anything bearing the remotest resemblance to it. Those who are conversant with the wonderful features of the Egyptian religion and priestcraft, will observe how eagerly they seized upon and deified anything symbolical of their mysterious ten~ts, and transmitted them to posterity, fig- ured as hieroglyphics; and it is but natural to presume that this homely! looking flower, with its halo, so typical of glory and resurrection, would have ranked high in their mythology, if it, and its properties, had been known to them. Moreover, an examination of the elaborate works of Josephus, Hero- dotus, King, and Diodorus, so full in their description of Egyptian mytholo- gy, has failed to elicit any description or notice of it whatever. Nearly every one has read of the fa- mous Rose of Jericho (Anastatiece hiero- ehontina) or Holy Rosea low, gray- leaved annual, utterly unlike a rose, growing abundantly in the arid wastes of Egypt, and also throughout Pales- tine and Barbary, and along the sandy coasts of the Red Sea. One of the most curious of the cruciferous plants, it exhibits, in a rare degree, a hygro- metric actiop in its process of repro- duction. During the hot season it blooms freely, growing close to the ground, bearing its leaves and blos- soms upon its upper surface; when these fall off, the stems become dry and ligneous, curving upward and in- ward until the plant becomes a ball of twigs, containing its closed seed-ves- sels in the centre, and held to the sand by a short fibreless root. In this con- dition, it is readily freed by the winds, and blown across the desert, until it reaches an oasis or the sea; when, yielding to the Open Sesame of w~ter, it uncloses, leaving nature to use its jealously guarded treasures at her wilL The dried plant, if carefully pre- served, retains for a long time its hy- grometric quality. When wet, it ex- pands to its original form, displaying florets (?) not unlike those of the elder, but larger, closing again as soon as the moisture evaporates. Hence it is rev- f/ike Ji?esurrection Flower. 87 erenced in Syria as a holy emblem. panding to its fullest extent, only to be The people call it K~f iifaryam, or subjugated by being cast again into Marys Flower, and many superstitions the water. are held regarding it, one of which is, Some of the Algae exhibit properties that it first blossomed on the night on similar to that of the Club Moss; and which our Saviour was born. GroWing a marine plant known as the Califor- everywhere, upon heaps of rubbish and nian Rock-rose is still more curious. roofs of old houses, by the wayside, and Clinging closely to the rocks, and feed- almost under the very door-stones, it ing upon some invisible debris, or, like creeps into the surrdundings of the peo- certain orchids, drawing its sustenance plc, weaving its chains of white, yel- from the air (for the rocks upon which low, or purple flowers while sunshine it grows, sometimes are lifted far above lasts, and, when apparent decay over- the water), it attains an enormous size, takes it, teaching its beautiful lesson being in some instances as large as a of Life in Death. Who can cavil at the bushel basket. It is not without a cer- thought which raises it to a symbol of tain jagged beauty of contour, resem- that Eternal Love forever weaving end- bling, more than anything else, clusters less chains from heart to heart, no spot of Arbor Yit~e branches cut out of wet too lowly for its tendrils to penetrate, leather, and meeting in the centre. or too dreary for its bloom. Once torn from its stony bed, the Rock- Some specimens of the Anastatica rose curls up into an apparently tangled have been carried to this country by mass of network, having the general travellers. One, in the cabinet of Fish- outline of a rose, but it will at any time, er Howe, Esq., of Brooklyn, and brought upon being immersed in water, assume by him from Jericho fourteen years ago, its original appearance. I have seen a still retains its remarkable habit; and fine specimen of this plant open and another, older still, is in the possession close, for the hundredth time, years of Dr. Eames. after it had been taken from the rock. Among the plants which exhibit curb The Hygrometric Ground Star (Gea8- ous phases of hygrometric action might trum hygr etricum), found in many be cited some of the Fig Marigolds portions of Europe, is well known; (Mesemln~yant1iernurn); also the Scaly nearer home, we have a variety (Gea8- Club Moss (Lycopodium). The latter, trurn Saratogensis) differing in some re- after being thoroughly withered, will, spects from its transatlantic relative, if laid in water, gradually expand, turn which is of a~ warm brown color, and green, and assume the appearance of a flourishes in gravelly soil. thriving plant. When a gain dried, it The American variety grows abun- becomes a brown, shrunken mass, capa- dantly in the drifting sands of Saratoga ble, however, of being revived ad libi- County, N. Y. It has no stem or root, turn, excepting here and there a fine capillary Some species of Fungi also exhibit a fibre by which it clings to the ground. similar propertyand all have observed When dry, it contracts to a perfect with what promptitude the various sphere, is rolled by the wind across the pine and larch cones cover their seed sand, and (according to the account in a storm, or even when it looks given by Dr. Asa Fitch, who has like rain. I remember being once not had a specimen in his possession for a little puzzled in trying to open a twenty years) shakes a few seeds from drawer that some weeks before had the orifice at its summit at each revo- been filled with damp pine cones. lution. This seed ball also possesses Upon becoming dry, each individual the power of opening when moistened, had attempted a humble imitatio~n of changing its spherical form to that of the genii in the Arabian Nights, ex- an open flower about two inches in 88 fli/ie Re8urrection Flower. diameter. When opened, it displays eight elliptical divisions, resembling petals. These are white as snow on the inside, and traversed by a network of small irregular cracks, while their~outer surfaceresembleskidleather,both~ color and texture. The Ground Star differs in habit from the Resurrection Flower, which never yields its seed unless expanded by moisture (if Dr. Decks theory be cor- rect), and is not nearly as intricate or beautiful in construction as the oriental relic. Indeed, to this day, the Resur- rection Flower, as one must call it for want of a better name, remains without a known rival in the botanical world. From time to time, brief notices con- cerning it have been published; and where writers, sometimes without hav- ing seen the original, have claimed the knowledge or possession of similar spe- cimens, they have become convinced of thdr mistake on personal inspection. Even the plants alluded to in a short account, given eight years ago, in a leading New York periodical, as being the same as the Resurrection Flower, proved, on comparison by Dr. Eames, to be entirely different. Although it is by no means certain that the plant in Baron Humboldts collection, and that owned by Dr. Eames, are the only individuals of their kind in existence, the fact of their great rarity is well established. As far as I have been able to ascertain, there~s but one Resurrection Flower in America. That new plants might be obtained from this lonely representative of its race few can doubt; but to this day the germs exposed so temptingly at each awakening, have never been re- moved. Old as it is, it has never done its work, the only seeds it has sown being those of inquiry and adoration in the minds of all who have witnessed its marvellous powers. Whether the pretty oriental tale of its origin be true or notand it re- quires an oriental faith to believe it in the face of contradictory evidence none can gaze upon that little emblem of Life in Death so homely and frail, and yet so beautiful and so eter- nalwithout peculiar emotion. What drooping, weary soul, parched with the dust of earth, but sometimes longs to be forever steeped in that great Love in which it may expand and bloomcasting its treasures upon Heavenly soil,and glowing evermore with the radiance of the Awakening. R B C 0 G N I T ION. Now in the chambers of my heart is day, And form and order. A most sacred guest Is come therein, and at his high behest Beauty and Light, who his calm glance obey, Flew to prepare them for his regal sway. Now solitude I seek, which once, possessed, I fled; now, solitude to me is blessed, Wherein I hearken Loves mysterious lay, And hold with thee communion in my heart. That thou art beautiful, thou who art mine That with thy beauty, Beautys soul divine Has filled my soul, I muse u~on apart. In the blue dome of Heavens eternity, Rising I seem upborne by thoughts of thee.

Recognition 88-89

88 fli/ie Re8urrection Flower. diameter. When opened, it displays eight elliptical divisions, resembling petals. These are white as snow on the inside, and traversed by a network of small irregular cracks, while their~outer surfaceresembleskidleather,both~ color and texture. The Ground Star differs in habit from the Resurrection Flower, which never yields its seed unless expanded by moisture (if Dr. Decks theory be cor- rect), and is not nearly as intricate or beautiful in construction as the oriental relic. Indeed, to this day, the Resur- rection Flower, as one must call it for want of a better name, remains without a known rival in the botanical world. From time to time, brief notices con- cerning it have been published; and where writers, sometimes without hav- ing seen the original, have claimed the knowledge or possession of similar spe- cimens, they have become convinced of thdr mistake on personal inspection. Even the plants alluded to in a short account, given eight years ago, in a leading New York periodical, as being the same as the Resurrection Flower, proved, on comparison by Dr. Eames, to be entirely different. Although it is by no means certain that the plant in Baron Humboldts collection, and that owned by Dr. Eames, are the only individuals of their kind in existence, the fact of their great rarity is well established. As far as I have been able to ascertain, there~s but one Resurrection Flower in America. That new plants might be obtained from this lonely representative of its race few can doubt; but to this day the germs exposed so temptingly at each awakening, have never been re- moved. Old as it is, it has never done its work, the only seeds it has sown being those of inquiry and adoration in the minds of all who have witnessed its marvellous powers. Whether the pretty oriental tale of its origin be true or notand it re- quires an oriental faith to believe it in the face of contradictory evidence none can gaze upon that little emblem of Life in Death so homely and frail, and yet so beautiful and so eter- nalwithout peculiar emotion. What drooping, weary soul, parched with the dust of earth, but sometimes longs to be forever steeped in that great Love in which it may expand and bloomcasting its treasures upon Heavenly soil,and glowing evermore with the radiance of the Awakening. R B C 0 G N I T ION. Now in the chambers of my heart is day, And form and order. A most sacred guest Is come therein, and at his high behest Beauty and Light, who his calm glance obey, Flew to prepare them for his regal sway. Now solitude I seek, which once, possessed, I fled; now, solitude to me is blessed, Wherein I hearken Loves mysterious lay, And hold with thee communion in my heart. That thou art beautiful, thou who art mine That with thy beauty, Beautys soul divine Has filled my soul, I muse u~on apart. In the blue dome of Heavens eternity, Rising I seem upborne by thoughts of thee. 77~ & ven -Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. 89 THE SEVEN-HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY OF A GERMAN CAPITAL. MOST of our countrymen look upon Germany as all one. The varieties of outlandish customs, costumes, and dia- lects observed among our emigrant pop- ulation from that land are little no- ticed, and never regarded as marking districts of the fatherland from which they severally sprung. One of the most fruitful themes of pleasant hu- mor and biting sarcasm in our periodi- cal literature and in the popular mouth, is the ignorance betrayed by enlight- ened foreigners, and especially foreign journalists, in regard to the geography of our country; as though America were, par exreellene,e, TIlE land, and on whatever other subject the world might, without meriting our contempt, fail to inform itself; our country, not only in its glorious history and more glorious destiny, but in the minuter details of the picture, must be understood and acknowledged. This charge of igno- rance is not unfounded. Often have I been not a little amused when an intel- ligent German has inquired of me as a New Yorker, with the sure hope of news from his friend in Panama, or another to learn how he might collect a debt from a merchant at Valparaiso, or a third to be informed why he re- ceived no answers to letters addressed to friends in Cuba, and soon. But if the tables were turned upon us, there is no point on which we should be found open to a more fearful retribu- tion than on this. I know an American gentleman of educationand he told me the story himselfwho applied at Washington for letters to our diplo- matic representatives in Europe, and who had sufficiently informed himself to be on the point of sailing for several years residence abroad, and still, when letters were handed him for our consul- general at Frankfort and our minister in Prussia, asked, with no little con- cern, whether a letter to our minister in Germxrny could not be given him. I knew a correspondent of a New York journal fearfully to scourge a distin- guished German for his ignorance of American geography. The same per- son, after months of residence in Mu- nich, having about exhausted the re- sources which it offered him for his cor- respondence, gave a somewhat detailed account of the affairs of Greece, in which he referred to King Otho as ~rot1aer of King L~wis of Bavaria, al- though almost any peasant could have told him that the latter was father to the former. Indeed, there is nothing strange about this, unless it be that any one should deem himself quite above the class of blunders which he satirizes. It is less to be wondered at that one should continue to hurl his satiric javelins at those who commit the same class of errors with himself; since he seldom becomes aware of his own ridic- ulous mistakes. In regard to Germany, our people know but its grand clivi- sions and its large cities; and of its people among us but their exterior dis- tinctions, and mainly those offered to the eye, arrest attention. We meet them as servants or employ6s in kitch- ens, shops, and gardens, and on farms, or as neighbors, competitors, or asso- ciates in business. At evening we sep- arate, and they go to their own domes- tic or social circles, where alone the na- tive character speaks itself freely forth in the native language and dialect. There only the homebred wit and hu- mor freely flow and flash. There the half-forgotten legends and superstitions, the utterance of which to other ears than those of their own people is for- biddenperhaps by a slight sense of

The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital 89-99

77~ & ven -Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. 89 THE SEVEN-HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY OF A GERMAN CAPITAL. MOST of our countrymen look upon Germany as all one. The varieties of outlandish customs, costumes, and dia- lects observed among our emigrant pop- ulation from that land are little no- ticed, and never regarded as marking districts of the fatherland from which they severally sprung. One of the most fruitful themes of pleasant hu- mor and biting sarcasm in our periodi- cal literature and in the popular mouth, is the ignorance betrayed by enlight- ened foreigners, and especially foreign journalists, in regard to the geography of our country; as though America were, par exreellene,e, TIlE land, and on whatever other subject the world might, without meriting our contempt, fail to inform itself; our country, not only in its glorious history and more glorious destiny, but in the minuter details of the picture, must be understood and acknowledged. This charge of igno- rance is not unfounded. Often have I been not a little amused when an intel- ligent German has inquired of me as a New Yorker, with the sure hope of news from his friend in Panama, or another to learn how he might collect a debt from a merchant at Valparaiso, or a third to be informed why he re- ceived no answers to letters addressed to friends in Cuba, and soon. But if the tables were turned upon us, there is no point on which we should be found open to a more fearful retribu- tion than on this. I know an American gentleman of educationand he told me the story himselfwho applied at Washington for letters to our diplo- matic representatives in Europe, and who had sufficiently informed himself to be on the point of sailing for several years residence abroad, and still, when letters were handed him for our consul- general at Frankfort and our minister in Prussia, asked, with no little con- cern, whether a letter to our minister in Germxrny could not be given him. I knew a correspondent of a New York journal fearfully to scourge a distin- guished German for his ignorance of American geography. The same per- son, after months of residence in Mu- nich, having about exhausted the re- sources which it offered him for his cor- respondence, gave a somewhat detailed account of the affairs of Greece, in which he referred to King Otho as ~rot1aer of King L~wis of Bavaria, al- though almost any peasant could have told him that the latter was father to the former. Indeed, there is nothing strange about this, unless it be that any one should deem himself quite above the class of blunders which he satirizes. It is less to be wondered at that one should continue to hurl his satiric javelins at those who commit the same class of errors with himself; since he seldom becomes aware of his own ridic- ulous mistakes. In regard to Germany, our people know but its grand clivi- sions and its large cities; and of its people among us but their exterior dis- tinctions, and mainly those offered to the eye, arrest attention. We meet them as servants or employ6s in kitch- ens, shops, and gardens, and on farms, or as neighbors, competitors, or asso- ciates in business. At evening we sep- arate, and they go to their own domes- tic or social circles, where alone the na- tive character speaks itself freely forth in the native language and dialect. There only the homebred wit and hu- mor freely flow and flash. There the half-forgotten legends and superstitions, the utterance of which to other ears than those of their own people is for- biddenperhaps by a slight sense of 90 The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German capital. shame, perhaps by the utter failure of language,together with the pastimes and adventures of their native villages or districts, are arrested in their rapid progress to oblivion, as they are occa- sionally called forth to amuse the dull hours or lighten the heavy ones of a home-sick life in a foreign land. Could we but half enter into the hearts of the peasant Germans who move among us, and are by some regarded as scarcely raised in refinement and sensibility above the rank of the more polished domestic animals of our own great and enlightened land, we should often find them replete with the choicest elements of the truly epic, the comic, and the tragic. How seldom do the people of differ- ent lands and languages learn to under- stand each otherbecome so well ac- quainted as to appreciate each others most engaging traits? The German emigrant seeks a home among us, and desires to identify himself with us. The costume of his native district is thrown off as soon as he needs a new garment, often much sooner. His lan- guage is laid aside except for domestic use and certain social and business purposes, as soon as he has a few words of ours. These words serve the ends of business, and rarely does he ever learn enough for any other purpose. The other parts of the man remain con- cealed from our view. He is to us a pure utilitarian of the grossest school. His pipe suspended from his mouth, his whole time given to his shop, his farm, or his garden, and to certain amuse- ments unknown to us, he is deemed to vegetate much like the plants he grows, or to live a life on the same level with that of the animal he feeds, incapable of appreciating those higher and more refined pleasures to which we have risenin other words, the true type of dulness and coarseness. An intelli- gent Welshman once told me that he could not talk religion in English nor politics in Welsh. So with the Ger- mans among us. Their business and politics learn to put themselves into English, their religious, domestic, and social being remains foi ever shut up in the enclosure of their mother tongue, and from this we rashly judge that what they express is all there is of them. We have never considered the difficulty of transferring all the utter- ances of humanity from their first and native mediums to foreign ones. It is easy to learn the daily wants of life or the formal details of business in a new language. Here words have a uniform sense. But the nice shades and turns of thought which appear in the hap- piest and most delicate jets of wit and humor, and which form the great sta- ples of pleasant social intercourse, de- pend upon those subtile discrimina- tions in the sense of words which are rarely acquired by foreigners. One may have all the words of a language and not be able to understand them in sallies of wit. How nicely adjusted then must be the scales which weigh out the innumerable and delicate bits of pleasantry which give the charm to social life! The words to relate the legends connected with the knights and castles of chivalry, saints, witches, elves, spooks, and gypsies, the foreign- ers among us never acquire, or at least never so as to have the ready and deli- cate use of them in social life, until their foreign character has become. quite absorbed in the fully developed American, and the taste, if not the ma- terial for picturing the customs and legends of the fatherland are forever gone. It is mainly North Germany with whose institutions we have become more or less familiar through our news- paper literature, and the numbers of students who have from time to time gone thither for educational purposes. Some acquaintance has also been made with Baden and Wirtemberg, in South Germany, as these principalities have a population mainly Protestant; and Heidelberg, at least, has been a favorite resort for American students. But the The Seven-llundredth Birthday of a German Capital. 91 same is not true of Catholic South Ger- many. Munichs collections and insti- tutions of artmainly the work of the late and still Living King Lewis I. have, indeed, become generally known. Mary Howitt, in her Art Student in Munich, has given us some graphic delineations of life there. The talented and witty Baroness Tautphoens has done us still better service in her Ini- tials and Quits, in relation both to life in the capital and in the moun- tains; yet the character, institutions, and customs of the people remain an almost unexplored field to the Ameri- can reader. In the middle of the twelfth century Munich was still an insignificant vil- lage on the Isar, and had not even been erected into a separate parish. About this time Henry the Lion added to his duchy of Saxony, that of Bavaria, and having destroyed the old town of Foehr- ing, which lay a little below the site of Munich on the other side of the river, transferred to the latter place the market and the collection of the cus- toms, which had till then been held by the bishops of Freising with the im- perial consent. The emperor Frederic I., in the year 1158, confirmed, against the remonstrances of Bishop Otho L, the doings of Henry. The duke has- tened to surround the village with a wall and moat to afford protection to those who might choose to settle there, and in twenty years it had become a city. But the duke fell into disgrace with the emperor, and the latter re- voked the rights he had granted; but this was like taking back a slander which had already been circulated. The effect had been produced. Munich was to become a capitaL Bishop Othos successor would gladly have destroyed the, infant city and the bridge which had been the making of it. In consequence, however, of his early death, this beneficent purpose to- ward his see of Freising remained Un- executed. The next successor con- tinued the same policy. He built a castle with the design of seizing the trading trains which should take the road to Munich, perhaps deeming this the best way of magnifying his office as a leader in the church militant. But before he could achieve his purpose of cutting off all supplies from the rival town, and turning trade and tribute all to his own place, a new defender of the rising city had sprung up in the house of Wittelsbocherthe same which still reigns over the kingdom of Bavaria, and the matter of the feud was finally adjusted by the quiet surrender of the bridge and the tolls to the city. The imperial decree, therefore, of 1158, must be regarded as having laid the foundation of Munich as a city, and accordingly the seven hundredth anni- versary of its founding was celebrated in the year 1858. I shall place a notice of this fite at the head of the list of those which occurred during my resi- dence in that capital. It was a part of the plan that the ceremony of laying the foundation of a new bridge over the Isar should be performed by the king. This was deemed specially appropriate, because the springing up of the city had de- pended upon a bridge over the river to draw thither the trade which had gone to the old Freising. This occurred on Sunday, and I did not see it. I never heard, however, but that his majesty acquitted himself as well in this stone masons work as he does in the affairs of court or statejust as well, perhaps, as one of our more dem- ocratic Chief Magistrates, accustomed to splitting rails or other kinds of man- ual labor, would have done. I took a walk with my children at evening, and met the long line of court carriages re- turning, followed by a procession on foot, the archibishop, with some church dignitaries, walking under a canopy and distributing, by a wave of the hand at each step of his progress, his blessing to the crowds which thronged both sides of the broad street. Some, perhaps, prized this more than we did, 92 The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German capital. but I do not suppose that there was anything in the nature of the blessing or in the will of the benevolent prelate to turn it from our heretical beads. The other parts of this celebration consisted in dinners, plays in the the- atres, a meeting at the Rathhaus, at which were read papers on the devel- opment of Munich for the seven hun- dred years of its existence, and a pro- cession, the whole occupying about a week. I shall only notice specially the procession, and in connection with it the art exhibition for all Germany, which closed at the same time, having been in progress for three months; for the two greatly contributed to each other. The illustrated weekly, published at Stuttgart by the well-known novelist Hacklaender, under the title of Ueber Land und After, refers to these festivi- ties in the following terms: Munich, the South German metrop- olis of art, was, during the closing days of September, transformed into a fes- tive city. The German artists had as- sembled from all parts of the country, that they might, within those walls, charmed by the genius of the muses, wander through the halls in which the academy had collected the best works of German art, and take counsel upon the common interests, as they had formerly done at Bingen and Stutt- gart. The artists and the magistracy vied with each other in preparing happy days for the visitorsan emulation which was crowned with the most de- lightful results. The artists festival, however, was but the harbinger to the the city of the great seventh centennial birthday festival of the Bavarian capi- tal, which had been so long in prepara- tion, and was waited for with such im- patience. Concerts and theatres opened the festal series. Services in all the churches of both confessions consecrated the coining days, and the laying of the foundation of the new bridge over the bar, leading to the Maximilianeum, formed, historically, a monumental memorial for the occasion. Favored by the fairest of weather, the city cele- brated the main festival on the 27th of September. It was a historical proces- sion, nmoved through all the principal streets of the city, and caused departed centuries to pass in full life before the eyes of the citizens and the vast assem- blage of strangers there present. It was no masquerade, but a true picture of the civilization of the city, from its first appearance in history to the pres- ent day a mirrored image, says a chronicler of the festival, of times long since gone by. The twelfth century opened the processionrepresentations of the pres- ent time in science, art, and industry, as developed under the reigns of Lewis and Maximilian, which~ have been so promotive of all that is great, closed it up. But one voice was heard in re- gard to the success of this festival. The plan was to let representatives of the people for this whole period of seven hundred years pass before the eyes of the spectators in the fashions and costumes of their respective ages, bear- ing the implements or badges of their several guilds or professions. The preparation had been begun months beforehand. Artists had been em- ployed to sketch designs. The best had been selected. The costumes were historical. We see sometimes in every part of our country, costumes extem- porized from garrets for old folks con- certs and other like occasions, but gen- erally they do not correspond with each other, or with the performances. The result is committed to accident. The actors wear what their meagre wardrobes of the antique furnish. The wider the divergence from present fashions the better. Chance may bring together the styles of a dozen succes- sive periods, and render the whole without coherence. In such an exhibi- tion our interest is felt simply in the grotesque. It shows us how a coun- tenance familiar to us is set off by a strange and outlandish costume. It represents no history. Such was not this procession. Its front had twelfth century costumes of peasants, burghers, and even the ducal family. So down to the very day of the festival; for statues of the pm~esent royal family on open cars closed up the long line. It The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German capital. 93 did not seem indeed quite right that the successive ages of the dead should pass before us living, and the living age alone lifeless. In one part of the procession was an imperial carriage of state drawn by six horses, a ninn m livery leading each horse, with all the necessary footmen, outriders, and out- runners. The whole was antiquity and novelty happily combined. The cos- tumes and insignia of all classes~ with the tools and implements of all handi- crafts, from the day when Duke Henry and Bishop Otho, seven hundred years before, had had their petty bickerings about the tolls of a paltry village, down to the present day, the whole trans- formed into a living panorama, and made to pass in about four\hours be- fore the eye. To set forth great things by small, a bridal pair remove from the East and settle in our Western wilds. In a score of years they return to their native place, wearing the very garments in which they had stood up and been pro- nounced husband and wife. The pic- ture is equal to a volume of history and one of comedy, the two bound in one. But here, instead of a score of years we have a score of ages, reaching back to a period farther beyond that great popular movement in which modern society had its birth, than that is anterior to our own age. If all the costumes, fashions, implements, and tools of the house, the shop, and the field, insignia and liveries, from those of the first Dutch settlers of New Am- sterdam, down to those of New Yorks belles, beaux, and beggars of the pres- ent day, should be made to pass in re- view before us, how absurdly grotesque would be the scene! That veritable History of New York from the Begin- ning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty, by Diedrick Knicker- bocker, has perhaps shaken as many sides and helped digest as many dinners as almost any book since Cervantes gave the world his account of the ad- ventures of his knight Don Quixote, and yet this great historical work hints but a part of that picture, though doubtless greatly improved by the au- thors delicate touches, which would pass before us in a procession illustrat- ing two centuries of New Yorks his- tory. Using such hints, the reader may partially judge of the impression made by this setting forth of seven cen- turies of a capital of Central Europe, and yet one can hardly tell, without the trial, whether he would rather smile at the grotesqueness of the pageant, or be lost in the profound contemplation of the magnificent march of history reenacted in this drama. This procession spoke but to the eye. It was but a tableau, dumb, though in its way eloquent. It de- tailed no actions; it only hinted them. It simply presented the men who acted, clad in the outward garb, and bearing the tools and weapons of their day. The cut of a garment, the form of a helmet or halberd, a saddle or a scmi- tar, a hoe or a hatchet, or the cut of the hair or the beard, may speak of the heart and soul, only, however, by dis- tant hints. But just as the representa- tion is less distinct and detailed, is it a mightier lever for imagination to use in raising again to life centuries which had long slept in the dust. The super- structure of history, indeed, which we should rear upon such a basis, would be wide of the truth on one side, just as the narratives and philosophical dis- quisitions which come to us under that name are on the other. History gener- ally relates those things in which all ages have been most alikethe same which have been from the beginning and ever shall be the intrigues of courts and of diplomacyvaried mainly by the influence of the religion of the Bible, as at first persecuted, then rising by degrees to a rank either with or above the state, and becoming a perse- cuting power, and then finally modify- ing and softening down the native rudeness of the human race, until mu- tual and universal tolerance is the re 94 ]7ke Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. suit; court life, diplomacy, and war, however, remaining and still to remain the perpetual subjects Gf historical com- position. But between this elevated range and the humble one of burghers tools and costumes, lies a boundless field of aspect, variegated with all the forms which checker social and domes- tic life. Oh !thought a little group of American spectators occupying a room near the corner of Ludwig and Theresien streetscould we but rend the veil of time which conceals Munichs seven hundred years of burgher and peasant life, how odd, how rude a scene would present itself! The readers fancy may make the attempt. I will aid a little if I can, and there was in- deed some material furnished in ad- dresses prepared for that occasion, and in some other papers which have come into my hands. The people of that little village on the banks of the Isar were but the owners and tillers of the barren soil. Nearly a century (1238) after Henry the Lion had surrounded it with walls, and a local magistracy had been chosen; when two parishesthose of St. Peter and St. Maryhad been already long established, we find a schoolmaster signing, doubtless by virtue of his office, a certificate of the freedom of a certain monastery from the city cus- toms. That the school teacher must, e~r offlojo, sign such papers, spoke vol- umes. How few could have had the learning, for it must indeed be done in Latin. And then the history of the city runs nearly a century back of this date. What was the burgher life of that first century of Munichs history? It is but the faintest echo that answers. Schools there were at that day and long before. Nay, the cloister schools were already in decay; but more than three hundred years were yet to elapse before the rise of the Jesuit schools. Three hundred years! How can we, of this age of steam, estimate what was slowly revolving in society in those years? In 1271 we find an order of the bishop of Freising requiring the parish rector to have a school in each parish of the city; half a century later than this we meet documentary evidence that school teaching had assumed a rank with other worldly occupations, and was no longer subject to the rector of the parish. If I could but set the reader down in a school room of that day, I might forego any attempt to portray the times; but, alas I I cannot. He would, however, doubtless see there groups of boysfor I half suspect that this was before girls had generally de- veloped the capability of learningthe faces and garments clean or smutty, showing the grade of social progress which had been gained, for we may presume that the use of soap and water had been to some extent introduced, and if so, I have erred again, for the dirty and the ragged did not go to school. These could do without educa- tion. We should see, too, the beaming or the dull and leaden eyeif; indeed, the eye spoke then as nowproclaim- ing the masters success or failure. And then the schoolmaster, the chief figure in the group, would be found to have the otium cum dignitate, and especially the former, in a higher sense than is now known. And what was the staple information which circulated among the people? Of this we know more. It was was made up of adventures of knights, miracles wrought by the host, by crucifixes and Madonnas, and ap- paritions of saints, leading some em- peror or prince to found a church or monasterya kind of history which few churches or other religious institutions want. If there was less of life in the humanity of that age than we have at present, there was as much more in other things; for even those holy pic- tures and statues could move their eyes and other parts. They found various ways of expressing approbation of the pious, and frowning upon scoffers. Crucifixes and Madonnas, carried by freshets over barren fields, brought fer- tility. The devil, too, figured more 95 f/ike Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. largely in the narratives of days before printed books formed the basis of edu- cation. He generally appeared in the persons of giants and witches, which latter were his agents by special con- tract. Their freaks had all shades~of enormity, from the slight teasing of the housewife in her baking and churning to the peril of life and limb and endless perdition. The devil sometimes com- ing in one of these forms endangered the lives of the quiet people of the city by formaliy dismissing the watch be- tween the hours of eleven and twelve oclock at night. So hundreds of things which he has become too genteel in our day to practise. The founding of the city was near the close of that great movement known as the crusades. What a world of ma- terial these furnished to be used in popular education I The feats of knights, instead of assuming distinct forms and being stereotyped and told to them in books, were surrendered to the popular mouth for preservation and propagation. Saints, angels, and de- mons attached themselves from time to time to these circulating myths. Ori- ginal characters often dropped out, and the discrimination of the wisest be- liever in the real and ideal, became confused. Then came the period of the Hussite war. This gave rise to many a miracle of divine judgment. The Bo- hemian mocker of the holy mass, or of some wonder-working statue of the Virgin, is pursued with divine ven- geance. The Jewshow suggestive the name, in the history of mediseval Europe, of mystery, miracle, and mur- der Iwere early allowed to settle in Munich. They were assigned to a par- ticular street. In the year 1285 a story was startedit had been long stereo- typed, and editions of it circulated in every part of Christendomof the murder of a Christian child. A perse- cution of the Jews was the resultone hundred and forty were burned in their own housesaud the poor Israelites must doubtless suffer without redress, although many of them were then, as they now are, bankers and brokers to the spiritual and temporal lords. Not far from the same time the ducal mint was destroyed, because the people were enraged to find the metal in their coin gowing alarmingly less. For this the city must pay a fine. From our first knowledge of this town it continued gradually, but very slowly, to advance in intelligencewe should rather say from century to cen- tury than from year to year; for dur- ing this period prQgress was too slow to be perceptible, unless the observa- tion were verified by the pillars erect- ed to mark the boundary lines between successive centuries. The inquirer into the past often sighs out the wish that art had found a way to transmit full impressions of all departed generations to the latest living one. Perhaps he prudently limits the desired favor to himself, otherwise the wish would not be wise; its realization would place every lazy observer upon the same level with the studious investigator. The cumbrous details, too, of sixty centuries piled upon one mind would crush it, unless human nature were a very differ- ent thing from that which we now be- hold. It is in accordance with a wise plan of Providence that the deeds of past ages should perish with them, ex- cept the few needed to cast their gleam of light upon the worlds future path- way. We are made capable of rescuing just er~ough for the highest purposes of life, not enough to overwhelm and burden us in our march toward the goal before us. It is thought by some that the point and finish of the ancient Greek authors, as compared with the moderns, is attributable to the fact that they were less perplexed with ac- cumulated lore and the multiplication of books and subjects of study. Their minds were not subject to the dissipat- ing effects of large libraries, and daily newspapers with telegraphs from Asia, Africa, and Hesperia. I shall not dis- cuss this question. The amount of in- 96 The Seven-Hundredtk Birthda1, of a German Capital. formation handed down from past ages even now is but as the spray which rises above the oceans surface to the vast depths which lie below. The his- torical fossils of those ages are there- fore left to exercise the genius of the Cuviers of historical inquiry. As that naturalist could, from a single bone of an extinct animal species, make up and describe the animal, so have inquirers into the past succeeded in picturing a departed age from the few relics left of it. Hence we are treated occasion- ally with such agreeable surprises in the march of history as the discovery of Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Nineveh. The genius of our Wincklemanns, Champollions, Humboldts, and Lay- ards has found a worthy field. Such days as that I am attempting to de- scribe, representing seven centuries 9f a modern capital before the admiring eyes of the present generation of its people, become possible. Instead of the monotony of a perpetual observa- tion, we have the charm of alternate lulls and surprises. This picture has a further likeness to the naturalists description made from the fossils of extinct genera of animals. In the latter the animal is made to stand before us. We have the data necessary to infer his habits. But we see him not perfect in his wilderness home of unnumbered ages past. We see him not the pursuer or the pur- sued; we hear not the fierce growls or the plaintive note of alarm or distress. These we must imagine. So, too, the slowly and peacefully moving train which passes our windows, setting forth the sleeping centuries of this city. There is the emperor in statedukes in ducal magnificence knights in armor with horses richly and fancifully caparisonedcitizens in the dress of their timesthe various mechanics and traders guilds, with their implements, their badges and their banners, with - priests thickly scattered through the whole line, which is ever changing as the representatives of one age succeed those of another. The whole is calm and quiet. The fierce contests, the angry broils, private and publicnow throwing the whole city into a ferment of innocent alarm, now deluging its streets with bloodthe rage of plagues, sealing up the sources of human ac- tivity, and causing the stillness of the grave to settle over the sceneall these we must supply; and surely the thoughtful mind is busy in doing this as it contemplates the passing train. We conceive rival claimants for the ducal throne, contending, regardless of dying counsel, until death again settles what death had thrown open to con- test. Everything which has ever trans- pired on the theatre of the worlds great empires, may be conceived as enacted on this narrower stage. The difference is less in talents and prowess than in the extent of the field and the numbers of actors. From the period of the Reformation down we can form the picture with more distinctness. Seehofen, son of a citizen of Munich, while a student at Wittenberg, received Luthers doc- trine, and through him many of his townsmen. The most learned and able opponent whom the Reformer had to encounter was John Eck, chancellor of the Bavarian University of Ingolstadt one of the most renowned at that day in Europewhich, by removal to the capital, has now become the Universi- ty of Munich. In 1522 Duke William, of Bavaria, issued an edict forbidding any of his people to receive the re- formed doctrine. Bavaria, therefore, remained Catholic, and Munich became the headquarters of German Catholi- cism. The electoral duke, Maximilian, of Bavaria, was head of the Catholic league which carried on the Thirty Years War against the Protestants under Gustavus Adolphus, king of Sweden, in the early part of the seven- teenth century. The city is full of say- ings derived from this whole period, such as to leave us no ground to won- der that few Catholics are inclined to ]7~e Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. 97 become Protestants. The only Protes- tant church in the city was built with- in the last thirty years. It is but a few years since the house was still shown in Scudlinger street, in which Luther, in his flight from Augsburg, whithei~ he had been called to answer for his teach- ing before Cardinal di Yio in 1518,* stopped, his horse all in a foam, to take a drink, and in his hurry forgot to pay for the piece of sausage which he ate. In the market place was a likeness of Luther and his Katherl. I There are also numerous derisive pictures, such as the Reformer riding upon a swine, with a sausage in his hand, which, however, all originated in the mockery of the Jews, who were afterward com- pelled to surrender some of them to the leading spirit of the Reformation. At Saurloch, a little distance south of Munich, there were still, in 1840, to be seen pictures of Luther and his wife in a group made up of chimney sweeps, buffoons, and many others of the class. As this age passed before the eyes of the spectators, they would doubtless give it new life by attributing to it the spirit exemplified in these choice and tasteful pictures and sayings, amusing at this day, doubtless, to both parties. The period of the Thirty Years War and the visit to Munich of Gus- tavus Adolphus has left more sayings and monuments, and thus do more hon- or to the people. After the Catholic victory near Prague, in 1620, the elector celebrated a public entry into the city amid the jubilations of the people and the Jesuits. A pillar was erected in remembrance of the victory, and dedi- cated, eighteen years afterward, to the Virgin, in accordance with a vow. The city was also variously adorned. The rejoicing was somewhat premature. In 1632 the duchess and ducal family had to remove to Salzburg for safety, whith- er they carried with them the bones of St. Benno, the patron saint of the city, * Luther was not in Munich at that time, if indeed he ever was. Catharine flora, Luthers wife. voL. vI.7 and other valuables. The king of Swe- den entered the walls under a promise, which he had made in consideration of three hundred thousand forms, to be paid to him by the people, to se- cure them against fire, sword, and plunder. Ladies freely gave up their precious ornaments to make up the amount. But they failed. The con- queror took forty-two priests of the religious orders, and twenty respectable citizens, as hostages for the payment. These wandered around with his camp for three years, and then all returned except four, who died during the time. The traditions of the people give the king credit for having strictly abstained from plunder, and executed the only man who transgressed his rule, al- though the citizens failed on their part. How beautifully the brilliant and the glorious mingle with the sad and the sombre in the picture which we form of this age as the passing train brings it before our minds! How religion, variously tinged with the sable hues of superstition, wrought upon that age! The Swedish king, the moment victory turns in his favor, dropping upon his knees in the midst of the dead and the dying, the clouds of smoke and dust as yet unsettled, pours out his soul in fer- vent prayer and thanksgiving.* He but represents his army and his age. The Catholic army are not less devout in their way. Germany is full of mon- uments and sayings of this period. Those of Munich are of the Catholic side. There stands in a public square an equestrian statue of colossal size, in bronze, of the elector Maximilian, head of the Catholic Leaguehis pillar to the Virgin still standsand the great general of the League, Count Tilley, represented in bronze, is among the prominent objects viewed by the visit- or to this capital. On the other hand, the greatest organization in Europe for the aid of Protestants in Catholic lands, having branches everywhere, * Yide Schillers Geschlchte des drelsig- jiihrigeu Krieges. 98 The Seven-Hundredth Birthday of a German Capital. bears the name of Gustavus Adoiphus. Let the reader then conceive the vis- ions which flit through the minds of the spectators as this age passes in re- view before them. But here I shall close this part of the picture. The description of the city as it now exists belongs in other con- nections. It has been suggested, as greatly adding to the interest of this birthday festival of the capital, that it concurred in time with the exhibition of the art of all Germany in the Crystal Palace. Although the two had no nat- ural connection, yet they became so iu- tertwined in fact as not easily to be separated. I shall therefore just touch upon the art display. Works of art are dry subjects of de- scription, and that too just in the pro- portion of their exquisiteness to be- hold. things made for the eye must be presented to the eye. Works of a coarse and comic nature can, indeed, be described so as to produce their effect. Here, for instance, is a railroad- station man. Such in Bavaria, dressed in their quaint little red coats, must stand with the hand to the hat as if in token of profound respect for the train while it passes. This one, when lath- ered and half shaved, was suddenly called by the train, and in this predica- ment he stands while it passes. The best new work in the exhibition was one in water colors by Professor Schwind, of Munich, setting forth the popular German myth of the seven ra- vens. It sold to a prince for seven thousand forms. I know better than to attempt a description. The Raising of Jairus Daughter, a picture sent on by the king of Prussia, gave the best impression I have ever had of life once departed, and now suddenly beginning again to quiver on the lip and gleam in the eye; or as Willis has it: And suddenly a flush Shot oer her forehead and along her lips, And through her cheek the rallied color ran; And the still outliue of her graceful form Stirred in the linen vesture; thus changing the sadness of the family assembled round the couch into a lustre sympathetic with that of her own re- opened eyes. These specimens have been given to show that such subjects are incapable of description. The exhibition contin- ued from June to October, and the col- lection was so extensive that a shorter period would have been scarcely sufli- cient for the study of works exhibited. During this time the characteristic en- thusiasm and jealousies of the artists were variously exemplified. The de- lightful hours spent in walking through these halls will be among my latest re- membrances. This whole festive period culminated with the closing days of September. The city had been unusually full all summer, but as its great birthday fes- tival approached, the crowds thickened, until its capacity for lodging room had been transcended. All parts of Ger- many were represented, nor did dele- gates from the rest of the civilized world fail. The question naturally arises, whether New York, Boston, or Philadelphia has a history which would appear well in such a drama! Although our history extends back over little more than one fourth of the period occupied by that of Munich, it might afford this mate- rial The annals of public events would be found preserved with great fulness and distinctnessthe archives of city and state councils and of the churches would supply the needed factsbut who could furnish the fash- ions, tools, and implements of each suc- cessive age from that of the Pilgrim fathers to that of the great rebellion? Who would perform the labor of re- search necessary to ascertain what they were? Where is the American court, supported at an expense of several mil- lions per annum, to preserve all these in collections, or to get them up for court theatres? Who would pay for making all these for a procession of twenty thousand persons, with all the The Daniek Sailor. 99 necessary horses and carriages? And be obliged to leave such exhibitions to surely, if we could not feel the confi- those countries which have hereditary dence that everything was historical, heads, and, making a virtue of neces- all our interest in the display would be sity, console ourselves with the thought gone. I am apprehensive that we shall that we have something better. THE DANISH SAILOR. FAR by the Baltic shore, Where storied Elsinore Rears its dark walls, invincible to time; Where yet Horatio walks, And with Marcellus talks, And Hamlet dreams soliloquy sublime; Though forms of Old Romance, Mail-clad, with shield and lance, Are laid in fair Ophelias watery tomb, Still, passion rules her hour, Love, Hate, Revenge, have power, And hearts, in Elsinore, know joy and gloom. * * * * * * II Grouped round a massy gun Black sleeping in the sun, The belted gunners list to many a tale Told by grim Jarl, the tar, Old Danish dog of war, Of his young days in battle and in gale. The medal at his breast, The single-sleeved blue vest, His thin, white hair, tossed by the Norway breeze, His knotted, horny hand, And wrinkled face, dark tanned, Tell of the times when Nelson sailed the seas. * * * * * * * Steam-winged, upon the ti~Ies A gallant vessel glides, Two royal flags float blended at her fore, Gay convoyed by a fleet, Whose answering guns repeat The joyous God speeds thundered from the shore. ~~ ~.

The Danish Sailor 99-102

The Daniek Sailor. 99 necessary horses and carriages? And be obliged to leave such exhibitions to surely, if we could not feel the confi- those countries which have hereditary dence that everything was historical, heads, and, making a virtue of neces- all our interest in the display would be sity, console ourselves with the thought gone. I am apprehensive that we shall that we have something better. THE DANISH SAILOR. FAR by the Baltic shore, Where storied Elsinore Rears its dark walls, invincible to time; Where yet Horatio walks, And with Marcellus talks, And Hamlet dreams soliloquy sublime; Though forms of Old Romance, Mail-clad, with shield and lance, Are laid in fair Ophelias watery tomb, Still, passion rules her hour, Love, Hate, Revenge, have power, And hearts, in Elsinore, know joy and gloom. * * * * * * II Grouped round a massy gun Black sleeping in the sun, The belted gunners list to many a tale Told by grim Jarl, the tar, Old Danish dog of war, Of his young days in battle and in gale. The medal at his breast, The single-sleeved blue vest, His thin, white hair, tossed by the Norway breeze, His knotted, horny hand, And wrinkled face, dark tanned, Tell of the times when Nelson sailed the seas. * * * * * * * Steam-winged, upon the ti~Ies A gallant vessel glides, Two royal flags float blended at her fore, Gay convoyed by a fleet, Whose answering guns repeat The joyous God speeds thundered from the shore. ~~ ~. 100 The Danish Sailor. Look, comrades! there she goes, Old Denmarks Royal Rose, Plucked but to wither on a foreign strand; Can Copenhagens dames Forget their countrys shames Her sons, unblushing, clasp a British hand? Since that dark day of shame Which blends with Nelsons fame, When the prince of all the land led us on, I little thought to see Our noblest bend the knee To any English queen, or her son. What the fate of battle gave To our victor on the wave, Was as nothing to the bitter, conscious sting, That our haughty island foe Struck a sudden, traitor blow, In the blessed peace of God and the king. Ay, you were not yet born On that cursed April morn, When they sprang like red wolves on their prey, And our princeliest and best By our humblest lay at rest, In the hearts blood of Denmark, on that day. And now, their lady queen, Oer our martyrs graves between, Stoops to cull our cherished bud for her heir, And the servile, fickle crowd Shout their shameless joy aloud, All but one old crippled tarwho Wct8 there! Till the memory shall fail Of that treachrous, bloody tale, Or the grief, and the rage, and the wrong, Shall enforce atonement due, On some Danish Waterloo, To be chanted by our countrymen in song, I will keep my love and truth For the Denmark of my youth, Nor clasp hands with her enemies alive; Ay, Id train this very gun On that British prince and son, Who comes here, in his arrogance, to wive. The Danish Sailor. When I gave my good right arm, And my blood was spouting warm Oer my dying brothers face, as we lay, I played a better part, I bore a prouder heart, Than the proudest in that pageant bears to-day. * * * * * * * * * There floats the Royal Bride, On that unreturning tide ; By the blood of all the sea-kings of yore, Twere better for her fame, That Denmark sunk her shame Where the maelstrom might drown it in his roar! * * * * * * * * * There was silence fbr a space, As they gazed upon his face, Dark with grief, and with passion overwrought; When out spoke a foreign tongue, That gunner-group among: Neow old Jarl ses the thing he hednt ought. This idee of keeping m~d Half a centry, is too bad; Tis onchristian, and poor policy beside; For they say that the young man Has the brass to buy the pan, And her folks are putty sure that hell provide. * * * * * * * * * The old seamans scornful eye Glanced mute, but stern reply, And the Yankee vowed and swore to me, the bard, That old Jarl, that very night, By the northern moons cold light, Talked with Hamlets fathers ghost in the back yard. 101 American Civilization. AMERICAN CIVILIZATION. THERE are two opposite standpoints from which American civilization will be regarded both by the present and future generations; opposite both in respect to the views they give of Ameri- can society and the judgment to be formed thcreon: so opposing, in fact, that they must ever give rise to con- flicting opinions, which can only be reconciled in individual instances by the actual occurrence of great events, and never when dealing with generali- ties. These two far distant points of view are the foreign and the native. We are, more perhaps than any other nation in existence, a peculiar people. Our institutions are new and in most respects original, and cannot be judged by the experience of other nations. Our manner of life and modes of thoughtall our idem of individual and national progress, are sui ~,eneris, and our experience, both social and political, as based upon those ideas, has been similar to that of no other race which history records. Hence to the foreign historian or philosopher our inner life is a sealed book; he can neither understand the hidden springs of action which govern all the move- ments of our body politic, nor appre- ciate the motives or the aspirations of the American mind: in a word,he can never be imbued with the 8jpirit of our intellectual and moral life, which alone can give the key-note to prophecy, the pitch and tone to true and impartial history. And he who, reasoning from the few ~ priori truths of human na- ture, or from those characteristics which the American mind possesses in coin- mon with that of the Old World, shall pretend to treat of our systems and our intellectual life, or to map out our fu- ture destiny, will be as much at fault as the historian of a thousand years ago who should attempt to portray the events of this our day and generation. The historian of American civilization must not only be among us, but of us one who is able not only to identify his material interests with those of the great American people, but also to par- take of our moral habitudes, to be ac- tuated by the same feelings, desires, aspirations, and be governed by the same motives. By such an one alone, who is able to understand our moral life in all its phases and bearings, can a clear and truthfrl view be taken of the great events which are continually agitating our society, and their bearings upon our present and future civilization be correctly estimated. It is precisely from lack of this sym- pathy and of appreciation of the diffi- culties under which we have labored, that America has suffered in the opin- ion of the world. For the foreign view, looking upon ns not as a new people, but as the offshoot of an old and culti- vated race, has conceded to us little more than a certain mechanical inge- nuity in fitting together the parts of an edifice built upon a foundation already laid for us away back in the agesa carrying out of plans already perfected for us, and requiring little of originality for their development; forgetting that oftentimes the laying of the foundation is the easiest part of the work, while the erection and embellishment of the superstructure has taxed the efforts of the loftiest genius. In so far as regards the development of the national mind, the strengthening of the originating and energetic faculties, and the capa- bility of profound and well directed thought arising therefrom, we are,asa race, deeply indebted to our progeni- tors of tho Old World, and we have reaped therefrom a great advantage over other nationalities in their incep. tion. But aside from these benefits, the cultivation of the race before the set- tlement of our country has been rather 102

American Civilization 102-112

American Civilization. AMERICAN CIVILIZATION. THERE are two opposite standpoints from which American civilization will be regarded both by the present and future generations; opposite both in respect to the views they give of Ameri- can society and the judgment to be formed thcreon: so opposing, in fact, that they must ever give rise to con- flicting opinions, which can only be reconciled in individual instances by the actual occurrence of great events, and never when dealing with generali- ties. These two far distant points of view are the foreign and the native. We are, more perhaps than any other nation in existence, a peculiar people. Our institutions are new and in most respects original, and cannot be judged by the experience of other nations. Our manner of life and modes of thoughtall our idem of individual and national progress, are sui ~,eneris, and our experience, both social and political, as based upon those ideas, has been similar to that of no other race which history records. Hence to the foreign historian or philosopher our inner life is a sealed book; he can neither understand the hidden springs of action which govern all the move- ments of our body politic, nor appre- ciate the motives or the aspirations of the American mind: in a word,he can never be imbued with the 8jpirit of our intellectual and moral life, which alone can give the key-note to prophecy, the pitch and tone to true and impartial history. And he who, reasoning from the few ~ priori truths of human na- ture, or from those characteristics which the American mind possesses in coin- mon with that of the Old World, shall pretend to treat of our systems and our intellectual life, or to map out our fu- ture destiny, will be as much at fault as the historian of a thousand years ago who should attempt to portray the events of this our day and generation. The historian of American civilization must not only be among us, but of us one who is able not only to identify his material interests with those of the great American people, but also to par- take of our moral habitudes, to be ac- tuated by the same feelings, desires, aspirations, and be governed by the same motives. By such an one alone, who is able to understand our moral life in all its phases and bearings, can a clear and truthfrl view be taken of the great events which are continually agitating our society, and their bearings upon our present and future civilization be correctly estimated. It is precisely from lack of this sym- pathy and of appreciation of the diffi- culties under which we have labored, that America has suffered in the opin- ion of the world. For the foreign view, looking upon ns not as a new people, but as the offshoot of an old and culti- vated race, has conceded to us little more than a certain mechanical inge- nuity in fitting together the parts of an edifice built upon a foundation already laid for us away back in the agesa carrying out of plans already perfected for us, and requiring little of originality for their development; forgetting that oftentimes the laying of the foundation is the easiest part of the work, while the erection and embellishment of the superstructure has taxed the efforts of the loftiest genius. In so far as regards the development of the national mind, the strengthening of the originating and energetic faculties, and the capa- bility of profound and well directed thought arising therefrom, we are,asa race, deeply indebted to our progeni- tors of tho Old World, and we have reaped therefrom a great advantage over other nationalities in their incep. tion. But aside from these benefits, the cultivation of the race before the set- tlement of our country has been rather 102 American Civilization. a hamper upon our progress. For here was to be inaugurated a new civil- ization, upon a different basis from and entirely incompatible with that of the Old World; here was to be estab- lished an idea antagonistic to those of the preexisting world, and evolving a new and more progressive social life, which needed not only a new sphere and new material, but also entire free- dom from the restraints of the old-time civilization. And it is harder to un- learn an old lesson than to learn a new. The institutions and modes of thought of the Old World are to the last degree unfavorable to the progress of such a nationality as ours. Their tendency being toward the aggrandizement of the few and the centralization of power, renders them wholly incompatible with that freedom of thought and action, that opening up of large fields of exer- tion as well as of the road to distinc- tion and eminence, with all their in- centives to effort, which are the very life of a majestic republic stretching over a large portion of the earths sur- face, embracing such mixed nationali- ties, and founded upon principles of progress both in its physical and men- tal relations which have rendered it in very truth a new experiment among the nations. We had first to forget the divine right of kings, and the invidious distinctions of class, with all their deep- seated and time-honored prejudices, and to start forward in a different and hitherto despised path toward which the iron hand of our necessity pointed, and in which all men should be consid- ered equal in their rights, and the po- sition of each should depend, not upon the distance to which he could trace a proud genealogy, but upon the ener- gy with which he should grapple with the stern realities of life, the honesty and uprightness with which he should tread its path, and the use he should make of the blessings which God and his own exertions bestowed upon him. We had to learn the great but simple lesson that The rank is but the guineas stamp, The man s the man for a that; and in so doing, to accept, for a time, the position of the Pariahs of Christen- dom, through the imputation of de- grading all things high and noble to the rank of the low and vulgar, of casting the pearls of a lofty and en- nobled class before the swinish multi- tude, of throwing open the doors of the treasury, that creatures of low, plebeian blood might grasp the crown jewels which had for ages been kept sacred to the patrician few; in a word, we had to take upon ourselves all the odium of a despised democracya moral agrarianism which should make com- mon property of all blessings and privi- leges, and mingle together all things, pure and impure, in one common hotch- potch of corruption and degradation. Greater heresy than all this was not then known, and the philosopher of to- day has little conception of the sacri- fice required of those who would at that time accept such a position. Another and not less important les- son which our ancestors had to learn was, that national prosperity which depends upon the learning and refine- ment or energy of a certain privileged class, can never be otherwise than ephemeral; that the common people the low plebeians, whom they had been taught to consider of the least impor- tance in the state, are in reality the strength of the laud; and that in the amelioration of their condition, in the education and mental training of the masses, while at the same time placing before them the highest incentives to individual exertion, lies the only sure basis of an enduring prosperitythat the only healthful national growth is that which is made up of the individ- ual strivings of the great mass rather than the self-interested movements of the few; and as a consequence of this truth, that the privileged minority is really the least important of the two classes in any community. In the in- fancy of government, when a rude and 103 101 Ame?ican Civilization. unlettered people are little able to take care of themselves, the establishment of class distinctions is undoubtedly conducive to progress, as it tends to unite the people, thereby counteract- ing the thousand petty jealousies and strifes .and bickerings which invariably beset an infant people, and to organize and systematize all progressive effort. It is, in fact, a putting of the people to school under such wholesome restraints as shall compel them forward while guarding them against those evil influ- ences which militate against their pros- perity. But in the course of events the time comes when these restraints are no longer necessary, but rather become hampers upon the wheels of progress; and when that period arrives, all these invidious distinctions should, in a well- regulated state, gradually disappear and give place to that freedom which is essential to hdividual advancement as the basis of national power. Trained as our ancestors had been to consider these distinctions divinely appointed, it was no easy task for them to abrogate so aged and apparently sacred a system, and nothing but the material evidence be- fore their eyes in the experience of their own society, convincing them that such a course was an actual necessity of their future well-being, could have induced them so to depart from the teachings of their progenitors. Nor was it less difficult to determine how far these safeguards of the olden time might safely be dispensed with, or where or how deeply the knife should be applied which, in the fallibility of human judg- ment, might possibly cut away some main root of their social organization. Here was required the exercise of the profoundest wisdom and the most care- ful discretionwisdom unassisted by any experience in the past history of the world other than that of the utter failure of all past experiments in any way similar to their own. To us of to- day, viewed in the light of intervening experience and of the increased knowl- edge of human affairs, this may seem a little thing; but to them it was not so, for the path was new and untried, and they were surrounded by the thickest of darkness. Thus it will be seen that in the founding of our system there were great difficulties, which onlythe loftiest aims and the utmost firmness and determination in the cause of the good and the true, with the liveliest sense of the necessities and the yearn- ings of human nature, and the trueend of all human existence, could have over- come,difficulties which, with all the cultivation of their past, rendered their task not less arduous than that of the founders of any community recorded in history even among the rudest and most savage of peoples. And for all their energy and perseverance the world has not yet given them the credit which is their due, although the yearly devel- oping results of their labors are gradu- ally restoring them to their proper po- sition in the appreciation of humanity. And the time will come when their memory will be cherished all over the earth as that of the greatest benefactors of the human kind. As the Alpine glacier year after year heaves out to its surface the bodies of those who many decades ago were buried beneath the everlasting snows, so time in its revo- lutions heaves up to the view of the world, one by one, the great facts of the buried past, to be carefully laid away in the graveyard of memory, with a towering monument above them to mark to all succeeding ages the spot where they have wrought in the inter- est of humanity. Another evil effect of this same for- eign view is to lead the world to ex- pect of us, the descendants of an old and polished civilization, more than is warranted by the facts of our history or even by the capabilities of human nature in its present stage. And this, too, arises from a false estimate of the difficulties which have beset us on ev- ery side, and from the paucity of the worlds experience, and consequent knowledge, of such experiments as our Arnericatv Civilizatirm. 105 own. The march of human advance- ment has but just begun in this its new path; and it is but little wonder that, excited by our past successes, and slim- ulated to an inordinate degree as their ideas of progress have become through the new truths which our efforts have brought to light, the friends of human freedom all over the world should ex- pect from us more astonishing develop- ments, more rapid progress, than is compatible with the frailties and falli- bilities of our humanity. Hence in the light of this morbid view our great- est successes are looked upon as some- what below the standard which our advantages demand. With the foreign view we, as a na- tion, have nothing to do. We must be content to act entirely independently of the opinions of the outside world, being only careful steadfastly to pursue the path of right, leaving to future ages to vindicate our ideas and our motives. So only can we possess that true na- tional independence which is the foun- dation of all national dignity and worth, and the source of all progress. We must free ourselves from all the hampering influences of old-time dog- mas and worn-out theories of social life, content to submit to the aspersions of Old-World malice, confident that time will prove the correctness of our policy. So only can we throw wide open the doors of investigation, and give free scope to those truths which will not fail to follow the earnest striv- ings of a great people for the purest right and the highest good. In estimating any civilization at its true value, the law of God is obviously the highest standard. Yet in these days of divided opinion and extended scepticism, when scarcely any two hold exactly the same religious views, and when all manner of beliefs are pro- fessedly founded on Holy Writ, such a comparison would only result in as many different estimates as there are reflecting minds, and the investigation would be in no degree advanced. Even the moral sense of our own community is so divided upon the distinctions of abstract right, that the application of such a standard to our civilization would only open endless fields of use- less because interested and bigoted dis- cussions. There are two other and more feasi- ble methods of conducting such an in- vestigation; the first of which is that of comparing our own civilization with that of Europe; marking the differences, and judging of them according to our knowledge of human nature and the light of past experience and analogy. Yet such a course presents the serious objection of preventing an impartial judgment through the strong tempta- tion to sclf-laudation, which is in itself the blinding of reason as well as the counteraction of all aspirations for a still higher good. The third and last method is that which takes cognizance of the most ob- vious and deeply felt evils connected with our own system, and reasoning from universally conceded principles of abstract right, and from the highest moral standard of our own society, to study how they may best be remedied and errors most successfully combated. From such a course of investigation truth cannot fail to be evolved, and the moral appreciation of the thinker to be heightened. For suck a method presents less danger of partiality from local prejudices, religious bias, or na- tional antipathy. And such is the method which we shall endeavor to pursue. Judging from mankinds sense of right, of justice, and of that moral no- bility which each individuals spiritual worthiness seems to demand, a pure democracy is the highest and most per- fect form of government. But such a system presupposes a perfect humanity as its basis, a humanity which no por- tion of the earth has yet attained or is likely to attain for many ages to come. Hence the vices as well as the weak- nesses of human nature render certain 106 American~ Civilization. restraints necessary, which are more or less severe according as the nation is advanced in moral excellence and in- tellectual cultivation, and which must gradually disappear as the race pro- gresses, giving place to others newer and more appropriate to the changing times and conditions of men. Under this view that progress in the science of government is alone healthy which keeps exact pace with the moral prog- ress of the nation, and tends toward a pure democracy in exactly the degree in which the people become fitted to appreciate, to rationally enjoy, and faithfully guard the blessings of perfect liberty. Too rapid progress leads to political anarchy by stimulating, to a degree unsustained by their acquire- ments and natural ability, the aspira- tions of the ambitious and the reckless, thereby begetting and nationalizing a spirit of lawlessness which grasps con- tinually at unmerited honors, and strives to make all other and higher considerations bend to that of individ- ual advancement and personal vanity. The truth of this position is seen in the utter failure of all attempted democratic systems in the past, which may be traced to this too eager haste in the march of human freedom, ending in- variably in the blackest of despotism, as well as from the fact in our own his- tory that every era of unusual political corruption and reckless strife for posi- tion and power, has followed close upon the moral abrogation of some one of those safeguards which the wisdom of our fathers threw around our politi- cal system. On the other hand, advancement which does not keep pace with the ex- pansion of thought, the intellectual de- velopment, and consequent capacity of the people for self-government, not only offers no encouragement to effort, but actually discourages all striving, and blunts the appetites of the search- ers for truth. It fossilizes the people, retards the march of intellect by its re- actionary force, and rolls backward the wheels of all progress, till the nation becomes a community of dull, content- ed plodders, fixed in the ruts of a by- gone age, suffering all its energy and life to rust away, day by day, in inac- tion. Such we find to be the case with those nations of the Old World which are still ruled by the effete systems of a feudal age. The governmental policy and the intellectual status of the masses mutually react upon each other, effec- tually neutralizing all progress, whether moral or physicaL For these reasons that nicely gradu- ated mean between political reckless- ness and national old fogyism, which alone guarantees an enduring progress, is the object of search to all disinter- ested political reformers. For only y following such a golden mean, in which political reform shall keep even pace with intellectual and moral advance- ment, can physical and mental progress be made mutually to sustain each other in the onward march. Yet this mean is extremely difficult to find, for though we be guided by all the experience of the past, and earnestly and sincerely endeavor to profit by the failures as well as the successes of those who have gone before us, the paths of experiment are so infinite and the combinations of method so boundless, that the wisest may easily be led astray. Hence the failures of the republics of the past, however pure the motives and lofty the aims of their founders, may be attrib- uted to a leaning to one side or the other of this strait and narrow way, which lies so closely concealed amid the myriad ramifications of the paths of method. The slightest divergence, if it be not corrected, like the infinites- imal divergence of two straight lines, goes on increasing to all time, till that which was at first imperceptible, be- comes at last a boundless ocean of in- tervening space, which no human effort can bridge. To say that we, as a nation, are fol- lowing closely this golden mean, that our wisdom has enabled us to discover American Civili2ation. that which for so many ages has re- mained hidden from men, were simply egotistical bombast; for it were to as- sert that with us human nature had lost its fallibility and human judgment become unerring. Yet we may safely assert that no system exists at the pres- ent day which so clearly tends toward the attainment of such a mean, and which contains within itself so many elements of reform, as our own. For ours is a system of extreme elasticity, a sort of compensation balance, construct- ed with a view to the changing climate of the political world, and capable of accommodating itself to the shifting condition of men and things. And this not by forcing or leading public sentiment, but by yielding to it. Thus while it is founded upon, and in its workings evolves, so many lofty and ennobling truths, keeping constantly before the eyes of the people lessons of purity and moral dignity, acting as a check upon the visionary and a safe- guard to our liberties, it nevertheless yields quietly to the requirements of the times, and changes according to the necessities of the governed, thus being far from proving a hamper upon our intellectual advancement, but, on the contrary, leaving free and unimpeded the paths of national progress. And it is one of the most distinctive features of our institutions that, while few for- eign Governments admit of much change without danger of revolution, with us the most thorough reforms may be consummated and the greatest changes effected without danger of ruffling the waves of our society. For with us change is effected so gradually and in such exact consonance with the necessities of the people as to be almost imperceptible, and to afford no handle to the turbulent and designing revolu- tionist. The gratification of legitimate ambition is guaranteed, but our system utterly revolts against the sacrifice of the public good to the inordinate crav- ings of personal ambition or aggran- dizement. It is in recognition of this 107 principle of gradual change that the politician of to-day hesitates not to avow and to advocate principles which twenty years ago he deemed the height of political absurdity. It is not ab- stract truth that has altered, but the necessary modification of theories re- sulting from the altered condition and exigencies of society. Were this truth not recognized, no statesman could for many years retain his hold upon the popular appreciation, for he would at once be branded with inconsistency and incontinently thrown aside as an urn- safe counsellor. Hence the hackneyed phrase, ahead of the times, contains within itself a deep and important meaning, since it is but a recognition of the fact that relative right and wrong may change with the condition of society, and that theories may be beneficial in a more advanced stage, which at present would be noxious in the extreme, and that, in consequence, he is an unsafe leader who grasps at some exalted good without making sure of the preliminary steps which alone can make such blessings durable who would, at a single leap, place the nation far ahead in the race of im- provement, without first subjecting it to that trial and discipline which are ab- solutely necessary to fit it for a new sphere. And the extreme disfavor with which such agitators are regarded by society is an evidence of the safe- guard which our institutions contain within themselves, which, by moulding the minds of the people to a proper appreciation of the blessings of limited reform and of the inevitable and neces- sary stages and degrees of progress, as well as of the danger of too sudden and radical change, effectually counteract the evil influence of the unmethodical and empirical reformer. Our Government, in its form, can in no sense of the word be called a demo- cracy, however much its workings may tend toward such a result in some far- distant future. It is founded in a rec- ognition of the fact that however equal 108 American Civilization. all men may be in their civil and polit- ical rightshowever the humblest and most ignorant member of the com- munity may be entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, all men are not equal either in intellectual en- dowments or personal acquirements, and consequently in their influence upon society, or equally fitted either to govern or to choose their rulers. Our ancestors recognized the fact that the people are not, in the democratic sense of the term, fitted to govern themselves. Hence they threw around their system a network of safeguards, and adopted and firmly established restraints to counteract this principle of democratic rule, without which our infant republic would soon have fallen to pieces by the force of its own internal convulsions. And time has proven the wisdom of their course, and we shall do well if we shall reflect long and deeply before we essay to remove the least of those re- straints, remembering that when once the floodgate is opened to change, the eternal tide is set in motion, and a prece- dent established which will prove dan- gerous if it be not carefully restrained within the limits of the necessities of the times. To draw an illustration from the constitution of our body politic: we find that the people meet in their pri- mary elections, and choose a represent- ative to their State legislature, which representative is, theoretically, consider- ably advanced above his constituents in intellect, and in knowledge and expe- rience of governmental affairs, and of the necessities of the nation; by whom, in conjunction with his colleagues and not by the people themselvesa Senator is chosen to represent the State in the national Congress,which Sena- tor, in his turn, theoretically, is elevated above his constituents, not by the for- tuitous circumstance of birth or of worldly possessions, but in point of in- tellect and acquirements, and conse- quent capacity to govern. Again, the people do not directly choose their President, but select certain electors, to whose superior wisdom and judgment is intrusted the task of determining who is most fitted to rule the nation for the coming presidential term. In the single instance of the representative to Con- gress do the people choose directly from among themselves. And this was adopted as a wise precaution that he, springing directly from their midst, owing both his present and future po- sition to their suifrages, more closely identified with them in interest, and partaking more nearly of their modes of thought, and who from the shortness of his term might easily be displaced if he should prove recreant to his trust, thus having every inducement to cor- rectly represent the sentiments and pro- tect the rights of his constituents, might act as a check upon that other house, which, further removed in every respect from the people, elected more in accordance with the aristocratic institutions of the mother country, and from this exalted and exclusive position, and long term of office, more liable to aristocratic influences, might be tempted to combine for the consoli- dation of power and the gratification of personal ambition, even at the ex- pense of the liberties of the people. Such is the theory of our form of Gov- ernment; the practical working of it has altered with the times. While the form of the Constitution is still ob- served to the letter, the spirit is, in a great measure, abrogated. The people now choose only those representatives whose sentiments are well known and whose future course can safely be predi- catedonly those electors who stand pledged to cast their votes for a desig- nated candidate. Yet even now there is nothing to prevent those representa- tives from pursuing a course entirely opposed to all previous professions, and the known wishes of their constituents nothing to hinder those electors from casting their votes for some third party, or combining to place in the executive chair some unknown person whom the American~ Civilization. 109 people have not chosen or desired; nothing, if only we except the eternal odium and political damnation of pub- lic opinion. Yet it may well be ques- tioned if this same public opinion be not after all the safest custodian of the public interest, the most powerful re- straint which could be imposed upon these representatives of the people to compel them to a strict performance of their trust. Yet while, as we have said, a pure democracy is but another term for the highest type of civilization, the fact that our form of Gdvernment is not in any sense of the word a democracy, is no argument against our civilization, but rather in its favor. For it is but a recognition of the fact that no people on earth is yet fitted for a pure democ- racy as a basis of their institutions: it is an adapting of ourselves to that state of things for which we are most fitted, instead of grasping at some Utopian scheme of perfection, which the com- mon sense of the nation tells us is b~- yond our present capacity. On the other hand, it is a frank ackmowledg- ment of our own defects and frailties. As the yvwOt OEaVT~z7 of the heathen philosophers contained within itself the germ of all individual philosophy and moral progress, so does it compre- hend the whole problem of national growth and progress. It is only the rudest, most ignorant and barbarous nation that arrogates to itself perfec- tion: it is that nation only which, con- scious of no defects, sees no necessity for reform, and has no incentive thereto. The consciousness of defects, both phys- ical and moral, is the life of all reform, and hence of all progress; while the capacity to detect error in our system implies the ability for thorough reform, and the cultivation which underlies such knowledge implies the inclination to effect it. The establishment of a pure democracy in our midst, in the present state of human advancement, were evidence of a lack of that civiliza- tion which depends upon earnest thought and a proper appreciation of the present capabilities as well as the frailties and imperfections of our hu- manity. We have seen that while in the mat- ter of choosing our rulers and legisla- tors, our institutions are, in their practi- cal workings, democratic, in form they are by no means so. This cannot long remain so. An empty form is of little value, and ere many years the country will either return to the principles of the olden timewhich in the present advanced state of public sentiment is not likelyor else sweep away the form and simplify the whole system. Already the question has begun to be agitated of submitting the presidential vote directly to the people without in- tervention of electors. But it may well be doubted whether, in the light of the political corruption of to-day, even this be not too great an advance upon the democratic principle for the moral condition of our people. For many years our country has been the victim of a demagoguism, resulting from the working of this very princi- ple, and the question admits of serious discussion whether, instead of abrogat- ing the form, a return to the spirit of the Constitution, while, at the same time, holding strictly amenable those to whom this important choice is in- trusted, would not result in a pure and more statesmanlike administration of public affairs. For the elector, being held politically responsible for the con- duct of the candidate for whom his vote was cast, and for all the evils re- sulting from mal-administration, would soon learn that to be faithful is not less important than to be wise, and that his political interest was identified with the well-being of the country. But it is one of the evils of our rapid progress that the past is looked upon with such disfavor as to effectually pre- vent a return even upon the path of error. In the pride of our civilization the simpler theories of the olden time are despised as unworthy of, if not 110 American Civili?ation. wholly unfitted for, our present exalted intellectuality. The principle is ig- nored that reform may sometimes be effected by retracing the steps of years. Hence reform in this particular must either adopt the dangerous experiment of establishing the pure democratic principle, or else devise some third plan which shall charm by its novelty at the same time that it is founded upon some evident and abiding truth. And in this connection another great evil becomes evident which is in itself a fault of our civilization, and not a defect arising from any fundamental error in our system; an evil which, although always predominant, has been more active in its workings, more in- jurious in its effects during the present war than ever before. It is the spirit of bitter, uncharitable, and even mali- cious opposition of the minority to the acts and theories of the party in pow- er, forgetting that no great evil was ever yet effectually counteracted by op- position, which only fans the flame and makes the fire burn hotter. And while no good can be effected by such oppo- sition its direful effect is to divide the councils of the nation, to paralyze the executive arm in all times of great emergency, to render but half effectual every great national enterprise, to make wavering the national policy, to exas- perate political parties more and more against each other, thereby dividing the people and weakening the national life and progress, preventing all concen- tration of effort and unanimity of pur- pose, andworst of allsubjecting the country periodically to the violent shock of opposing systems, according as parties alternate in power, tossing the ship of state in the brief period of a four years term from one wave of theory to another, and opposing one, only to be hurled back as violently as before. Can it be doubted that such a state of affairs is injurious to prosperi- ty and either political or social advance- ment? Were the results of every Ad- ministration for good, there would be less danger; but radical evils cannot but result from the bitter partisanship of the party in power, and when the scale is reversed and the opposite party gains the ascendency, the new Admin- istration has scarcely time to correct the errors of its predecessors and to establish its own theory, ere the popu- lar tide ebbs and flows again in the opposite direction, the ins are out and the outs are in, and again the alterna- tion begins. Certainly party divisions are the life of a republic, from their tendency to counterbalance each other, and periodically reform abuses, thus keeping the vessel in the straight course; yet when those divisions reach the point which we see in our midst to- day, when the avowal of any principle or theory by the one party, however just or beneficial it may seem, is but the signal for the uncompromising hos- tility and bitter denunciation of the opposition, who seek to make of it a handle to move the giant lever of polit- ical power, unmindful of the wants and the urgent necessities of the landa hostility having for its basis the single fact that the new measures are unfor- tunately advocated by the opposite partythen such divisions become not only injurious to the body politic, but a foul blot upon the civilization of our day and nation. This is perhaps put- ting the question in a strong light; but, admitting that we have not yet reached that point, are we not swiftly drifting in that direction? Let every candid thinker put the question to himself and ponder it deeply, remem- bering, while looking for the ultimate result, that it was the bitter hostility of opposing factions which ruined the republics of old, and which to-day con- vulse many that might otherwise take rank among the most powerful and progressive nations of the earth, neu- tralizing their progress, and holding them constantly suspended above the gulf of anarchy and desolation. Ask the oppositionist of to-day what he proposes or expects to accomplish American Civilization. 111 by his hostility to the powers that be, and he will answer to little purpose. A vague idea is floating in his brain of some good time coming for his party, yet he knows very little what or when this good time shall be, living on the hope of some unknown event which shall reverse the political chessboard. The opposition of to-day is that of ultra conservatism to radicalism, of which the tendency of the one is toward the stationary, that of the other to the rapidly progressive. The so-called con- servative, apparently blind to the re- sult, and looking to a return of the na- tion to the worn-out theories of the past as the result of the efforts of his clique, is straining every nerve to para- lyze the arm of the Government, and to neutralize the effect of every great achievement, doing everything in his power to exasperate the large majority who ai~ endeavoring to sustain the country in her hour of peril, seemingly unconscious that in so doing he is not only working steadily to defeat his own purpose, but also paving the way for the destruction of his faction. For he is endeavoring to drag the country backward along the track of yearsan object which, as all history proves, can never be effected with any progressive race; on the contrary, such nations have ever owed their ruin to the in- evitable tendency to too rapid advance- ment. Again, by embittering the feel- ings of his opponents toward himself and his coadjutors, he is effectually preventing any future reconciliation and c& iperation of the divided factions, in which only could he hope for suc- cess, and raising up a powerful opposi- tion which will counteract all his future efforts. A purer civilization would look at this question of party divisions in a different light, recognizing it as an in- stitution of Providence, whereby great good may be effected when its benefits are properly appreciated, and at the same time as a terrible engine of de- struction when misused or not properly controlled. A purer civilization would recognize and candidly acknowledge every element of good in the theories of even the fiercest opponents, and heartily cotiperate in every enterprise whose tendency was to the national good, working steadily and cheerfully side by side with rivals and political opposers, and confining its own oppo- sition strictly to those measures of which the effect is, judged by its own standard, obviously eviL The ~6le of the true reformer is to glide quietly along with the tide of events, bec~m- ing reconciled to those measures which, though contrary to his own convic- tions, are nevertheless too firmly estab- lished to admit of being shaken by his most powerful efforts; and so while carefully avoiding all unnecessary an- tagonisms, all useless stirring up of old bitternesses, to seek so to identify him- self with the current of events, and so to become part and parcel of the na- tions political life and progress, as to be enabled to guide into the channel of future good the movement which at first started awry. Even where the vessel has widely diverged from the path of good, and follows that which \ leads to inevitable destruction, it is his part, instead of wasting his powers in useless struggles to stay her course, to continue on as part and parcel of the precious freight, seeking opportunity so to guide the erring prow that she shall be gradually diverted from the evil course toward some distant and ad- vanced point of the forsaken track, without being violently dragged back along her wake. So reaching at last the accustomed course, the good ship will still be far advanced upon her way with all the benefits of past ex- perience of evil to act as a warning against future digressions from the established path of progress. It wiU be time enough then to point out the dangers she has escaped, and to argue the absurdity of the olden theories which have so seriously interfered with her navigation. By such a course alone Church 3Ju~ic. 112 will he secure the respect of his oppo- nents, and the love and admiration of those who never fail to appreciate ster- ling integrity of purpose, uprightness of motives, and persevering effort in the cause of the public good, which is that of the right and the true; and so only will he quiet and disarm that factious spirit which would otherwise be ever ready to start into a violent opposition at his first effort in the public cause. Nor must such a course imply time- serving or sycophancy, or the least concealment of any of the loftiest and noblest sentiments. In any matter of wrong, where the voice and the concen- trated effort of the true philanthropist can avail to check the nations career, the voice of the reformer should not fail to be raised in its most powerful tones, and all his energy exerted to form such political and social combina- tions as shall effect his purpose. But in those stages which are prominent in every nations progress, when the tide bly in one direction, sweeping along all thought and energy in its course, against which it were madness to con- tend until the tempest shall have worn itself out by its own violencemore especially when the great questions in- volve a mere difference of opinion as to the results of important measures or the general tendency of the public policythen, when opposition would only serve to arouse a factious or dis- putatious spirit, his part is to glide quietly along with the popular move- ment, acquiescing in and reconciling himself to the condition of affairs till such time as the public sentiment is ripe, and the circumstances fitting for the advocacy and the triumph of his own views; meanwhile letting no op- portunity escape to guide the national mind and direct the nations strivings to such a consummation. By such a course only can l~e effect great results and make durable the establishment of his own cherished of public opinion sets full and irresisti- principles. CHURCH MUSIC. FROM the earliest Christian period of which we have any knowledge, mu- sic has been employed in the public worship of Christian communities. Its purposes are, to afford to the devotion of the worshippers a means of expres- sion more subtile than even human speech, to increase that devotion, and to add additional lustre and solemnity to the outward service offered to God. Music has a wonderful power in stir- ring the souls of men, in (so to speak) moving the soil of the heart, that the good seed sown by prayer and instruc- tion may find ready entrance, and a wholesome stimulus to facilitate growth. Now, it is the duty of all concerned in the ordering of public worship to see that the music employed tends to effect these ends. In the year 1565, the composers of church music were in the habit of em- ploying so many and well-known secu- lar melodies, and of rearing upon them and upon their own inventions such complicated and unintelligible contra- puntal structures, that the church au- thorities took the matter seriously in hand, and there is no knowing what might have been the final sentence, had not Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina brought his genius to the rescue, and, in sundry compositions, especially in a six-part mass, dedicated to Pope Mar~

Church Music 112-116

Church 3Ju~ic. 112 will he secure the respect of his oppo- nents, and the love and admiration of those who never fail to appreciate ster- ling integrity of purpose, uprightness of motives, and persevering effort in the cause of the public good, which is that of the right and the true; and so only will he quiet and disarm that factious spirit which would otherwise be ever ready to start into a violent opposition at his first effort in the public cause. Nor must such a course imply time- serving or sycophancy, or the least concealment of any of the loftiest and noblest sentiments. In any matter of wrong, where the voice and the concen- trated effort of the true philanthropist can avail to check the nations career, the voice of the reformer should not fail to be raised in its most powerful tones, and all his energy exerted to form such political and social combina- tions as shall effect his purpose. But in those stages which are prominent in every nations progress, when the tide bly in one direction, sweeping along all thought and energy in its course, against which it were madness to con- tend until the tempest shall have worn itself out by its own violencemore especially when the great questions in- volve a mere difference of opinion as to the results of important measures or the general tendency of the public policythen, when opposition would only serve to arouse a factious or dis- putatious spirit, his part is to glide quietly along with the popular move- ment, acquiescing in and reconciling himself to the condition of affairs till such time as the public sentiment is ripe, and the circumstances fitting for the advocacy and the triumph of his own views; meanwhile letting no op- portunity escape to guide the national mind and direct the nations strivings to such a consummation. By such a course only can l~e effect great results and make durable the establishment of his own cherished of public opinion sets full and irresisti- principles. CHURCH MUSIC. FROM the earliest Christian period of which we have any knowledge, mu- sic has been employed in the public worship of Christian communities. Its purposes are, to afford to the devotion of the worshippers a means of expres- sion more subtile than even human speech, to increase that devotion, and to add additional lustre and solemnity to the outward service offered to God. Music has a wonderful power in stir- ring the souls of men, in (so to speak) moving the soil of the heart, that the good seed sown by prayer and instruc- tion may find ready entrance, and a wholesome stimulus to facilitate growth. Now, it is the duty of all concerned in the ordering of public worship to see that the music employed tends to effect these ends. In the year 1565, the composers of church music were in the habit of em- ploying so many and well-known secu- lar melodies, and of rearing upon them and upon their own inventions such complicated and unintelligible contra- puntal structures, that the church au- thorities took the matter seriously in hand, and there is no knowing what might have been the final sentence, had not Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina brought his genius to the rescue, and, in sundry compositions, especially in a six-part mass, dedicated to Pope Mar~ Church iifu8w. 113 cellus II., shown that science need not exclude clearness, and the possibility of hearing the words sung, and that the truly inventive artist has no need to seek his themes in inappropriate spheres. In this day we run little risk of ship- wreck through too great an amount of science. Scarlatti and Bach would laugh at the efforts styled canon and fugue, by the aspiring tyros of the present age. Our difficulties arise, not from musical complexity, but from want of suitableness, adaptation, and characterization, together with the ever- increasing feud between choir and con- gregational singing. In some churches on the Continent of Europe, these two latter modes are happily blended, cer- tain services or portions of services being left to the choir, and the remain- der being entrusted to the entire con- gregation. Of course this arrangement is only practicable where there is a cer- tain variety in the musical portion of the service. Where the singing of hymns (in the ordinary sense of the phrase) is the only musical form used in the worship, such differences would be difficult to establish, and a variety of circumstances must determine which of the two modes, or what combination of them, be selected by the congrega- tion. Even where splendor is studi- ously avoided, all desire order and de- cency in the conduct of public worship, and such order is painfully violated where discordant sounds or unsuitable selections of music are permitted to distract attention and disturb devotion. A ragged carpet, faded fringes, or dingy window panes, would speedily find a reformer; and surely the sensi- tive, defenceless ear has as good a claim to exact order as the more voluntary sense of seeing. Better, indeed, no music, than such as binds the wings of the soul to earth instead of aiding them to fly heavenward. The above remarks apply as well to choir as to congregational singing. Let us suppose now that the mere pri- voL. vi.8 mal foundationthe mechanical execu. tionbe respectably good; that the congregation or choir have been taught to sing in tune; that all be harmonious and properly balanced; in short, that the auditory nerves be spared any very severe shockand what then will we ordinarily find? A few good old church melodies, almost lost amid a dreary maze of the most recent droning platitudes, or a multitude of worldly acquaintances, negro minstrelsy, ancient love ditties, bar room roundelays, pas- sionate scenes from favorite operas, with snatches from instrumental sym- phonies, concertos, or what not! Mu- sic, as I have said, is even more subtile in its power of expression than speech, and the new word8, which we may per- haps not even hear, can never banish from our minds the old impre8sions associated with the melody. The ears may even be cognizant of the holy sen- timents intended to be conveyed, but the minds eye will see Sambo, First upon the heel top, then upon the toe; the love-loin dame weeping her false lover, Ah, no, she never blamed him, never; a roystering set of good fel- lows clinking glasses, We wont go home till morning; Lucia imploring mercy from her hard-hearted brother and selfish suitor; Norma confiding her little ones to the keeping of her rival; or perhaps the full orchestra at the last philharmonic, supplying the missing notes, the beginning and the end of some noble idea, now vainly struggling with the difficulties and in- congruities of its new position, its maimed members mourning their in- completeness, its tortured spirit long- ing for the body given by the original creator. Are we Christians then so poor that we must go begging and stealing shreds and patches from our more fortunate secular brethren? Has music deserted us to dwell solely in the camps of the gypsying world? If so, there must be some fault among ourselves, for music is a pure gift from God, the only earthly 114 Church ilJu8ic. pleasure promised us in heaven. Such imputation would indeed be a libel upon the almost infinite variety in the character of music, and its power of consecration to the very loftiest ends. AhI there we fear is the rub. The character of music! That seems to have been forgotten. If all these melodies be adapted to their original aims, can they be suited to new ones so differ- ent? Is there really in musical form, rhythm, melody, and harmony, no ca- pacity for any real expression? Will the same tune do as well for a dance as for a prayer, for a moonlight serenade as for an imploration of Divine mercy? Now we have no quarrel with dances; they are innocent and useful in their proper place; human love is a noble gift from the Almighty; we are not shocked by a good drinking song, pro- vided the singers be sober; operas might be made highly instrumental in elevating the tone of modern society; and we listen reverentially to the grand creations of the masters; but, in addi- tion to all these, we require a music adapted to signify the relations between ourselves and our Heavenly Father, a music which shall express adoration and love, praise and thanksgiving, con- trition and humble confidence, which shall implore mercy and waft prayer to the very gates of the abode of omnipo- tence. Let such music be simple or complex, according to the thought to be rendered or the capacity of the exe- cutants, let it be for voices, for instru- ments, or for a blending of the two, but let it always be appropriate to the subject, and rise with the thought or emotions to be conveyed. Who can tell what would be the effect of such a church music? What a feeling of earnestness and sincerity would it not lend to services now often marred by the shallowness or meretricious glitter of their musical portions? The range is wide, the field broad; there is scope for grandeur, sublimity, power, jubila- tion, the brightest strains of extatic joy, mourning, pathos, and the passionate pleading of the human soul severed from its highest good; but all should be in accordance with the dignity of the personalities represented: on the one hand, the Father and Creator of all, and on the other, the weak, erring, dependent creature, made, neverthe- less, in the image of his Creator, and for whom a God thought it no unwor- thiness to live, to suffer, and to die. Have we any such music? Yesa little; but that little is not always the best known nor the most frequently employed. Are there any composers now capable of writing such? Are the composers of genius, or even of talent, sufficiently earnest and devout? for here we want no shams. Each one must answer these questions in accord- ance with his own experience. The practical question is, What can be done toward an amelioration of the present state of affairs, not confined to this continent, but unhappily only too prev- alent everywhere? Let the head of the musical department of every church service begin by weeding from his re- pertory all trash, whether profane or simply stupid and nonsensical. As tbe number of musical creations remaining will not be very large, let him retain for the present all that are not posi- tively bad or inane; a few old song melodies have, through long usage, lost their original associations, and hence, though perhaps only imperfectly adapted to devotional purposes, are yet, on the whole, unobjectionable, and per- haps better than many modern inven- tions. An idea seems prevalent that, to write words for music is an easy task, and hence the many wounds inflicted upon both music and poetry in their frequent union. When a melody is to be composed for a set of verses, the same melody to be sung to evcry verse, the composer naturally examines the general tone and form of the poem. These of course determine his selection of rhythmical character, of time, key, movement, etc. The melody is con Church iJfiu8ic. 115 structed upon the basis of the first verse. To the words embodying the most im- portant thoughts or feelings, he gives the most important, the emphatic notes, striving to make the sound a faithful and intensifying medium whereby to convey the sense. His work is then done, as the same melody is to be repeated to every verse, and the end sought will have been attained if the poet have carefully fulfilled his part. But if he have introduced in- equalities into his rhythm, or have given unimportant words the places occupied by important ones in the first verse, so that an emphatic note will fall upon an or a the, or some similar particle, the effect will be bad, and the result unsatisfactory to all con- cerned. Old association~ or intrinsic beauty of poetry or melody may, in rare cases, render such blemishes toler- able, but the creator of a new work should strive to avoid all blemishes, and at least aim at perfection. If to each good religious poem we possess, or may hereafter possess (be that poem psalm, hymn, sequence, lit- any, prayer, or form of doctrine), we could attach, or find attached, the mu- sical form best adapted to its highest expression, what delight would we not experience in its rendering? Some \ such poems might, by reason of old associations, or of especial adaptation, be always sung to the same melodies, ArHoRIsM.No. IX. Oun Saviour says of life: I have power to lay it down, and power to take it again. We have not such pow- er in our own hands; but our Lord holds it for us, so that our position is independent of the world, and of the power of evil, just as His was; and as in His case He did resume more than He laid down, so will be given to us by the same Almighty hand more than any creature has to surrender for the high- est objects of existence. while to others might be accorded greater facilities for variety. This only by way of suggestion. The common practice of selecting melodies for verses, hap-hazard, with regard only to the metre, of course destroys all possibil- ity of any especial characterization. If the original m,arriage have been a congenial one, a divorce, with view to a second union, rarely proves advisable. The same verses may bear another musical rendering, but the music will very rarely endure adaptation to other verses. J3ut we left our maestro di eapella, our head of the music in any religious assemblage, weeding his repertory. A difficult task! for, to sound princi- ples of discrimination he must add the best counsel and the widest informa- tion he can procure from every com- petent quarter, not narrow nor one- sided, but commensifrate with the breadth,the world-wide diffusion of the subject. We cannot hope for very speedy prog- ress in this matter, so large a share of its advancement depending upon gen- eral, real and proper musical cultiva- tion; but if each one interested will think the matter over seriously and in- telligently, and do the little that may lie in his power, a beginning will have been made, which may in the end lead to grand, beautiful, and most precious results. Such doctrine, I may add, is not, in its essence, merely Christian: it has been the common sentiment of our race, that one of the highest privileges of our being is to sacrifice ourselves, in various modes and degrees, for the good of our fellow men; and those who cheerfully do this, even if it be in the actual sur- render of life, are esteemed blessed, as they are also placed above others in the ranks of honorable fame, and held to be secure of the final rewards of a heaven- ly state. LITERARY NOTICES. LIFE OF WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. By GEORGE TICKNOR. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. THERE are no discordant voices on either side of the Atlantic with regard to the litera- ry merits of William H. Prescott. Truth, dignity, research, candor, erudition, chaste and simple elegance, mark all he has ever written. His noble powers were in perfect consonance with his noble soul. His strict sense of justice shines in all its brilliancy, in his evident desire to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, of every character appearing in his conscientious pages. No current of popular prejudice, however strong, swerves him from his righteous path; no opportunity for glitter or oratorical display ever misleads him; no special pleading bewilders his read-. ers; no might is right corrupts them His genius is pure, dramatic, and wide; his comprehension of character acute and clear; his characterization of it, chiselled and chaste; his ready comprehension of magnanimous deeds evinces his own magnanimity; his cor- rect understanding of various creeds and motives of action proves his own wide Chris- tianity; chivalry was known to him, because he was himself chivalrous; and we have rea- son to rejoice that the field in and through which his noble faculties were developed, was the vast and varied one of history. We doubt if any one ever read his works with- out forming a high conception of the charac- ter of their author, a conception which will be found fully realized in the excellent Life given us by George Ticknor. If no one is qualified to write the Life of a man, save one who has familiarly lived with him, who but Mr. Ticknor could have given us such a biography of Prescott? This advantage, together with the similarity of literary tastes, the common nationality in which their spheres of labor lay, their long friendship, their congeniality of spirit, with the mental qualifi- cntions brought by Mr. Ticknor to his task of love, renders his production one of inesti- mable value. It is indeed full of sweet, grave charm, and thoroughly reliable. In these pages we see how it was that no man ever found fault with or spoke disparagingly of Prescottwe find the reason for it in the per- fect balance of his conscientious and kindly character. He was in the strictest sense of the words lord of himself, mulcting him- self with fines and punishments for what he regarded as his derelictions in his labors, compelling himself to pursue the tasks which he had determined to achieve. There is no more interesting record than that of his con- stant struggles to conquer the effects of his growing blindness, none more inspiriting than the results of his efforts. He loved and lived among his books; his last request was that his body should be placed among them crc it was given to the grave. This delightful biography, which has been received so warmly, both at home and abroad, was originally published in an elegant quarto volume, illustrated in the highest style of urt, and an edition was printed which was con- sidered quite too large for the present times. But the edition was soon exhausted, and Messrs. Tickunr & Fields have now given us the Life in a l2mo volume, thus placing it within the means of all readers. We rejoice at this, because Prescott belongs to us all: while his life is dear to the scholar and lover of his kind, it furnishes some of the most important lessons to Young America. Such a man is a true national glory. We close our imperfect notice with a short extract from Mr. Ticknors preface: But if, after all, this memoir should fail to set the author of the Ferdinand and Isabella before those who had not the happiness to know him per- sonally, as a man whose life for more than

Life of William Hickling Prescott. By George Ticknor Literary Notices 116-117

LITERARY NOTICES. LIFE OF WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT. By GEORGE TICKNOR. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. THERE are no discordant voices on either side of the Atlantic with regard to the litera- ry merits of William H. Prescott. Truth, dignity, research, candor, erudition, chaste and simple elegance, mark all he has ever written. His noble powers were in perfect consonance with his noble soul. His strict sense of justice shines in all its brilliancy, in his evident desire to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, of every character appearing in his conscientious pages. No current of popular prejudice, however strong, swerves him from his righteous path; no opportunity for glitter or oratorical display ever misleads him; no special pleading bewilders his read-. ers; no might is right corrupts them His genius is pure, dramatic, and wide; his comprehension of character acute and clear; his characterization of it, chiselled and chaste; his ready comprehension of magnanimous deeds evinces his own magnanimity; his cor- rect understanding of various creeds and motives of action proves his own wide Chris- tianity; chivalry was known to him, because he was himself chivalrous; and we have rea- son to rejoice that the field in and through which his noble faculties were developed, was the vast and varied one of history. We doubt if any one ever read his works with- out forming a high conception of the charac- ter of their author, a conception which will be found fully realized in the excellent Life given us by George Ticknor. If no one is qualified to write the Life of a man, save one who has familiarly lived with him, who but Mr. Ticknor could have given us such a biography of Prescott? This advantage, together with the similarity of literary tastes, the common nationality in which their spheres of labor lay, their long friendship, their congeniality of spirit, with the mental qualifi- cntions brought by Mr. Ticknor to his task of love, renders his production one of inesti- mable value. It is indeed full of sweet, grave charm, and thoroughly reliable. In these pages we see how it was that no man ever found fault with or spoke disparagingly of Prescottwe find the reason for it in the per- fect balance of his conscientious and kindly character. He was in the strictest sense of the words lord of himself, mulcting him- self with fines and punishments for what he regarded as his derelictions in his labors, compelling himself to pursue the tasks which he had determined to achieve. There is no more interesting record than that of his con- stant struggles to conquer the effects of his growing blindness, none more inspiriting than the results of his efforts. He loved and lived among his books; his last request was that his body should be placed among them crc it was given to the grave. This delightful biography, which has been received so warmly, both at home and abroad, was originally published in an elegant quarto volume, illustrated in the highest style of urt, and an edition was printed which was con- sidered quite too large for the present times. But the edition was soon exhausted, and Messrs. Tickunr & Fields have now given us the Life in a l2mo volume, thus placing it within the means of all readers. We rejoice at this, because Prescott belongs to us all: while his life is dear to the scholar and lover of his kind, it furnishes some of the most important lessons to Young America. Such a man is a true national glory. We close our imperfect notice with a short extract from Mr. Ticknors preface: But if, after all, this memoir should fail to set the author of the Ferdinand and Isabella before those who had not the happiness to know him per- sonally, as a man whose life for more than Literary Notices. liFt forty years was one of almost constant strug- gleof an almost constant sacrifice to duty, of the present to the futureit will hare failed to teach its true lesson, or to present my friend to others as he stood before the very few who knew him as he was. Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. SERMoNs, Preached at Trinity Chapel, Brigh. ton, by the late Rev. FREDERIcK W. Ro- BERTSON, M. A., the Incumbent. Fifth Series. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. For sale by D. Appleton & Co., New York. TilE sermons of Mr. Robertson are very popular in England. They are remarkable for clearness and excellence of style, and earnestness of purpose. Many noble lessons are to be drawn from them, even by those who differ with the author on sundry points of doctrine. We wish, however, for the credit of theological exactness, that he had been somewhat more careful in stating the views of his adversaries. Referring to the use of indulgences, he says: The Romish Church permits ciime for certain considera- tions. The Roman Catholic doctrine as ac- tually held is, that an indulgence is a remis- sion of a portion of the earthly or purgato- rial punishment due to any sin, after it has been duly repented of; confessed, abandoned, nnd restitution made so far as possible. It can consequently never mean a pardon for sins to come, as is often ignorantly supposed, and is apparently a reminiscence of the an- cient practice of canonical penances inflicted on penitents. Just now, when the entire scientific world is being convulsed by the attempted substi- tution of some inflexible law for a personal God with a living will, it is not strange that some phase of the same idea should crecp into even the purest theology, and that in Mr. Robertsons theory of prayer we should find traces of the rigidity characterizing ultra predestinarian as well as develop-. ment schemes of creation. We cannot better conclude than by quot- ing the following passage from the sermon on Selfishness, a home thrust to nearly all of us: It is possible to have sublime feel- ings, great passions, even great sympathies with the race, and yet not to love man. To feel mi~htiIy is one thing, to live truly and charitably another. Sin may be felt at the core, and yet not be cast out. Brethren, beware. See how a man may be going on uttering fine words, orthodox truths, and yet be rotten at the heart. WOMAN AND HER ERA. By ELIZA W. FARN- HAM. Every book of knowledge known to Oosana or Vreehaspatee, is by nature implanted in the understandings of women. Visleni.e Sarma. In 2 volumes. New York: A. J. Davis & Co., 274 Canal street. Tins is a book which will excite violent criticism, and call forth opposition, as all new statements invariably do. Its author says it is twenty-two years since its truths took possession of her mind, and that they are as firmly grounded among the eternal truths for her, as are the ribbed strata of the rocks, or the hollows of the everlasting sea. Mrs. Faruham attempts to prove the supe- riority of woman in all, save the external world of the senses, the material structure of the work-a-day world. She regards the knowledge and acceptance of this fact as of vital importance to the order of society, the happiness of man, the development of his being, and the improvement of the human race. Her argument is not the sentimental one so often profaned in our midst. She traces the proofs of her assertions to the most profound sources, presents them iii her acute analyses and philosophical arguments, and draws practical applications from them. She is sincere in her convictions, and able in her arguments; she sets up a high standard of womanly excellence for noblesse oblige, and teaches faith in God and humanity. We have not space to follow Mrs. Fain- hams argument: it would require a review rather than a cursory notice. She shows that there is an intuitive recognition of the superiority of woman in the universal senti- ments of humanity, that mans love when pure assumes the superior qualities of the woman loved, that he looks to her to aid him in his aspirations for a better life than he has lived before; but woman never pro- poses to herself a reform from any gross or vicious habit by reason of her first lesson in love. The reverse is more apt to be the case. In man the love of power is an infernal passion, because its root is self love; in wo- man, it is a divine impulse, connected only with the love of noble uses. Our author is

Sermons, Preached at Trinity Chapel, Brighton, by the late Rev. Frederick W. Robertson, M.A. Literary Notices 117

Literary Notices. liFt forty years was one of almost constant strug- gleof an almost constant sacrifice to duty, of the present to the futureit will hare failed to teach its true lesson, or to present my friend to others as he stood before the very few who knew him as he was. Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. SERMoNs, Preached at Trinity Chapel, Brigh. ton, by the late Rev. FREDERIcK W. Ro- BERTSON, M. A., the Incumbent. Fifth Series. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. For sale by D. Appleton & Co., New York. TilE sermons of Mr. Robertson are very popular in England. They are remarkable for clearness and excellence of style, and earnestness of purpose. Many noble lessons are to be drawn from them, even by those who differ with the author on sundry points of doctrine. We wish, however, for the credit of theological exactness, that he had been somewhat more careful in stating the views of his adversaries. Referring to the use of indulgences, he says: The Romish Church permits ciime for certain considera- tions. The Roman Catholic doctrine as ac- tually held is, that an indulgence is a remis- sion of a portion of the earthly or purgato- rial punishment due to any sin, after it has been duly repented of; confessed, abandoned, nnd restitution made so far as possible. It can consequently never mean a pardon for sins to come, as is often ignorantly supposed, and is apparently a reminiscence of the an- cient practice of canonical penances inflicted on penitents. Just now, when the entire scientific world is being convulsed by the attempted substi- tution of some inflexible law for a personal God with a living will, it is not strange that some phase of the same idea should crecp into even the purest theology, and that in Mr. Robertsons theory of prayer we should find traces of the rigidity characterizing ultra predestinarian as well as develop-. ment schemes of creation. We cannot better conclude than by quot- ing the following passage from the sermon on Selfishness, a home thrust to nearly all of us: It is possible to have sublime feel- ings, great passions, even great sympathies with the race, and yet not to love man. To feel mi~htiIy is one thing, to live truly and charitably another. Sin may be felt at the core, and yet not be cast out. Brethren, beware. See how a man may be going on uttering fine words, orthodox truths, and yet be rotten at the heart. WOMAN AND HER ERA. By ELIZA W. FARN- HAM. Every book of knowledge known to Oosana or Vreehaspatee, is by nature implanted in the understandings of women. Visleni.e Sarma. In 2 volumes. New York: A. J. Davis & Co., 274 Canal street. Tins is a book which will excite violent criticism, and call forth opposition, as all new statements invariably do. Its author says it is twenty-two years since its truths took possession of her mind, and that they are as firmly grounded among the eternal truths for her, as are the ribbed strata of the rocks, or the hollows of the everlasting sea. Mrs. Faruham attempts to prove the supe- riority of woman in all, save the external world of the senses, the material structure of the work-a-day world. She regards the knowledge and acceptance of this fact as of vital importance to the order of society, the happiness of man, the development of his being, and the improvement of the human race. Her argument is not the sentimental one so often profaned in our midst. She traces the proofs of her assertions to the most profound sources, presents them iii her acute analyses and philosophical arguments, and draws practical applications from them. She is sincere in her convictions, and able in her arguments; she sets up a high standard of womanly excellence for noblesse oblige, and teaches faith in God and humanity. We have not space to follow Mrs. Fain- hams argument: it would require a review rather than a cursory notice. She shows that there is an intuitive recognition of the superiority of woman in the universal senti- ments of humanity, that mans love when pure assumes the superior qualities of the woman loved, that he looks to her to aid him in his aspirations for a better life than he has lived before; but woman never pro- poses to herself a reform from any gross or vicious habit by reason of her first lesson in love. The reverse is more apt to be the case. In man the love of power is an infernal passion, because its root is self love; in wo- man, it is a divine impulse, connected only with the love of noble uses. Our author is

Woman and Her Era. By Eliza W. Franham Literary Notices 117-118

Literary Notices. liFt forty years was one of almost constant strug- gleof an almost constant sacrifice to duty, of the present to the futureit will hare failed to teach its true lesson, or to present my friend to others as he stood before the very few who knew him as he was. Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. SERMoNs, Preached at Trinity Chapel, Brigh. ton, by the late Rev. FREDERIcK W. Ro- BERTSON, M. A., the Incumbent. Fifth Series. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. For sale by D. Appleton & Co., New York. TilE sermons of Mr. Robertson are very popular in England. They are remarkable for clearness and excellence of style, and earnestness of purpose. Many noble lessons are to be drawn from them, even by those who differ with the author on sundry points of doctrine. We wish, however, for the credit of theological exactness, that he had been somewhat more careful in stating the views of his adversaries. Referring to the use of indulgences, he says: The Romish Church permits ciime for certain considera- tions. The Roman Catholic doctrine as ac- tually held is, that an indulgence is a remis- sion of a portion of the earthly or purgato- rial punishment due to any sin, after it has been duly repented of; confessed, abandoned, nnd restitution made so far as possible. It can consequently never mean a pardon for sins to come, as is often ignorantly supposed, and is apparently a reminiscence of the an- cient practice of canonical penances inflicted on penitents. Just now, when the entire scientific world is being convulsed by the attempted substi- tution of some inflexible law for a personal God with a living will, it is not strange that some phase of the same idea should crecp into even the purest theology, and that in Mr. Robertsons theory of prayer we should find traces of the rigidity characterizing ultra predestinarian as well as develop-. ment schemes of creation. We cannot better conclude than by quot- ing the following passage from the sermon on Selfishness, a home thrust to nearly all of us: It is possible to have sublime feel- ings, great passions, even great sympathies with the race, and yet not to love man. To feel mi~htiIy is one thing, to live truly and charitably another. Sin may be felt at the core, and yet not be cast out. Brethren, beware. See how a man may be going on uttering fine words, orthodox truths, and yet be rotten at the heart. WOMAN AND HER ERA. By ELIZA W. FARN- HAM. Every book of knowledge known to Oosana or Vreehaspatee, is by nature implanted in the understandings of women. Visleni.e Sarma. In 2 volumes. New York: A. J. Davis & Co., 274 Canal street. Tins is a book which will excite violent criticism, and call forth opposition, as all new statements invariably do. Its author says it is twenty-two years since its truths took possession of her mind, and that they are as firmly grounded among the eternal truths for her, as are the ribbed strata of the rocks, or the hollows of the everlasting sea. Mrs. Faruham attempts to prove the supe- riority of woman in all, save the external world of the senses, the material structure of the work-a-day world. She regards the knowledge and acceptance of this fact as of vital importance to the order of society, the happiness of man, the development of his being, and the improvement of the human race. Her argument is not the sentimental one so often profaned in our midst. She traces the proofs of her assertions to the most profound sources, presents them iii her acute analyses and philosophical arguments, and draws practical applications from them. She is sincere in her convictions, and able in her arguments; she sets up a high standard of womanly excellence for noblesse oblige, and teaches faith in God and humanity. We have not space to follow Mrs. Fain- hams argument: it would require a review rather than a cursory notice. She shows that there is an intuitive recognition of the superiority of woman in the universal senti- ments of humanity, that mans love when pure assumes the superior qualities of the woman loved, that he looks to her to aid him in his aspirations for a better life than he has lived before; but woman never pro- poses to herself a reform from any gross or vicious habit by reason of her first lesson in love. The reverse is more apt to be the case. In man the love of power is an infernal passion, because its root is self love; in wo- man, it is a divine impulse, connected only with the love of noble uses. Our author is Literary Notices. no advocate for womens rights, there being two orders of human capacities, masculine and feminine. Man is master of the outer world: woman cannot cope with him there; her sphere is freer, deeper, higher, and of more importance to the future destinies of the race. This book will be sharply criticized by the clergy, pure and good men, but always hard on woman, although she keeps the lamp of faith trimmed and burning in the churches, believing her always a mere subordinate of man, and utter submission to him her chief virtue. The lady-killers and men of pleasure will scorn it, for it exposes many of their claims and vices, which they labor to hide with glittering veils of dazzling sophisms. Will our women read it? We think not. Mrs. Farnham treats of difficult subjects, with the freedom and innocence of an anatomist; but will our fair and shrink- ing students enter the dissecting room, even to learn some of the secrets of life? We differ from Mrs. Farnham in many important particulars. We think she has made some errors fatal to the well-being of her system. But she has entered upon a new path, one in which there are indeed lion8 upon the way; she has advanced freely and boldly through its dangers; her aims have been generous and sincere; she has given the mature a suggestive and thoughtful book; and shall we not greet her when she returns with her hard-won trophies from the mystical land of earths fair Psyches? 0 woman! lovely woman I nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you! Angels are painted fair to look like you; Theres in you all that we believe of heaven! THE HOLY AND PROFANE STATES. By THOMAS FULLER. With some Account of the Author and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. For sale by D. Appleton & Co. A BOOK from quaint old Fuller will always find its audience ready to receive it. It is only by contrasting his works with those of his contemporaries that we can do him full justice. He was an eminent historian and divine of the Church of England, in the stormy times of Charles I. and the Common- wealth. He made his first appearance as an author in 1631, in a poem entitled Davids hainous Sin, heartie Repentance, and heavie Punishment. He was much beloved in his day, following faithfully as chaplain the fortunes of the royal army. As a writer, every subject is alike to him: if dull, he enlivens it; agreeable, he improves it; deep, he enlightens it; and if tough, grapples bravely with it. As he was unwilling to go all lengths with either party, he was abused by both. The storms which convulsed the Government, had only the effect of throwing him upon his own resources, and he thus produced the various works which won the admiration of his contemporaries, and through which he still receives the gratitude of posterity, keeping his memory still green in our souls. The table of contents in the present volume is very varied, the chapters are short, and treat of familiar and home~ like topics. FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS: Being an Attempt to Trace to their Sources Passages and Phrases in Common Use, chiefly from English Authors. By JOHN BARTLETT. Fourth edition. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. THE compiler of this book says the favor shown to former editions has encouraged him to go on with the work and make it still more worthy. The object has been to present the general reader with such quota- tions as he would readily recognize as old friends. The index of authors is a wide one, placing before us at a glance many of the names treasured in our memories; the index of subjects, alphabetically arranged, covers seventy closely printed pages, and is exceed- ingly well ordered. We consider such books as of great value, planting pregnant thoughts in the soul, and affording rich illustrations. We cheerfully commend Mr. Bartletts ex- cerpts. They are well chosen, and the bind- ing, paper, and print of the book are admi- rable. ARNOLD AND ANDRi An Historical Drama. By GEORGE CALvERT, author of Scenes and Thoughts in Europe, and The Gen- tleman. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. Ma. CALYERT says, an historical drama be- ing the incarnation-.---through the most com- pact and brilliant literary formof the spirit of a national epoch, the dramatic author, in adopting historic personages and events, is bound to subordinate himself with conscien- tious faithfulness to the actuality he attempts to reproduce. his task is, by help of imagi. 118

The Holy and Profane States. By Thomas Fuller Literary Notices 118

Literary Notices. no advocate for womens rights, there being two orders of human capacities, masculine and feminine. Man is master of the outer world: woman cannot cope with him there; her sphere is freer, deeper, higher, and of more importance to the future destinies of the race. This book will be sharply criticized by the clergy, pure and good men, but always hard on woman, although she keeps the lamp of faith trimmed and burning in the churches, believing her always a mere subordinate of man, and utter submission to him her chief virtue. The lady-killers and men of pleasure will scorn it, for it exposes many of their claims and vices, which they labor to hide with glittering veils of dazzling sophisms. Will our women read it? We think not. Mrs. Farnham treats of difficult subjects, with the freedom and innocence of an anatomist; but will our fair and shrink- ing students enter the dissecting room, even to learn some of the secrets of life? We differ from Mrs. Farnham in many important particulars. We think she has made some errors fatal to the well-being of her system. But she has entered upon a new path, one in which there are indeed lion8 upon the way; she has advanced freely and boldly through its dangers; her aims have been generous and sincere; she has given the mature a suggestive and thoughtful book; and shall we not greet her when she returns with her hard-won trophies from the mystical land of earths fair Psyches? 0 woman! lovely woman I nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you! Angels are painted fair to look like you; Theres in you all that we believe of heaven! THE HOLY AND PROFANE STATES. By THOMAS FULLER. With some Account of the Author and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. For sale by D. Appleton & Co. A BOOK from quaint old Fuller will always find its audience ready to receive it. It is only by contrasting his works with those of his contemporaries that we can do him full justice. He was an eminent historian and divine of the Church of England, in the stormy times of Charles I. and the Common- wealth. He made his first appearance as an author in 1631, in a poem entitled Davids hainous Sin, heartie Repentance, and heavie Punishment. He was much beloved in his day, following faithfully as chaplain the fortunes of the royal army. As a writer, every subject is alike to him: if dull, he enlivens it; agreeable, he improves it; deep, he enlightens it; and if tough, grapples bravely with it. As he was unwilling to go all lengths with either party, he was abused by both. The storms which convulsed the Government, had only the effect of throwing him upon his own resources, and he thus produced the various works which won the admiration of his contemporaries, and through which he still receives the gratitude of posterity, keeping his memory still green in our souls. The table of contents in the present volume is very varied, the chapters are short, and treat of familiar and home~ like topics. FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS: Being an Attempt to Trace to their Sources Passages and Phrases in Common Use, chiefly from English Authors. By JOHN BARTLETT. Fourth edition. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. THE compiler of this book says the favor shown to former editions has encouraged him to go on with the work and make it still more worthy. The object has been to present the general reader with such quota- tions as he would readily recognize as old friends. The index of authors is a wide one, placing before us at a glance many of the names treasured in our memories; the index of subjects, alphabetically arranged, covers seventy closely printed pages, and is exceed- ingly well ordered. We consider such books as of great value, planting pregnant thoughts in the soul, and affording rich illustrations. We cheerfully commend Mr. Bartletts ex- cerpts. They are well chosen, and the bind- ing, paper, and print of the book are admi- rable. ARNOLD AND ANDRi An Historical Drama. By GEORGE CALvERT, author of Scenes and Thoughts in Europe, and The Gen- tleman. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. Ma. CALYERT says, an historical drama be- ing the incarnation-.---through the most com- pact and brilliant literary formof the spirit of a national epoch, the dramatic author, in adopting historic personages and events, is bound to subordinate himself with conscien- tious faithfulness to the actuality he attempts to reproduce. his task is, by help of imagi. 118

Familiar Quotations: Being an Attempt to Trace to their Sources Passages and Phrases in Common Use. By John Barlett Literary Notices 118

Literary Notices. no advocate for womens rights, there being two orders of human capacities, masculine and feminine. Man is master of the outer world: woman cannot cope with him there; her sphere is freer, deeper, higher, and of more importance to the future destinies of the race. This book will be sharply criticized by the clergy, pure and good men, but always hard on woman, although she keeps the lamp of faith trimmed and burning in the churches, believing her always a mere subordinate of man, and utter submission to him her chief virtue. The lady-killers and men of pleasure will scorn it, for it exposes many of their claims and vices, which they labor to hide with glittering veils of dazzling sophisms. Will our women read it? We think not. Mrs. Farnham treats of difficult subjects, with the freedom and innocence of an anatomist; but will our fair and shrink- ing students enter the dissecting room, even to learn some of the secrets of life? We differ from Mrs. Farnham in many important particulars. We think she has made some errors fatal to the well-being of her system. But she has entered upon a new path, one in which there are indeed lion8 upon the way; she has advanced freely and boldly through its dangers; her aims have been generous and sincere; she has given the mature a suggestive and thoughtful book; and shall we not greet her when she returns with her hard-won trophies from the mystical land of earths fair Psyches? 0 woman! lovely woman I nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you! Angels are painted fair to look like you; Theres in you all that we believe of heaven! THE HOLY AND PROFANE STATES. By THOMAS FULLER. With some Account of the Author and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. For sale by D. Appleton & Co. A BOOK from quaint old Fuller will always find its audience ready to receive it. It is only by contrasting his works with those of his contemporaries that we can do him full justice. He was an eminent historian and divine of the Church of England, in the stormy times of Charles I. and the Common- wealth. He made his first appearance as an author in 1631, in a poem entitled Davids hainous Sin, heartie Repentance, and heavie Punishment. He was much beloved in his day, following faithfully as chaplain the fortunes of the royal army. As a writer, every subject is alike to him: if dull, he enlivens it; agreeable, he improves it; deep, he enlightens it; and if tough, grapples bravely with it. As he was unwilling to go all lengths with either party, he was abused by both. The storms which convulsed the Government, had only the effect of throwing him upon his own resources, and he thus produced the various works which won the admiration of his contemporaries, and through which he still receives the gratitude of posterity, keeping his memory still green in our souls. The table of contents in the present volume is very varied, the chapters are short, and treat of familiar and home~ like topics. FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS: Being an Attempt to Trace to their Sources Passages and Phrases in Common Use, chiefly from English Authors. By JOHN BARTLETT. Fourth edition. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. THE compiler of this book says the favor shown to former editions has encouraged him to go on with the work and make it still more worthy. The object has been to present the general reader with such quota- tions as he would readily recognize as old friends. The index of authors is a wide one, placing before us at a glance many of the names treasured in our memories; the index of subjects, alphabetically arranged, covers seventy closely printed pages, and is exceed- ingly well ordered. We consider such books as of great value, planting pregnant thoughts in the soul, and affording rich illustrations. We cheerfully commend Mr. Bartletts ex- cerpts. They are well chosen, and the bind- ing, paper, and print of the book are admi- rable. ARNOLD AND ANDRi An Historical Drama. By GEORGE CALvERT, author of Scenes and Thoughts in Europe, and The Gen- tleman. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. Ma. CALYERT says, an historical drama be- ing the incarnation-.---through the most com- pact and brilliant literary formof the spirit of a national epoch, the dramatic author, in adopting historic personages and events, is bound to subordinate himself with conscien- tious faithfulness to the actuality he attempts to reproduce. his task is, by help of imagi. 118

Arnold and Andre. An Historical Drama. By George Calvert Literary Notices 118-119

Literary Notices. no advocate for womens rights, there being two orders of human capacities, masculine and feminine. Man is master of the outer world: woman cannot cope with him there; her sphere is freer, deeper, higher, and of more importance to the future destinies of the race. This book will be sharply criticized by the clergy, pure and good men, but always hard on woman, although she keeps the lamp of faith trimmed and burning in the churches, believing her always a mere subordinate of man, and utter submission to him her chief virtue. The lady-killers and men of pleasure will scorn it, for it exposes many of their claims and vices, which they labor to hide with glittering veils of dazzling sophisms. Will our women read it? We think not. Mrs. Farnham treats of difficult subjects, with the freedom and innocence of an anatomist; but will our fair and shrink- ing students enter the dissecting room, even to learn some of the secrets of life? We differ from Mrs. Farnham in many important particulars. We think she has made some errors fatal to the well-being of her system. But she has entered upon a new path, one in which there are indeed lion8 upon the way; she has advanced freely and boldly through its dangers; her aims have been generous and sincere; she has given the mature a suggestive and thoughtful book; and shall we not greet her when she returns with her hard-won trophies from the mystical land of earths fair Psyches? 0 woman! lovely woman I nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you! Angels are painted fair to look like you; Theres in you all that we believe of heaven! THE HOLY AND PROFANE STATES. By THOMAS FULLER. With some Account of the Author and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. For sale by D. Appleton & Co. A BOOK from quaint old Fuller will always find its audience ready to receive it. It is only by contrasting his works with those of his contemporaries that we can do him full justice. He was an eminent historian and divine of the Church of England, in the stormy times of Charles I. and the Common- wealth. He made his first appearance as an author in 1631, in a poem entitled Davids hainous Sin, heartie Repentance, and heavie Punishment. He was much beloved in his day, following faithfully as chaplain the fortunes of the royal army. As a writer, every subject is alike to him: if dull, he enlivens it; agreeable, he improves it; deep, he enlightens it; and if tough, grapples bravely with it. As he was unwilling to go all lengths with either party, he was abused by both. The storms which convulsed the Government, had only the effect of throwing him upon his own resources, and he thus produced the various works which won the admiration of his contemporaries, and through which he still receives the gratitude of posterity, keeping his memory still green in our souls. The table of contents in the present volume is very varied, the chapters are short, and treat of familiar and home~ like topics. FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS: Being an Attempt to Trace to their Sources Passages and Phrases in Common Use, chiefly from English Authors. By JOHN BARTLETT. Fourth edition. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. THE compiler of this book says the favor shown to former editions has encouraged him to go on with the work and make it still more worthy. The object has been to present the general reader with such quota- tions as he would readily recognize as old friends. The index of authors is a wide one, placing before us at a glance many of the names treasured in our memories; the index of subjects, alphabetically arranged, covers seventy closely printed pages, and is exceed- ingly well ordered. We consider such books as of great value, planting pregnant thoughts in the soul, and affording rich illustrations. We cheerfully commend Mr. Bartletts ex- cerpts. They are well chosen, and the bind- ing, paper, and print of the book are admi- rable. ARNOLD AND ANDRi An Historical Drama. By GEORGE CALvERT, author of Scenes and Thoughts in Europe, and The Gen- tleman. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. Ma. CALYERT says, an historical drama be- ing the incarnation-.---through the most com- pact and brilliant literary formof the spirit of a national epoch, the dramatic author, in adopting historic personages and events, is bound to subordinate himself with conscien- tious faithfulness to the actuality he attempts to reproduce. his task is, by help of imagi. 118 Literary .Yotice8. 119 native power, to give to important conjunc- tures, and to the individuals that rule the a more vivid embodiment than can be given on the literal page of historynot to trans- forri,, but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, and, by injecting it with poetk~ rays, to make it throw out a light whereby its features shall be more visible. A just theory and well stated; and in Arnold and Andrt~, our author has subordinated himself with conscientious faithfulness to historic truth, and is always correct and dignified; but the imaginative gift of deep insight is wanting, and the fire of genius kindles not the heart of the stately record to reveal its hidden power and pathos. HIsToRy OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE. By CHARLES MERIVALE, B.D., late Fellow of St. Johns College, Cambridge. From the fourth London edition. With a copious Analytical Index. Vol. IlL New York: D. Appleton & Co., Broadway. MERIVALES third volume commences with the proceedings upon the death of CHsar, and concludes with the Imperial Administra- tion, thus containing one of the most inter- esting and important periods of Roman history. Antonius, Octavius, Cicero, Cleo- patra, Octavia, Cnsarion, Herod, Antipater, Mariamne, Agrippa, etc., make part of the brilliant array rekindled before us. We have no doubt that the readers of ancient history will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity to possess themselves of Men- vales work. SELECTIONS FROM THE Woaas OF JEREMY TAyLOR. With some Account of the Au- thor and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. BISHOP HRBER says, when speaking of the three great English divines, Hooker is the object of our reverence, Barrow of our admi- ration, and Jeremy Taylor of our love. Taylor was a man of devout and glowing soul, of im~iginative genius, so that, whatever may have been the prejudices of his times, the restrictions of his creed, his thoughts are still fresh and captivating, his quaint pages full of interest. He loved his Master, and his love glows through much of his writing. He was an accomplished scholar, and in spite of his contests with Papists, a kind- hearted man. His biographer says: To sum up all in a few words, this great prelate had the good humor of a gentleman, the elo- quence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profollndness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint, devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi. These selections are judiciously made, and will commend themselves to all readers of taste. It is a good sign to see Jeremy Taylor and old Fuller reappearing among us. POEMS. By FREDERIcK GODDARD TUcKER- MAN. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. Ma. TUCKERMAN has given us a volume of philosophically thought, tenderly and purely felt, and musically rhythmed poems. No roughness disfigures, no sensualism blights, no straining for effect chills, no meretricious ornament destroys them. The ideas are grave and tender, the diction scholarly, and if the fire and passion of genius flame not through them, they seem to have been the natural growth of a heart Hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity. THOUGHTS ON PERSONAL RELIGION. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By Edward Meyrick Goulburn, D. D., Prebendary of St. Pauls, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford, and one of her Majestys Chaplains in Ordinary. First American from the fifth London edition. With a Prefatory Note, by George H. Houghton, D. D., Rector of the Church of the Trans- figuration, in the City of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway. 1864. THIS 1S, in the main, an excellent work on practical religion. From its fervent spirit and sound common sense, it tame very near being such a one as we could have recom- mended for the perusal and attentive study of the great body of Christians in our coun- try. Unfortunately, the author, by sundry flings at other Christian communities, and by the use of nicknames, as Quaker, Romanist, Dissenter, etc., in speaking of them, has re- stricted its usefulness chiefly to the mem- bers of his own communion, the Protestant Episcopal Church. To such, it will doubtless prove highly satisfactory and beneficial. A very few omissions would have procured for

History of the Romans under the Empire. By Charles Merivale, B. D. Literary Notices 119

Literary .Yotice8. 119 native power, to give to important conjunc- tures, and to the individuals that rule the a more vivid embodiment than can be given on the literal page of historynot to trans- forri,, but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, and, by injecting it with poetk~ rays, to make it throw out a light whereby its features shall be more visible. A just theory and well stated; and in Arnold and Andrt~, our author has subordinated himself with conscientious faithfulness to historic truth, and is always correct and dignified; but the imaginative gift of deep insight is wanting, and the fire of genius kindles not the heart of the stately record to reveal its hidden power and pathos. HIsToRy OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE. By CHARLES MERIVALE, B.D., late Fellow of St. Johns College, Cambridge. From the fourth London edition. With a copious Analytical Index. Vol. IlL New York: D. Appleton & Co., Broadway. MERIVALES third volume commences with the proceedings upon the death of CHsar, and concludes with the Imperial Administra- tion, thus containing one of the most inter- esting and important periods of Roman history. Antonius, Octavius, Cicero, Cleo- patra, Octavia, Cnsarion, Herod, Antipater, Mariamne, Agrippa, etc., make part of the brilliant array rekindled before us. We have no doubt that the readers of ancient history will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity to possess themselves of Men- vales work. SELECTIONS FROM THE Woaas OF JEREMY TAyLOR. With some Account of the Au- thor and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. BISHOP HRBER says, when speaking of the three great English divines, Hooker is the object of our reverence, Barrow of our admi- ration, and Jeremy Taylor of our love. Taylor was a man of devout and glowing soul, of im~iginative genius, so that, whatever may have been the prejudices of his times, the restrictions of his creed, his thoughts are still fresh and captivating, his quaint pages full of interest. He loved his Master, and his love glows through much of his writing. He was an accomplished scholar, and in spite of his contests with Papists, a kind- hearted man. His biographer says: To sum up all in a few words, this great prelate had the good humor of a gentleman, the elo- quence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profollndness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint, devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi. These selections are judiciously made, and will commend themselves to all readers of taste. It is a good sign to see Jeremy Taylor and old Fuller reappearing among us. POEMS. By FREDERIcK GODDARD TUcKER- MAN. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. Ma. TUCKERMAN has given us a volume of philosophically thought, tenderly and purely felt, and musically rhythmed poems. No roughness disfigures, no sensualism blights, no straining for effect chills, no meretricious ornament destroys them. The ideas are grave and tender, the diction scholarly, and if the fire and passion of genius flame not through them, they seem to have been the natural growth of a heart Hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity. THOUGHTS ON PERSONAL RELIGION. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By Edward Meyrick Goulburn, D. D., Prebendary of St. Pauls, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford, and one of her Majestys Chaplains in Ordinary. First American from the fifth London edition. With a Prefatory Note, by George H. Houghton, D. D., Rector of the Church of the Trans- figuration, in the City of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway. 1864. THIS 1S, in the main, an excellent work on practical religion. From its fervent spirit and sound common sense, it tame very near being such a one as we could have recom- mended for the perusal and attentive study of the great body of Christians in our coun- try. Unfortunately, the author, by sundry flings at other Christian communities, and by the use of nicknames, as Quaker, Romanist, Dissenter, etc., in speaking of them, has re- stricted its usefulness chiefly to the mem- bers of his own communion, the Protestant Episcopal Church. To such, it will doubtless prove highly satisfactory and beneficial. A very few omissions would have procured for

Selections from the Works of Jeremy Taylor. Literary Notices 119

Literary .Yotice8. 119 native power, to give to important conjunc- tures, and to the individuals that rule the a more vivid embodiment than can be given on the literal page of historynot to trans- forri,, but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, and, by injecting it with poetk~ rays, to make it throw out a light whereby its features shall be more visible. A just theory and well stated; and in Arnold and Andrt~, our author has subordinated himself with conscientious faithfulness to historic truth, and is always correct and dignified; but the imaginative gift of deep insight is wanting, and the fire of genius kindles not the heart of the stately record to reveal its hidden power and pathos. HIsToRy OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE. By CHARLES MERIVALE, B.D., late Fellow of St. Johns College, Cambridge. From the fourth London edition. With a copious Analytical Index. Vol. IlL New York: D. Appleton & Co., Broadway. MERIVALES third volume commences with the proceedings upon the death of CHsar, and concludes with the Imperial Administra- tion, thus containing one of the most inter- esting and important periods of Roman history. Antonius, Octavius, Cicero, Cleo- patra, Octavia, Cnsarion, Herod, Antipater, Mariamne, Agrippa, etc., make part of the brilliant array rekindled before us. We have no doubt that the readers of ancient history will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity to possess themselves of Men- vales work. SELECTIONS FROM THE Woaas OF JEREMY TAyLOR. With some Account of the Au- thor and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. BISHOP HRBER says, when speaking of the three great English divines, Hooker is the object of our reverence, Barrow of our admi- ration, and Jeremy Taylor of our love. Taylor was a man of devout and glowing soul, of im~iginative genius, so that, whatever may have been the prejudices of his times, the restrictions of his creed, his thoughts are still fresh and captivating, his quaint pages full of interest. He loved his Master, and his love glows through much of his writing. He was an accomplished scholar, and in spite of his contests with Papists, a kind- hearted man. His biographer says: To sum up all in a few words, this great prelate had the good humor of a gentleman, the elo- quence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profollndness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint, devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi. These selections are judiciously made, and will commend themselves to all readers of taste. It is a good sign to see Jeremy Taylor and old Fuller reappearing among us. POEMS. By FREDERIcK GODDARD TUcKER- MAN. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. Ma. TUCKERMAN has given us a volume of philosophically thought, tenderly and purely felt, and musically rhythmed poems. No roughness disfigures, no sensualism blights, no straining for effect chills, no meretricious ornament destroys them. The ideas are grave and tender, the diction scholarly, and if the fire and passion of genius flame not through them, they seem to have been the natural growth of a heart Hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity. THOUGHTS ON PERSONAL RELIGION. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By Edward Meyrick Goulburn, D. D., Prebendary of St. Pauls, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford, and one of her Majestys Chaplains in Ordinary. First American from the fifth London edition. With a Prefatory Note, by George H. Houghton, D. D., Rector of the Church of the Trans- figuration, in the City of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway. 1864. THIS 1S, in the main, an excellent work on practical religion. From its fervent spirit and sound common sense, it tame very near being such a one as we could have recom- mended for the perusal and attentive study of the great body of Christians in our coun- try. Unfortunately, the author, by sundry flings at other Christian communities, and by the use of nicknames, as Quaker, Romanist, Dissenter, etc., in speaking of them, has re- stricted its usefulness chiefly to the mem- bers of his own communion, the Protestant Episcopal Church. To such, it will doubtless prove highly satisfactory and beneficial. A very few omissions would have procured for

Poems. By Frederick Goddard Tuckerman Literary Notices 119

Literary .Yotice8. 119 native power, to give to important conjunc- tures, and to the individuals that rule the a more vivid embodiment than can be given on the literal page of historynot to trans- forri,, but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, and, by injecting it with poetk~ rays, to make it throw out a light whereby its features shall be more visible. A just theory and well stated; and in Arnold and Andrt~, our author has subordinated himself with conscientious faithfulness to historic truth, and is always correct and dignified; but the imaginative gift of deep insight is wanting, and the fire of genius kindles not the heart of the stately record to reveal its hidden power and pathos. HIsToRy OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE. By CHARLES MERIVALE, B.D., late Fellow of St. Johns College, Cambridge. From the fourth London edition. With a copious Analytical Index. Vol. IlL New York: D. Appleton & Co., Broadway. MERIVALES third volume commences with the proceedings upon the death of CHsar, and concludes with the Imperial Administra- tion, thus containing one of the most inter- esting and important periods of Roman history. Antonius, Octavius, Cicero, Cleo- patra, Octavia, Cnsarion, Herod, Antipater, Mariamne, Agrippa, etc., make part of the brilliant array rekindled before us. We have no doubt that the readers of ancient history will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity to possess themselves of Men- vales work. SELECTIONS FROM THE Woaas OF JEREMY TAyLOR. With some Account of the Au- thor and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. BISHOP HRBER says, when speaking of the three great English divines, Hooker is the object of our reverence, Barrow of our admi- ration, and Jeremy Taylor of our love. Taylor was a man of devout and glowing soul, of im~iginative genius, so that, whatever may have been the prejudices of his times, the restrictions of his creed, his thoughts are still fresh and captivating, his quaint pages full of interest. He loved his Master, and his love glows through much of his writing. He was an accomplished scholar, and in spite of his contests with Papists, a kind- hearted man. His biographer says: To sum up all in a few words, this great prelate had the good humor of a gentleman, the elo- quence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profollndness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint, devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi. These selections are judiciously made, and will commend themselves to all readers of taste. It is a good sign to see Jeremy Taylor and old Fuller reappearing among us. POEMS. By FREDERIcK GODDARD TUcKER- MAN. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. Ma. TUCKERMAN has given us a volume of philosophically thought, tenderly and purely felt, and musically rhythmed poems. No roughness disfigures, no sensualism blights, no straining for effect chills, no meretricious ornament destroys them. The ideas are grave and tender, the diction scholarly, and if the fire and passion of genius flame not through them, they seem to have been the natural growth of a heart Hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity. THOUGHTS ON PERSONAL RELIGION. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By Edward Meyrick Goulburn, D. D., Prebendary of St. Pauls, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford, and one of her Majestys Chaplains in Ordinary. First American from the fifth London edition. With a Prefatory Note, by George H. Houghton, D. D., Rector of the Church of the Trans- figuration, in the City of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway. 1864. THIS 1S, in the main, an excellent work on practical religion. From its fervent spirit and sound common sense, it tame very near being such a one as we could have recom- mended for the perusal and attentive study of the great body of Christians in our coun- try. Unfortunately, the author, by sundry flings at other Christian communities, and by the use of nicknames, as Quaker, Romanist, Dissenter, etc., in speaking of them, has re- stricted its usefulness chiefly to the mem- bers of his own communion, the Protestant Episcopal Church. To such, it will doubtless prove highly satisfactory and beneficial. A very few omissions would have procured for

Thoughts on Personal Religion. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By Edward Meyrick, Goulburn, D.D. Literary Notices 119-120

Literary .Yotice8. 119 native power, to give to important conjunc- tures, and to the individuals that rule the a more vivid embodiment than can be given on the literal page of historynot to trans- forri,, but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, and, by injecting it with poetk~ rays, to make it throw out a light whereby its features shall be more visible. A just theory and well stated; and in Arnold and Andrt~, our author has subordinated himself with conscientious faithfulness to historic truth, and is always correct and dignified; but the imaginative gift of deep insight is wanting, and the fire of genius kindles not the heart of the stately record to reveal its hidden power and pathos. HIsToRy OF THE ROMANS UNDER THE EMPIRE. By CHARLES MERIVALE, B.D., late Fellow of St. Johns College, Cambridge. From the fourth London edition. With a copious Analytical Index. Vol. IlL New York: D. Appleton & Co., Broadway. MERIVALES third volume commences with the proceedings upon the death of CHsar, and concludes with the Imperial Administra- tion, thus containing one of the most inter- esting and important periods of Roman history. Antonius, Octavius, Cicero, Cleo- patra, Octavia, Cnsarion, Herod, Antipater, Mariamne, Agrippa, etc., make part of the brilliant array rekindled before us. We have no doubt that the readers of ancient history will gladly avail themselves of the opportunity to possess themselves of Men- vales work. SELECTIONS FROM THE Woaas OF JEREMY TAyLOR. With some Account of the Au- thor and his Writings. Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1864. BISHOP HRBER says, when speaking of the three great English divines, Hooker is the object of our reverence, Barrow of our admi- ration, and Jeremy Taylor of our love. Taylor was a man of devout and glowing soul, of im~iginative genius, so that, whatever may have been the prejudices of his times, the restrictions of his creed, his thoughts are still fresh and captivating, his quaint pages full of interest. He loved his Master, and his love glows through much of his writing. He was an accomplished scholar, and in spite of his contests with Papists, a kind- hearted man. His biographer says: To sum up all in a few words, this great prelate had the good humor of a gentleman, the elo- quence of an orator, the fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profollndness of a philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint, devotion enough for a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of virtuosi. These selections are judiciously made, and will commend themselves to all readers of taste. It is a good sign to see Jeremy Taylor and old Fuller reappearing among us. POEMS. By FREDERIcK GODDARD TUcKER- MAN. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1864. Ma. TUCKERMAN has given us a volume of philosophically thought, tenderly and purely felt, and musically rhythmed poems. No roughness disfigures, no sensualism blights, no straining for effect chills, no meretricious ornament destroys them. The ideas are grave and tender, the diction scholarly, and if the fire and passion of genius flame not through them, they seem to have been the natural growth of a heart Hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity. THOUGHTS ON PERSONAL RELIGION. Being a Treatise on the Christian Life, in its two Chief Elements, Devotion and Practice. By Edward Meyrick Goulburn, D. D., Prebendary of St. Pauls, Chaplain to the Bishop of Oxford, and one of her Majestys Chaplains in Ordinary. First American from the fifth London edition. With a Prefatory Note, by George H. Houghton, D. D., Rector of the Church of the Trans- figuration, in the City of New York. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway. 1864. THIS 1S, in the main, an excellent work on practical religion. From its fervent spirit and sound common sense, it tame very near being such a one as we could have recom- mended for the perusal and attentive study of the great body of Christians in our coun- try. Unfortunately, the author, by sundry flings at other Christian communities, and by the use of nicknames, as Quaker, Romanist, Dissenter, etc., in speaking of them, has re- stricted its usefulness chiefly to the mem- bers of his own communion, the Protestant Episcopal Church. To such, it will doubtless prove highly satisfactory and beneficial. A very few omissions would have procured for 120 it the wide range of acceptance and power of working good to which its intrinsic excel- lence would then have entitled it. When will oar religious writers learn that the great battle now is not among the various sections of the Christian camp, but with an outside enemy, indefatigable, learned, plausi- ble, and every day gaining ground? Who can tell but that a careful examination of, and more accurate acquaintance with the princi- ples and practice of divisions serving under the same great Captain, might dissipate many a prejudice, and reconcile many a difficulty ~ One of the first requisites is, that all learn to know and ho speak the truth about one another. THE SPIRIT OF THE Fxia. 1864. None but the brave deserve the Fair. Editorial Committee: Augustus R. Macdonough, Ohairman; Mrs. Charles E. Butler, Mrs. Edward Cooper, C. Astor Bristed, Chester P. Dewey, James W. Gerard, jr., William J. Hoppin, Henry Sedgwick, Frederick Sheldon, Charles K. Tuckerman. New York: John F. Trow, Publisher, 50 Greene street. IN recommending to our readers this neat- ly bound volume of the daily product of the great Metropolitan Fair, we cannot do better than extract the little introductory notice of the publisher, who says: By the request of many patrons of the Spirit of the Fair, the publisher purchased the stereo- type plates and copyrights of the paper, for the purpose of supplying bound copies for permanent preservation. The talented ladies and gentlemen who conducted the Spirit of the Fair, during its brief and brilliant career, have, by their well-directed efforts, made a volume worthy of preservation, both from its high literary excellence, and from the recollections with which it is associated. Its pages are illuminated with the writings of the most distinguished authors. Every article in the paper first saw the light of print in the Spirit of the Fair. Poets, Historians.. Statesmen, Novelists, and Essay- ists furnished contributions prepared ex- pressly for its columns; and their efforts in behalf of the noble~ charity which the paper represented, should alone entitle the volume to be cherished as a most valued memento and heirloom. The publisher, therefore, presents this volume to the public, in the hope that it will not only gratify the reader of the pre- sent, but that it will assist to preserve the Spirit of the Fair for the reader of the future. THE LITTLE REBEL. Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864. For sale by Hurd & Hough- ton, New Yurk. A v~av interesting book for the little ones. It presents vivid pictures of New England life, and is fragrant and dewy with fresh breezes from the maple bush, the hillside, and the pasture lands. The style is excel- lent, and the matter as sprightly and enter- taining as it is simply natural and morally improving. THE POET, AND OTHER POEMS. By ACTISA W. SPRAGUE. Boston: William White & Co., 158 Washington street. For sale by A. J. Davis, New York. Miss SPRAGUE was chiefly known to the world as a trance lecturer under what claimed to be spirit influence. Although speaking in the interest of a faith generally unpopular, and involved in no slight degree in crudities, extravagance, and quackery, she was herself neither fool nor fanatic. She was a true child of nature, direct and simple in her manners, and impatient of the artificiality and formal etiquette of fashionable society. These poems are characterized by great ease of style, flowing rhythm, earnestness in the cause of philanthropy, and frequently contain high moral lessons. But it is somewhat strange that the poems of trance writers and speakers, so often marked by exquisite, va- ried, and delicate chimes of rin~ing rhythm, of brilliant words, of sparkling poetic dust blown from the pages of great writers, and drifting through the world, should so seldom give us those great granite blocks of origin- ality, which must constitute the enduring base for the new era therein announced. Is there nothing new in the world beyond the grave which they deem open to their vision? We ask this in no spirit of censure or cavil, for we have no prejudice against the school of spiritualistic literature, save where it mili- tates against the faith in our Redeemer. Literary Notice8.

The Spirit of the Fair. 1864. 'None but the brave deserve the Fair' Literary Notices 120

120 it the wide range of acceptance and power of working good to which its intrinsic excel- lence would then have entitled it. When will oar religious writers learn that the great battle now is not among the various sections of the Christian camp, but with an outside enemy, indefatigable, learned, plausi- ble, and every day gaining ground? Who can tell but that a careful examination of, and more accurate acquaintance with the princi- ples and practice of divisions serving under the same great Captain, might dissipate many a prejudice, and reconcile many a difficulty ~ One of the first requisites is, that all learn to know and ho speak the truth about one another. THE SPIRIT OF THE Fxia. 1864. None but the brave deserve the Fair. Editorial Committee: Augustus R. Macdonough, Ohairman; Mrs. Charles E. Butler, Mrs. Edward Cooper, C. Astor Bristed, Chester P. Dewey, James W. Gerard, jr., William J. Hoppin, Henry Sedgwick, Frederick Sheldon, Charles K. Tuckerman. New York: John F. Trow, Publisher, 50 Greene street. IN recommending to our readers this neat- ly bound volume of the daily product of the great Metropolitan Fair, we cannot do better than extract the little introductory notice of the publisher, who says: By the request of many patrons of the Spirit of the Fair, the publisher purchased the stereo- type plates and copyrights of the paper, for the purpose of supplying bound copies for permanent preservation. The talented ladies and gentlemen who conducted the Spirit of the Fair, during its brief and brilliant career, have, by their well-directed efforts, made a volume worthy of preservation, both from its high literary excellence, and from the recollections with which it is associated. Its pages are illuminated with the writings of the most distinguished authors. Every article in the paper first saw the light of print in the Spirit of the Fair. Poets, Historians.. Statesmen, Novelists, and Essay- ists furnished contributions prepared ex- pressly for its columns; and their efforts in behalf of the noble~ charity which the paper represented, should alone entitle the volume to be cherished as a most valued memento and heirloom. The publisher, therefore, presents this volume to the public, in the hope that it will not only gratify the reader of the pre- sent, but that it will assist to preserve the Spirit of the Fair for the reader of the future. THE LITTLE REBEL. Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864. For sale by Hurd & Hough- ton, New Yurk. A v~av interesting book for the little ones. It presents vivid pictures of New England life, and is fragrant and dewy with fresh breezes from the maple bush, the hillside, and the pasture lands. The style is excel- lent, and the matter as sprightly and enter- taining as it is simply natural and morally improving. THE POET, AND OTHER POEMS. By ACTISA W. SPRAGUE. Boston: William White & Co., 158 Washington street. For sale by A. J. Davis, New York. Miss SPRAGUE was chiefly known to the world as a trance lecturer under what claimed to be spirit influence. Although speaking in the interest of a faith generally unpopular, and involved in no slight degree in crudities, extravagance, and quackery, she was herself neither fool nor fanatic. She was a true child of nature, direct and simple in her manners, and impatient of the artificiality and formal etiquette of fashionable society. These poems are characterized by great ease of style, flowing rhythm, earnestness in the cause of philanthropy, and frequently contain high moral lessons. But it is somewhat strange that the poems of trance writers and speakers, so often marked by exquisite, va- ried, and delicate chimes of rin~ing rhythm, of brilliant words, of sparkling poetic dust blown from the pages of great writers, and drifting through the world, should so seldom give us those great granite blocks of origin- ality, which must constitute the enduring base for the new era therein announced. Is there nothing new in the world beyond the grave which they deem open to their vision? We ask this in no spirit of censure or cavil, for we have no prejudice against the school of spiritualistic literature, save where it mili- tates against the faith in our Redeemer. Literary Notice8.

The Little Rebel Literary Notices 120

120 it the wide range of acceptance and power of working good to which its intrinsic excel- lence would then have entitled it. When will oar religious writers learn that the great battle now is not among the various sections of the Christian camp, but with an outside enemy, indefatigable, learned, plausi- ble, and every day gaining ground? Who can tell but that a careful examination of, and more accurate acquaintance with the princi- ples and practice of divisions serving under the same great Captain, might dissipate many a prejudice, and reconcile many a difficulty ~ One of the first requisites is, that all learn to know and ho speak the truth about one another. THE SPIRIT OF THE Fxia. 1864. None but the brave deserve the Fair. Editorial Committee: Augustus R. Macdonough, Ohairman; Mrs. Charles E. Butler, Mrs. Edward Cooper, C. Astor Bristed, Chester P. Dewey, James W. Gerard, jr., William J. Hoppin, Henry Sedgwick, Frederick Sheldon, Charles K. Tuckerman. New York: John F. Trow, Publisher, 50 Greene street. IN recommending to our readers this neat- ly bound volume of the daily product of the great Metropolitan Fair, we cannot do better than extract the little introductory notice of the publisher, who says: By the request of many patrons of the Spirit of the Fair, the publisher purchased the stereo- type plates and copyrights of the paper, for the purpose of supplying bound copies for permanent preservation. The talented ladies and gentlemen who conducted the Spirit of the Fair, during its brief and brilliant career, have, by their well-directed efforts, made a volume worthy of preservation, both from its high literary excellence, and from the recollections with which it is associated. Its pages are illuminated with the writings of the most distinguished authors. Every article in the paper first saw the light of print in the Spirit of the Fair. Poets, Historians.. Statesmen, Novelists, and Essay- ists furnished contributions prepared ex- pressly for its columns; and their efforts in behalf of the noble~ charity which the paper represented, should alone entitle the volume to be cherished as a most valued memento and heirloom. The publisher, therefore, presents this volume to the public, in the hope that it will not only gratify the reader of the pre- sent, but that it will assist to preserve the Spirit of the Fair for the reader of the future. THE LITTLE REBEL. Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864. For sale by Hurd & Hough- ton, New Yurk. A v~av interesting book for the little ones. It presents vivid pictures of New England life, and is fragrant and dewy with fresh breezes from the maple bush, the hillside, and the pasture lands. The style is excel- lent, and the matter as sprightly and enter- taining as it is simply natural and morally improving. THE POET, AND OTHER POEMS. By ACTISA W. SPRAGUE. Boston: William White & Co., 158 Washington street. For sale by A. J. Davis, New York. Miss SPRAGUE was chiefly known to the world as a trance lecturer under what claimed to be spirit influence. Although speaking in the interest of a faith generally unpopular, and involved in no slight degree in crudities, extravagance, and quackery, she was herself neither fool nor fanatic. She was a true child of nature, direct and simple in her manners, and impatient of the artificiality and formal etiquette of fashionable society. These poems are characterized by great ease of style, flowing rhythm, earnestness in the cause of philanthropy, and frequently contain high moral lessons. But it is somewhat strange that the poems of trance writers and speakers, so often marked by exquisite, va- ried, and delicate chimes of rin~ing rhythm, of brilliant words, of sparkling poetic dust blown from the pages of great writers, and drifting through the world, should so seldom give us those great granite blocks of origin- ality, which must constitute the enduring base for the new era therein announced. Is there nothing new in the world beyond the grave which they deem open to their vision? We ask this in no spirit of censure or cavil, for we have no prejudice against the school of spiritualistic literature, save where it mili- tates against the faith in our Redeemer. Literary Notice8.

The Poet, and other Poems. By Achsa W. Sprague Literary Notices 120

120 it the wide range of acceptance and power of working good to which its intrinsic excel- lence would then have entitled it. When will oar religious writers learn that the great battle now is not among the various sections of the Christian camp, but with an outside enemy, indefatigable, learned, plausi- ble, and every day gaining ground? Who can tell but that a careful examination of, and more accurate acquaintance with the princi- ples and practice of divisions serving under the same great Captain, might dissipate many a prejudice, and reconcile many a difficulty ~ One of the first requisites is, that all learn to know and ho speak the truth about one another. THE SPIRIT OF THE Fxia. 1864. None but the brave deserve the Fair. Editorial Committee: Augustus R. Macdonough, Ohairman; Mrs. Charles E. Butler, Mrs. Edward Cooper, C. Astor Bristed, Chester P. Dewey, James W. Gerard, jr., William J. Hoppin, Henry Sedgwick, Frederick Sheldon, Charles K. Tuckerman. New York: John F. Trow, Publisher, 50 Greene street. IN recommending to our readers this neat- ly bound volume of the daily product of the great Metropolitan Fair, we cannot do better than extract the little introductory notice of the publisher, who says: By the request of many patrons of the Spirit of the Fair, the publisher purchased the stereo- type plates and copyrights of the paper, for the purpose of supplying bound copies for permanent preservation. The talented ladies and gentlemen who conducted the Spirit of the Fair, during its brief and brilliant career, have, by their well-directed efforts, made a volume worthy of preservation, both from its high literary excellence, and from the recollections with which it is associated. Its pages are illuminated with the writings of the most distinguished authors. Every article in the paper first saw the light of print in the Spirit of the Fair. Poets, Historians.. Statesmen, Novelists, and Essay- ists furnished contributions prepared ex- pressly for its columns; and their efforts in behalf of the noble~ charity which the paper represented, should alone entitle the volume to be cherished as a most valued memento and heirloom. The publisher, therefore, presents this volume to the public, in the hope that it will not only gratify the reader of the pre- sent, but that it will assist to preserve the Spirit of the Fair for the reader of the future. THE LITTLE REBEL. Boston: J. E. Tilton & Co. 1864. For sale by Hurd & Hough- ton, New Yurk. A v~av interesting book for the little ones. It presents vivid pictures of New England life, and is fragrant and dewy with fresh breezes from the maple bush, the hillside, and the pasture lands. The style is excel- lent, and the matter as sprightly and enter- taining as it is simply natural and morally improving. THE POET, AND OTHER POEMS. By ACTISA W. SPRAGUE. Boston: William White & Co., 158 Washington street. For sale by A. J. Davis, New York. Miss SPRAGUE was chiefly known to the world as a trance lecturer under what claimed to be spirit influence. Although speaking in the interest of a faith generally unpopular, and involved in no slight degree in crudities, extravagance, and quackery, she was herself neither fool nor fanatic. She was a true child of nature, direct and simple in her manners, and impatient of the artificiality and formal etiquette of fashionable society. These poems are characterized by great ease of style, flowing rhythm, earnestness in the cause of philanthropy, and frequently contain high moral lessons. But it is somewhat strange that the poems of trance writers and speakers, so often marked by exquisite, va- ried, and delicate chimes of rin~ing rhythm, of brilliant words, of sparkling poetic dust blown from the pages of great writers, and drifting through the world, should so seldom give us those great granite blocks of origin- ality, which must constitute the enduring base for the new era therein announced. Is there nothing new in the world beyond the grave which they deem open to their vision? We ask this in no spirit of censure or cavil, for we have no prejudice against the school of spiritualistic literature, save where it mili- tates against the faith in our Redeemer. Literary Notice8.

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Continental monthly: devoted to literature and national policy. / Volume 6, Issue 2 J. R. Gilmore. New York, | Boston August 1864 0006 002
American Civilization 121-135

THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY: DEVOTED TO LIT~RATTJRE AND NATIONAL POLICY. VOL. VI.AUGUST, 1864.No. IL AMERICAN CIVILIZATION. AgECOND PAPER. As a nation we are fast losing that reverence for the powers that be which is enjoined by Holy Writ, and without which no form of government can be lasting, no political system can take a firm hold upon the affections of the people. The opposition press teems with vituperation and personal abuse of those whom the people themselves have chosen to control the public poli- cy and administer the public affairs. The incumbent of the Presidential chair, so far from receiving that respect and deference to which his position entitles him, becomes the victim of slander and vilification, from one por- tion of the country to another, on the part of those who chance to differ with him in political sentiments. Even beardless boys, taking their cue from those who, being older, should know better, are unsparing in the use of such terms as scoundrel, fool, tyrant, as applied to those whom the people have delighted to honor, either uncon- scious or utterly heedless of the disgust with which their language inspires the older and more thoughtful. And thus it has become a recognized fact that no mans reputation can withstand the VOL. vi.9 trial of a four years term of service in the Presidential office. While this is in a great measure the reaction from the king worship of the Old World, it is nevertheless a blot upon our civiliza- tion, a departure from those lofty and noble sentiments which characterize every advanced stage of human intel- lect, in which the supremacy and invio- lability of the law is acknowledged, and in which the ruler is reverenced as the representative and impersonation of the law. And as, in such a stage, respect for the magistrate and the law mutually react upon each other, so in the present state of affairs the tendency is, in the course of time, to reach from the ruler to the edict which he admin- isters, and thus to beget a disrespect and disregard of law itselg paving the way to that violence and mob rule which, in the present state of humani- ty, must inevitably attend the establish- ment of the democratic principle. The remedy is to be found in reform in the education of our youth, whereby the utmost respect for the law and for those by whom it is administered shall be inculcated as the groundwork of all patriotism and national progress, while 122 American Civilization. at the same time cultivating a loftier appreciation of the blessings of social order and harmony, and of well-regu- lated liberty of thought, speech, and action, and a purer standard of right. Yet even this will be of little avail ex- cept in connection with the abatement, through the strong good sense of a thinking and upright people, of that national nuisance of bitter and unmerci- ful political partisanship of which we have spoken, all of whose tendencies are to evil, and so removing from the eyes of our youth a low, unworthy, and degrading example, which they. are too prone to follow. The child will tread, to a great degree, in the steps of the father, and the whole course of his in- tellectual life be governed, more or less, by the principles and prejudices which he is accustomed every day to hear from the lips of a parent, who is, necessarily the teacher and, in a great measure, the moulder of his infant mind. How careful, then, ought every parent to be of the principles which he inculcates and the examples which he sets in his conversation, especially when that conversation is directed to a con- demnation of the motives or the acts of the ruling powers 1lest the child be some time inclined to enlarge upon his views, and carry his deductions farther than he himself ever dreamed, till he shall finally be led into a contempt of the institutions as well as of the rulers of his native land, through a fathers teaching, and so grow up an embryo traitor, ready at the first signal to em- bark in any revolutionary scheme or wild enterprise of visionary reform, such as have been and are still the dis- turbers of our national prosperity. For an example of such a result in our day we have but to look at the youth of the Southern States, whose fiery trea- son, far exceeding that of their elders, is nothing more than the outgrowth, the legitimate extension and develop- ment of that bitter denunciation of ~ilers who chanced to be unpopular i~~ith their fathers, of that unrestraiped license of speech which left nothing untouched, however sacred, however holy it might be, which chanced to stand in the way of gross and sordid interest. The ideas of the hot-blooded, fire-eating Southern youth of to-day, the recklessness and the treason, the denationalizing spirit of revolution and blood which so readily manifests itself in contempt of the old flag, and the direst hatred of all that their fathers held sacred and laid down their lives to sustainall this is but the idea, in- tensified and developed, of the South- erner of a bygone generation; it is but the natural deduction from his conver- sation and life, pondered over by the child, fixed deeply in his heart as the teaching of a revered tutor, and carried out, by a natural course of reasoning, to its extreme in the parricidal rebel- lion of to-day. And yet that idea was, in its inception, apparently harmless enough, being nothing more than that denunciation and vituperation of the political leaders and the ruling powers which chanced to be in the opposition, whereby the child was in due course of tim~ weaned from his country, and taugh( to look lightly upon and speak lightly of that which of old time was only mentioned with love and reverent awe. Nor is this the only reform which is needed in the education of our youth. The phrase completing ones educa- tionis used to-day with utter looseness, and applied to that period when the youth leaves the school or college for the busy walks of life. How much of error is contained in such an application of the term he well knows who, after some years of world life, can look back upon his college days and see what a mere smattering of knowledge he gained within the classic shades,~ and how poorly educated he was, in any and every sense of the word, how ill fitted for the realities of work-day life, when first he emerged in self-sufficient pride from the sacred walls, and launched boldly out upon the world. At the time American Civilization. 123 when, according to the popular accep- tation of the term, the education is completed, it is in truth but just be- gun; and he who, upon the slender capital of college lore, should set him- self up for a finished man, one compe- tent to take upon himself the dmties, responsibilities, and labors of active life, would soon find to his sorrow that he was yet but a babe in wisdom, and yet needed a long and severe discipline ere he could be considered one of the worlds workers. In the few years de- voted, in our country, to the education of youth, little more can be done than to teach them the value of knowledge and the proper method and system of its acquisition, leaving to the exertions of the after years that education of the mind and development of the intellec- tual powers which constitute the fin- ished man. And this should be the object of all our schools, for females as well as for males, to inculcate the truth that the true education begins where the schools leave off, and depends en- tirely upon the scholar himselg aided only by that groundwork of prepara- tion, that systematizing of effort, im- parted by the tutor in the tender years. This end should be ever before the teachers eyes, and the whole course of study adjusted with a view thereto. And the instruction imparted should be of such a character as most thor- oughly to fit the student1 for future study, giving him a firm foothold upon the most essential branches of knowl- edge, from which he may advance stead- ily and securely when left to himself; frequently warning him that this is but the beginning of great things, and that the abstrusities of wisdom, wherein is all its tusthetic beauty and its holiness all its moral goodlies far beyond, where it can only be reached by the most patient, persevering, and unremit- ting toil; not forgetting, at the same time, to point out the glorious reward which awaits the seeker of truth. The effect of such a system would soon be felt,not only in our national life,but in our very civilization. For thus would be thrown out upon our society, year after year, a class of thinkers, of eamest, working, strong-minded men and women, searchers after truth and disciples of the highest good, instead of the crowd of half-fledged intellectual idlers who yearly emerge from our schools with the conceited idea that the course of study is finished, the paths of investigation fully explored, and that life is henceforth a holiday from study. Under such a giant im- pulse our society could not but ad- vance with enormous strides in all that pertains to true civilization, since think- ers would then be the rule instead of the exception, and talent almost uni- versal, which is now, like angels ~risits, comparatively few and far between. This is no Utopian vision: it is a reali- ty within the scope of human exertion and the capacity of our people of to- day, if men would but exert themselves to such an end, and properly apply the energy and labor which is now too often excited upon unworthy and tri- fling objects. The realm of knowledge is so boundless that a lifetime is little enough and short enough to give to mortals even a smattering of that sea of wisdom which swells around the universe, and he alone can claim to be a seer who devotes the whole of a long existence to the investigation of truth; and only when this fact is impressed upon the minds of youth can they be made to appreciate their true position in existence, and made efficient workers in the great cause of humanity. Yet all education is vain, all intellec- tual development is of little benefit, all civilization hollow in its nature and ephemeral in its duration which lacks the moral element. And by the word moral in this connection is intended to be understood not only what is usually conveyed in the term morality, but also all religion. It is a well-established fact, more particularly exemplified in our own history, that all political par- ties founded upoti an ephemeral is- 124 American Civilization. sue, inevitably disappear with the final adjustment of the questions upon which they are based, having nothing left to rest upon. So it is in the affairs of nations. In the weakness of human nature and the fallibility of all human prescience, no system or theory can be devised which shall endure through all time, which shall not become effete, useless, and even erroneous in the progress of human development, and in the ever-shifting condition of human society. Hence any government and society founded upon a system of mere- ly human devising, must, in the prog- ress of events, fall to pieces, and give place to the results of a new and young- er development. The law of God, as contained in Divine revelation, is alone unchangeable, unmodifiable. It is adapted to meet the requirements of all lands and all ages, to answer all the necessities of which human nature is capable, even to its extremest verge of development. Hence all political sys- tems are durable only in proportion as they, in their organization, conform to the precepts of Divine law. We have used the term moral ele- ment~ as necessarily comprehending all religion, for the reason that upon reli- gion is necessarily based all true moral- ity. There is nothing in the physical, and more especially in the intellectual world, without a final cause; and that so-called morality which exists entirely separate and distinct from religion, can be based upon nothing other than self- interest, which, under different condi- tions and circumstances, would as un- hesitatingly lead to evil. The moral man without religion could as easily be evil minded and dissolute in a com- munity purely evil as he is upright and honorable in a civilized and enlightened community of to-day, for the reason that his morality is nothing more than deference to a certain standard of honor in other words, to the tone of the so- ciety by which he is surrounded, bring- ing with it all the benefits of high public estimation and a lofty position in society, which tone it must follow, be it good or bad: it is founded and built up in self-interest. Yet this very tone of society, and all these stand- ards of honor and uprightness, when traced to their origin, are found to arise from the precepts of revelation. We are all, physically and intellectually, the creatures of circumstance. Expe- rience moulds and develops the intel- lect. Our moral natures are not innate, but solely and entirely the result of the influences by which we are surrounded. There is in the soul no absolute stand- ard of right; if there were, upright- ness would be the same the worid over. But the right of the heathen is a differ- ent thing from that of the Christian; the right of the Chinese or the Japanese is a different thing from that of more enlightened nations; the right of one Christian community is different from that of another; and this because right, considered distinct from religion, is rel- ative, and subject to all the modifica- tions of different conditions of society. The Evil, be thou my good of Mil- tons Satan is a delicate recognition of this fact. But absolute right is a thing unknown to human nature; it can never be innate, but comes from without. It can only be apprehended by the intellect as a thing of God, a part of His nature, given to us as a law, a rule of action, which we can accept or not, taking upon ourselves the con- sequences of its rejection. There can be no standard of absolute right other than the law of God; there can be no other invariable and eternal rule of hu- man action. And if this position be true of indi- viduals, most assuredly is it true of na- tions, which are but individuals in the concrete, subject to the same vicissi- tudes, governed by the same laws, physical and moral, and following the same path of development. Only that form of government which recognizes the Supreme Being as the chief of rulers, and His law as the source and model of all human law, can be sure American Civilization. 125 uf truth and justice on its side, both in its dealings with other nations and in its regulation of its own internal affairs. Only such a form can work steadily for the advancement of its people, both~by leading them forward and by smooth- ing the rugged path to perfection, and removing every obstacle which impedes the national progress. However near the principles of our Government may approach to those of the Divine law, there is still room and urgent necessity for reform. Yet, in the universal dis- favor into which theocracies have fall- en, and in the intense desire which per- vades our people to avoid the compli- cated evils of a union between church and state, every attempt to unite reli- gious principles with those of govern- ment is looked upon with positive alarm; and justly so, since the experi- ence of past centuries proves that both thrive best in separate spheres, however near they may approach each other in the abstract, and that when united, the one is apt to prove a hamper on the other, through the introduction of error and corruption; while, separated, they act as a mutual restraint, each tending to control the abnormal development of the other. For these reasons reform in this particular must move from the people to the government, not from the government to the people. And here we come to the root of the whole matter, to the field where reform is most needed, that is,in the moral condition of our society. While there are few nations in which there is such a diversity of religious views and mul- tiplicity of religious sects, there are few peoples which are so proverbially irre- ligious as our own. Yet our condition in this respect is rather a neutral one than otherwise, for while we are with- out any positive immorality which should make us pre~minent above other nations for vice, there is, nevertheless, in ourmidst, little of that simple, trust- ing, unquestioning faith, which is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen little of that all-pervading and all-powerful rev- erence for sacred things, that deep reli- gious feeling which forms a portion of the very life of most of the nations of the Old World. This is nothing more than the reaction of the stern Puritan tenets of the colonial times. It is the logical result of those dark and gloomy theories which aimed to make religion not only unpalatable hut absolutely re- pelling to the young and the ardent, causing them to fly to the opposite ex- treme of throwing aside religion to a more convenient season, when the pleasures of life should have lost their charm, and they themselves should be drawing near the close of their pilgrim- age. That theory which made a deadly sin of that which was at worst but a pardonable misdemeanor and perhaps wholly innocent in its nature, could not fail in time to react violently, first through the process of disgust, then through that of inquiry, and finally to the carrying of speculation to extremes, and practically pronouncing harmless and innocent that which was really vice. The popular mind, rebounding from the Puritan ideas, did not pause to discriminate between the truth and error which were so intimately mingled in their system, but, sweepingly de- nouncing all the theories whose most prominent characteristics were revolt- ing, involved in the denunciation and rejection much of pure and simple truth, and ran rapidly along the path of revolution, heedless of every warning, unchecked by the obstacles which Truth threw in its way, down to the present time of amost universal loose- ness. Another effect of this rebellion of the national mind against the Puritan the- ories is seen in the, almost yearly inau- guration of some new sect in religion, in a land which is already so crowded with diverse and antagonistic religious organizations that it might be termed the land of sects. However right or wrong in a religious point of view, the Puritans committed the great socictZ 126 American civilization. mistake of establishing a new church, instead of working earnestly to reform the old in those respects in which it seemed to them to have fallen into er- ror, thereby destroying the unity of the Christian world. Had the movement stopped here, less harm would have been done; but it was not of the na- ture of things that it should be so. The establishment of the principle that purity of worship and of belief was to be sought, and diversity of religious opinion to be gratified in separation and the erection of new organizations, rather than in the endeavor to purify the old and established form, at once threw wide open the door of schism, and with it, in the end, that of scepti- cism. The movement once begun could neither be checked nor controlled by any human effort. Others claimed the right which they themselves had exer- cised, and the result was soon seen in the separation of one after another de- nomination from the Puritan Church, each, in its turn, to be divided into a score of sects, according as circum- stances should alter religious views. Were the principles of true religion in themselves progressive, were the teach- ings of the gospel inadequate to or uu~ fitting for all possible stages of human progress, or were they capable of de- velopment, the world might then have been the gainer. Or, again, were rea- son infallible, the separation of the churches would be an incalculable blessing, by securing to all minds a free investigation upon religious sub- jects. But infidelity desires no more powerful coadjutor than human reason in its freest exercise, because it is so liable to be led away by sophistry, and its invariable tendency is to reject as myths and fables all things which it cannot comprehend or for which it can- not see a material cause. Perfect rea- son is the twin brother and strongest supporter of faith; but reason as it ex- ists in the present development of hu- manity is its most deadly antagonist. The age of reason has fallen upon us, and its result is seen in a practical scep- ticism pervading the whole of our ~o- ciety, which in its extent and its in- jurious effects put to the blush the wildest speculations of the most radical German metaphysicians. Every day we see around us men of no religious profession, and little if any religious feeling, calmly facing death without a tremor, without a thought of the awful beyond. And though the application of the term infidel to such a man would not fail to arouse his fiercest indigna- tion, his indifference to the events and the fate of the great hereafter can arise from nothing else than an utter disbe- lief in the teachings of Holy Writ, in the truths of Christianity. Such men are but types of a class, and that class a very large portion of our population. The evils of religious divisions are plain to be seen, even if they consisted in nothing more than the division and consequent weakening of Christian ef- fort. The church of nod, torn by in- ternal dissensions, becomes almost pow- erless for the spread of the gospel, the greater portion of its strength and energy being exhausted in bolstering up its different branches as against each other, and in proselytizing within itself. Where, if united, a small por- tion of its wealth and energy would suffice to support in a flourishing con- dition the worship of a great people, leaving an immense surplus to be di- rected to the evangelization of the hea- then world, now, in its divided state, its power and immense material re- sources are squandered in the support of innumerable fragments, each one of which costs as much in labor and in means as would suffice to sustain the religion of the whole country if united. Worse than even this, the incessant bickerings of the Christian world tend to invalidate, in the minds of the un- believers, not only among the heathen, but among ourselves, the teachings of that Word which is its professed guide. The See how these Christians hate each other! is to reflecting minds out- American Civilization. 127 side the churchs pale, an almost un- conquerable argument against that re- ligion which professes to be founded upon love. Hence arises a great por- tion of that practical infidelity of which we have spoken, and which is the bnne of our civilization. No nation can be truly great or noble or progressive without religion, and by as much as we are departing, in our every-day life, from the pure teachings of the gospel, by so much are we tending to our inev- itable downfall. The people must have some high standard of moral excel- lence, something to elevate and purify the tone of society, to lead their aspira- tions upward away from the petty toils and cares and vexations, from the sor- did desires and the animal propensities of life, in order to prevent them from falling into that decay which is inevi- tably the result of corruption, following hard upon a devotion to mere self-in- terest. We are, in a great measure, a nation of materialists, too much de- voted to the pursuit of selfish and so- called practical aims, too little to the spiritual and the ethereal. Reform must come, else the soul will become gross and grovelling, and the nobler part of our natures, the more delicate and refined sympathies of the heart, the finer faculties of the intellect, will rust away with disuse, and the whole race become sensual, and finally effete, how- ever brilliant may be its individual ex- ceptions. From what direction the needed reform is to come it is not for us to say. That Almighty Providence which overrules an erring world will doubtless provide a way for the regen- eration of His people. The first great step is to awaken the people to a sense of the necessity of such a change, and some more powerful means must be employed to the accomplishment of that end than have ever yet been ap- plied to our civilization. And the apostle who, in the hands of God, shall be the means of arousing the slumber- ing faith of our people, of awakening them to a full sense of the danger, and of imparting new energy to the recu- perative powers of the race, will win for himself a loftier position in the worlds appreciation than has yet been con- ceded to any mere mortal. Another great and manifest evil in our society, and one closely connected with that of which we have just spoken, is the inordinate love of wealth, and the elevation of the money god to the highest seat in our temple of worship. Human nature craves distinction. The divisions and castes in the society of the Old World, from the present day back to the remotest ages, is not only an evidence, but a practical exemplifi- cation of this fact. The abolition of all these distinctions consequent upon the establishment of our republican govern- ment upon the ground of political equality, swept away from our ancestors almost the only means of gratifying this innate propensity. A hard-working, practical, agricultural people, with no literature, and little if any cultivation of the fine arts, there was but one road to distinction open to the mass of the population, and that lay through the avenues of wealth. Hence it was but natural that affluence should take the place of the hereditary honors of the olden times, and that the people should bow to the only distinction, however spurious it might be, which elevated any portion of themselves above their fellows. With all the evils connected with a hereditary aristocracy, the dis- tinction which attends upon a nobility is in a great measure an ideal one. It is not either its wealth or power which constitutes its charm, but a certain nameless something pertaining t~ the ideal, which affects not only the ten- ants and retainers, but even our repub- lican selves. It may well be questioned whether we have been the gainers by substituting for such distinctions a gross and material one, affecting the bodily senses alonethe animal part of our natureand ~vhich contains little either to expand the mind or exalt the aspirations. With us but comparatively 128 Am~riean~ Civilization. few can become distinguished in the ranks of literature or of art, or, indeed, in any of the higher or intellectual branches of human attainment; hence for the great mass there is but one road to distinction, one object to claim-every exertion-the pursuit of wealth. And as a natural consequence, we see every art, every profession hinging upon this motive. Most of the evils connected - with the administration of our public affairs, the fraud and corruption which are so prominent, the quadrennial scramble for place, with its consequent degrading of those positions which should be those of the highest honor, may be traced to this one source. More than this, we find the so-called aristocracy of our great cities a moneyed one purelyexcluding from its ranks those who earn their liveli- hood in the pursuit of literature and art, and who, if true to their profes- sions, are entitled to the very highest rank in society. There are of course exceptions, but not more than sufficient to prove the rule. A striking exempli- fication of the power of wealth among us is seen in these days of shoddy, when those who have hitherto moved in the humblest circles suddenly take their positions among the upper ten thousand and are treated with a defer- ence to which they have all their lives been strangers, by virtue of a successful contract or a towering speculation. The effect of such a state of things upon our civilization is easy to be seen. A low motive is sure to bring down its followers to its own leveL A people without a lofty and ennobling object is sure to fall into decay. The grasping spirit which everywhere pervades our society is fast lowering our people to the level of a race of mercenary job- bers. Truth, j iistice, honor, purity, and even religion, are in a great meas- ure lost sight of in the general scramble for gold, until the strictest integrity, the most self-sacrificing honesty, are beginning to be looked upon as mar- vels, and we have won for ourselves among the nations of the world the unenviable title of worshippers of the almighty dollar. Religion itself is twisted and distorted into every imagin- able shape to bring it into harmony with our all-absorbing pursuit: all our ideas of public policy and of social progress are made to depend upon and modified by this unworthy motive. We mean not to include those individ- uals who, with loftier motives and a true appreciation of mans spiritual capabilities, are prominent among us, battling earnestly in the cause of true progress; we are speaking of the mass of our population. Those few are the goodly leaven who are yet to prove the regeneration of our race. Bad as is the state of affairs in this respect, it will, if left to itself become infinitely worse as each succeeding year rolls around, for the spirit of greed is progressive in its nature, growing fatter and fatter upon its success. Yet, in another point of view, this same strife for wealth is one great secret of American prosperity and progress. It is the motive power to that energy which has peopled the wilderness, erected as if by magic a mighty re- public among the savage wilds, and, above all, spread American ideas, and with them the germ of human liberty, over the whole broad earth. To this spirit of greed upon our shores the Old World owes much of its advancement and most of those useful inventions which are fast revolutionizing humani- ty itself. But we are not considering it in this light; we are viewing it in its moral aspect, that respect in which it most strongly affects true civilization, which must soon fall away and lapse into the condition of the ages long past, if it be not sustained by an en- during moral and religious element. The moral advancement must keep pace with the intellectual, else the lat- ter will some day reach that point where extremes meet, and have its weary journey to commence again. It is to be hoped that this evil is al AmeAcan, Civilization,. 129 ready on the wane. It is to be hoped that the present stirring up of our so- ciety from its uttermost depths, with its consequent exploding of wornout theories, which have hitherto held their places only through our national leth- argywith its sweeping away of old- time prejudices, and mingling together of elements which have hitherto exist- ed distinct and aloof from each other, will result in bringing true merit to the surface, in awakening our people to a loftier appreciation of the good and the true, thereby establishing a higher moral standard among us; that purer motives will henceforth actuate our society. The fears which are enter- tamed by some that the present war will prove a severe shock to our civil- ization, are not sustained by the facts which are everywhere appearing around us. The frequent demands upon the generosity and forbearance of a great people, the constant calls for the exer- cise of the noblest qualities, the most self-sacrificing devotion, and that too in support of a great principle rather than of any present material interest, the very necessity for an exalted civiliza- tion and intellectual development on the part of the niasses, which shall enable them to see in that principle the groundwork of all their future well- being, both as regards material pros- perity and political position, are con- stantly bringing before the people, in a clearer light than ever before, the blessings of honor and uprightness, the necessity of national purity, and devel- oping a moral element in our midst, whose good effects will far outbalance the ephemeral and spasmodic immoral- ity and vice which a state of war usual- ly engenders. Our people are becoming acquainted with those blessings of indi- vidual well-doing and those principles of philanthropy to which they have for so long been comparative strangers. And it is this, together with the unveil- ing, through the present convulsion, of those errors, both in our political sys- tem and in our society, which have so nearly proved our ruin, which will make this war in very truth the great- est blessing that has ever befallen us. And if this moral progress shall be such and so great as to throw down the golden calf from his throne and make the place of honor the reward of true merit alone, then shall we have cause, for the remotest generations, to thank God for this seeming calamity which has fallen upon us. And these same facts, standing out as shining lights in the darkness, tend to show that we are, after all, not quite so sordid as we seem; that, with all our worship of the money god, there is yet, away down in the great Ameri- can heart, a wealth of strong, true, gen- erous feeling, ready at the first call of sorrow and of suffering to spring forth and scatter its golden blessings even beyond the seas. It is not alone that, years ago, when we were at peace and at the height of prosperity, many ships left our shores laden down with food, the voluntary contributions of the American citizen to his starving breth- ren of the Emerald Isle; though this of itself was enough to place our civil- ization on a level with that of the most polished nation of the Old World. But even now, when we are struggling for our very existence, when every energy and every material resource is being exerted to stem the tide of inter- nal dissensions and crush out the hydra of internal treason; at a time when the mother country has gone to every length short of open war to aid and assist those who are striving for our downfall, and her press is exhausting every epithet of vituperation and scur- rilous abuse of us, who are battling so earnestly in our own defence, and who are entitled by every truth of human nature to her warmest sympathya press which, adopting the phraseology of its Secession friends and allies, scru- ples not to place the civilization of the slaveholding States far in advance of that of the Northern miidsills even now, when the cry of the starving operatives 130 Amerwan (Jzvilization. of the English mills comes to us across the water, forgetting for the time all the abuse and maltreatment we have received, all the enmity and bitter hos- tility which the traitorous perfidy of England has engendered, more than one full-freighted vessel has left our ports bearing grain to those whom their own proud aristocracy is either powerless or too niggardly to sustain. Is this not evidence of a civilization considerably advanced beyond any which history has yet recorded Ia civilization based upon the golden rule of Christianity, and upon that still more precious com- mand: Love those that hate you, and do good to those that persecute you. For it is in its moral aspect that every civilization must in the end be judged; and that society which develops such noble principles and fcelings as these, which manifests itself in this higher re- gion of spiritual excellence, in the ex- ercise of these finer feelings of the heart, is certainly nearest to perfection, in that it follows most closely the law of God, the truths of divine revelation. When instances such as these occur on the part of any of the older nations of the world, it will do for them to boast of a civilization superior to ours; but until their faith is shown by their works, suffering humanity the world over will accord to us the palm. Nor will it answer to ascribe to us an un- worthy motive in this mattera desire to win credit in the eyes of the world. An individual might, with some degree of plausibility, fall under such an im- putation, but a great people does not move spontaneously and unitedly in one direction from such a motive, since none but a pure and just principle can produce unity in the masses. Such an unworthy and degrading motive is the property of individuals, not of nations, even if it were possible for such an idea to be conceived at one and the same time by a multitude of minds. No! it was the spontaneous expression of a deep and pervading principle of Ameri- can societyof American humanitya free outpouring of the American heart and as such it will stand upon the page of history as the evidence of a civiliza- tion behind none of its age. Nor is this the only mark of the moral awakening of our people. In- stances are every day appearing in our midst of this truest of charity, not the least of which are the wood proces- sions of the Western cities and towns; those long lines of wagons laden with fuel and provisions for the families of the absent soldiers, whose sole object and motive is the comfort of those whose protectors and suppoi~ters are sustaining the countrys honor in the field; evidences more striking than the founding of charitable institutions or benevolent societies, since the latter may, and too often does; arise from the most selfish and vainglorious motive, while in the former the individual is lost in the many who press eagerly to bear their part in a noble work, in this spontaneous outpouring of true and heartfelt benevolence. From this same spirit arises the wonderful success which attends the efforts of sanitary commissions and soldiers aid associa- tions in alleviating the sufferings and softening the privations of our soldiers in the field. With such evidences con- stantly appearing before our eyes of the deep and noble feelings of the Ameri- can heart, who can doubt that our civ- ilization is a progressive one, our en- lighteiament equal? Who can doubt the capacity of the American people for good, or look with foreboding upon our future? Another important sign of the times, as evincing our advancing civilization, is the revival of art in our midst. In the midst of all our bustle and toil and eager strife for gain, there has ever been a something wanting to the com- pleteness of our life, a something to fill and satisfy that yearning of the soul for ~esthetic beauty, which is at once an evidence of its progress and its ca- pacity for diviner things. Too long have we been absorbed by the desires of our animal nature, in whose pursuit there is little gratification to that finer portion of our inner selves which will not be silenced by anything short of the deepest degradation. The people the great peopleneed something something higher, more ennobling, more tenderto fill the vacant spot in their hearts and homes, to preserve the bal- ance between the animal and the spiri- tual part of their lives, and to clothe their surroundings with a higher and holier significance than can arise from the events and associations of the work- day life. In art the missing link is found, and whether it be the simple ballad in the evening circle or the modest print that graces the humble cottage wallsand the humbler the habitation the deeper the manifestation, because the more touchingit is but the expression of the peoples apprecia- lion of the needs,. the capacities, and the holier aspirations of the better part of humanity. Hence the revival of art has a deep significance; it is something more than a forced, an exotic, and hence ephemeral growth; it is the manifestation of the awakening of the people to the ~esthetic sentiment; it is the actual result of the intellectual and moral needs of society; it is in itself the striving of a great people for the beautiful and true. And as such it has a broad and deep foundation in the godlike in human nature, which shall insure not only its permanence but its progress as long as the good and the true have any influence whatever upon our society. That we have had, until a comparatively late period, no art among us,is the result not of a lack of capacity to comprehend the beautiful, but of the intense and all-absorbing pussion for gain which has so nearly proved the bane of our society by shut- ting out the consideration of better things: that art has so suddenly re- vived in our midst is a proof that, so far from having our humanity, our po- litical position, our very civilization itself swallowed up in the love of the 131 almighty dollar, as has been predicted of us by foreign wiseacres, we have been aroused to our danger and to a true appreciation of the better part of existence; which is itself an evidence of the elasticity and the recuperative energy of our social system. In literature our progress is not so flattering. In its effects upon civiliza- tion a literature can only he judged by that portion of it vhich touches the popular heart, which descends to the humblest fireside, and is most eagerly sought after by the ploughhoy and the operative. All other, however bril- liant it may beand the more brilliant or profound the farther it is generally removed from the minds of the masses is to them but as the stars of a winter night, cold and distant, radiat- ing little warmth to the longing soul, too far away to awaken more than a faintly reflected admiration. He who said, Give me to write the songs of a people, and I care not who makes their laws,~ touched the tender spot in the great heart of humanity; he was a sage in that truest of philosophy, the study of human nature. Though we have our princes in every branch of litera- ture, who are the result of and an honor to our civilization, yet for their own results in moulding the tastes, the hab- its, and the intellects of the common people, in contributing to their ad- vancement, they fall far below the ef- forts of the veriest penny-a-liner. It is a lamentable fact of our society that while the more solid literature scarcely pays, the flashiest of so-called flash literature brings down the golden shower. The writer of the lowest pos- sible order of literary productions is enriched, and his name is familiar in the remotest corners of the land, while our monarchs of literature are often- times poverty stricken and compara- tively obscure; and that because the latter is confined to a comparatively small audience and patronage, while the former speaks to and for the masses; and, as a natural consequence, the for- American Civilization. 182 American Civilization. mer controls the tastes of the greater portion of the reading community, and that too for anything but good, since he reaps his golden harvest by pander- ing to the basest of appetites, the lowest of sensibilities and sympathies; ~thus retarding rather than accelerating the intellectual advancement of the people, this being his material interest. And how great is the responsibility of those who thus speak to the ear of the simple and the unlearned! how terrible the retribution they are heap- ing up for themselves in the great here- after, for thus prostitutirig talent which might be made eminently useful in leading the minds of the common peo- ple to the highest and noblest of truths; in making purer and better in every sense of the word! The idea that the province of literature, even of fiction, is simply to amuse, is exploded in the light of advancing civilization. Every writer has a higher mission, and accord- ingly as he discharges the duty which his faculty lays upon him, is he true or false to the true end of his existence, a success or a failure in the world of in- tellect and morality. The mission of all literature is to make mankind both wiser and bettor, and the writer who fails to appreciate and act tipon this truth is worse than a useless cumberer of society; he is a curse to his age, and, however great his present fame, will most assuredly be forgotten with the passing away of his generation. For does not all human effort resolve itself into this one thing? Is there any work which we call good or great, or even important, which is not in- tended in some way to benefit man- kind? Else we were but butterflies, and our works but mists. In the past ages the world has not seen and appre- ciated this fact; but the world of to- day does appreciate it, and will cer- tainly set every worker upon his prop- er pedestal, high or low, according as nis efforts have conduced or not to the welfare of humanity. Present reform in this particular is not to be looked for; it must be ex- ternal rather than internal. Could the whole mass of light literature be at once and forever swept out of exist- ence, the people would soon acquire a love of solid reading as ardent as that which now pervades the lower stratum of our society for yellow-covered trash. For the love of knowledge is innate, and the people would necessari- ly seek for and find amusement in such reading as could not fail to instruct and educate, to revive this love of knowledge, and fan it into an ardent flame. But this cannot be done. The people will ever seek that reading which is most congenial to their pres- ent tastes and habits, and there will ever be found a legion of those who are eager to supply this sort of mental pabulumif it can be so calledfor the sake of the golden equivalent. For these reasons, the literature of the com- mon people must ever follow, not lead, their civilization; it must continue to be the outward and visible sign of their progress, instead of the inward and spiritual grace by which it is pervaded and sustained; and reform must be in- augurated and consummated in those other influences which tend to mould the moral man, and which must be so guided as to destroy all these low and grovelling tastes, by lifting the man into a higher plane of being, in which the animal shall be wholly subservient to the spiritual. Hence the province of the true philanthropist lies in those other paths which we have pointed out, rather than in this, since in them lies the prospect of success whosefruits will in this most clearly appear. It is a significant fact that the foreign view points to but two blots upon our society, and that foreign de- tractors harp continually upon these, and these alone, as evidences of the backwardness of our civilization the institution of slavery and the riots which occasionally disgrace our large cities. For in the light of the facts and experience of to-day, such a position is American Civilization. 133 simply a yielding of the whole ques- tion. When it is considered that the few riots with which we are afflicted few in comparison with those which so often convulse European societyare almost invariably incited and sustained by our foreign population, and that portion of it, too, latest arrived upon our shores, it will be seen with what injustice the evil is laid at the door of American society. It is, in fact, noth- ing else than the outbreak of the long- accumulated and long-suppressed dis- content and misery of European lands, which, for the first time for centuries, finds vent upon the shores of a land of political and social liberty-a reaction of the springs long held down by the iron hand of tyrannya violent restora- tion of that natural elasticity which had so nearly been destroyed by ages of social degradation. The mob law, the frequent resort to the pistol and the bowie knife, and the universal so- cial recklessness of our own citizens of the Southern States, is the effect of the institution of slavery, and falls within the discussion of that question, with the disapperance of which they must inevitably depart. Were African slavery a permanent feature in our midst, the argument against our civilization would be un- answerable. But it has majntained its ground in spite of, rather than as the result of or in connection with the spirit of our institutions. It has hitherto been suffered to exist as an acknowl- edged evil, solely because the disastrous results attending its sudden abolition have been justly feared as greater than any which could at present arise froir& its continuance. Yet at no period has the American people ceased to look forward to some future time when it might safely be rooted out. Our faith has ever been strong, and our confi- dence in the ultimate triumph of the right unshaken. That time has come. The present war, from whose inaugu- ration the question of slavery abolition Wason our part, at leastentirely absent, has given the opportunity which our people have not failed to seize. To crush out the rebellion without meddling with the institutions of the South was at first the main spring of the war; fiat juetitia, ruat (xelum, is now the voice of the whole people; and the very fact that the nation has so earnestly taken hold of the work, so sternly determined to sacrifice every- thing but its existence to the demoli- tion of this bloody god, is of itself an evidence of the purity of our civiliza- tion. We have not been dead to the principles of truth and justice involved in this question; we have been but biding our time, plainly seeing and carefully noting the direful effects of slavery upon our social organization, and heaping up wrath against the day of wrath. And now, with the blessing of God upon our efforts, the present war will not cease until the death blow is given to the accursed institution with all its attendant evils. We, as a peo- ple, are fully aroused and sternly deter- mined henceforth to let nothing stand in the way of our social advancement, however time-honored and cherished may have been the obstacle. And when these evils have all been swept away, as they assuredly will be, we shall stand forth among the nations in all the glory of a pure and enlightened civilization, and challenge the world to produce a nobler record, to point out a happier, more prosperous, more trnly progressive people. With the close of the present war will arise another important question, bearing not less strongly than that of slavery upon our ultimate civilization. The slaveholding States are to be, in a measure, repeopled. The tide of immi- gration which has so long and so steadily streamed toward the West will be for some time diverted to the fertile plantations of the South. Not only the soldiers of the North, to whom the war has opened what has hitherto been to them almost a terra incognita, will seek new homes within, the sunny 134 climes; but the flood of foreign immi- gration, which, upon the vindication of our national integrity and power, will quickly double itself in comparison with that of former years, and sweep toward this new and inviting field; and the distinctive feature of Southern societyof so-called Southern chiv- alry will soon be swallowed up in the torrent. And what then shall we have to fill its place? The crude ideas of foreign tyros in the school of freedom, the conflicting religious, social, and political theories of European revolu- tionists, the antagonistic policies of a hundred different nationalities. All this, in connection with the difficulties arising from the freeing of so large an African population, will prove a severe trial to our national civilization, and call for the exercise of the profoundest wisdom, the most careful discrimina- tion, and the most patient forbearance on the part of our rulers and statesmen. And most assuredly the times will themselves produce the men most fitted for the care of such interests and the decision of such questions. Though there is need of the firm hand, the ut- most watchfulness, and the strongest exertion on the part of every citizen as well as statesman, it is not to be feared that the result will in the end be dis- astrous to our progress. For the genius of the American people was never yet at fault. We have handled similar questions before; we are handling a APHORI5M.NO. X. IT is a frequent result of poverty to make men richa common curse of wealth to make them poor. Poverty, making us feel our dependence upon God, almost compels us to an acquaint- ance with Himthis leads us to accept Him as the one Infinite Benefactor; and so gives us wealth that can never fail: but riches, by encouraging our natural love of independence, is too apt to keep us away from our Heavenly Father, and more important one now, and our ca- pabilities and our power of develop- ment are such that we need not fear but that we shall be enabled to cope with the exigencies of the future. That genius which has built up a powerful nation here in the wilderness, which has developed to such a degree the re- sources of the land and the capacities of the people, which has conceived and executed in so short a time such a social and moral revolution, has in it too much of the godlike to suffer the work to fall through from any incapa- city to deal with the legitimate conse- quences of its action. The power to inaugurate and carry through the work necessarily implies the capacity to establish and render permanent its results, to guide the ship when the storm is past. It will find the ways and means; the times themselves will develop new truths, which will make the task less difficult than it seems to us of to-day. Such is the feeling of the people; and this same noble faith and confidence in our own capacities, this turning a deaf ear to all the possibili- ties of failure, and looking with a never- failing trust, a soul-felt faith, to the triumph of our cause and of our civili- zation, is our greatest strength, while it is, at the same time, a conclusive evi- dence that we are on the high road of true progress, that our civilization is not a thing of yesterday, to-day, or to- morrow, but of the eternal ages. thus plunge us into such poverty as admits of no actual relief. In this view there is something to hope for in the present distresses of our country. Rarely have so many people felt that their de- pendence must be upon the mercy of God; and rarely, if ever, have so many, with such earnestness, appealed to the Father of all on the occasion of a wide- spread calamity. This must result in a closer union with the Infinite Giver, and thus in a great increase of true riches. American Civilization. 135 The EngUch Pre8e. THE ENGLISH PRESS. -V. How had The Times been getting on all these years? Slowly but surely. At first, as has been already stated, feeling its way with difficulty amid a host of obstacles, long-established and successful rivals, Government prosecu- tions abroad, and personal crotchets and peculiarities at home. John Wal- ter, its founder, retired from the man- agement of the paper in 1803, and died in 1812, having lived to see his literary offspring grow up into a strong young giant, with thews and sinews growing fuller and firmer every day, tossing his weighty arms in every direction, but never aimlessly; and with his vigorous feet firmly planted, expanded chest, and head boldly erect, fearlessly stand- ing forward in the very first rank of the champions of freedom. Mr. Wal- ters son John succeeded him in the iftanagement in 1803; and, under his abler and more enlightened administra- tion, the paper rapidly increased in importance. He opened his columns to all comers, and whenever afrny com- munication appeared to possess more than average ability he endeavored to engage the writer of it as a regular con- tributor. He perfected the system of reporting, and the reports in The Times soon began to be fuller and more exact perhaps even than Perrys in The Chronicle. He especially turned his attention to the foreign department of his journal, and no trouble or expense was spared in obtaining intelligence from abroad. This had been one of the strong points with the elder Walter, and he had always striven to be the first to communicate important foreign news to the worldthus, for instance, The Times was the first newspaper which announced the execution of Marie Antoinette. This element was now greatly strengthened and devel oped, correspondents were engaged in all the chief cities of Europe, and, as time progressed, in other quarters of the world as well, letters from whom appeared as regularly and as early as the post-office authorities would allow; and a regular system of expresses from the Continent was organized. But the Government, who saw and felt the grow- ing greatness of The Times, placed every possible hinderance in the wayit was not then the custom for the Premier to invite the editor to dinnerand the letters and foreign packages were de- layed in every possible mannerthe machinery of the custom house being even employed for that purposeirL order that the Government organs might at least get the start. But fair means and foul alike failed to win over the young journalistic athlete to the ministerial side, and this illiberal and selfish policy was at length compelled to give in, beaten at all points. But there was one thing which was des- tined to give The Times supremacy, at which the younger Walter began to work soon after the reins of power fell into his handsand that was steam. Great strides had been made in the art of printing. The first metal types ever cast in England were those of Caxton, in 1720. Stereotype printing had been first suggested by William Ged, of Edinburgh, in 1735, and was perfected and brought into general use by Til- lock, in 1779. The printing machine had been originated by Nicholson, in 1790, and an improved form of it, made of iron, the invention of Earl Stanhope, was in general use in 1806. Thomas Martyn, a compositor of The Times, invented some further modifications, and was aided by the younger Walter. Owing, however, to the violent oppo- sition of his fellow workmen, the ex

The English Press V 135-147

135 The EngUch Pre8e. THE ENGLISH PRESS. -V. How had The Times been getting on all these years? Slowly but surely. At first, as has been already stated, feeling its way with difficulty amid a host of obstacles, long-established and successful rivals, Government prosecu- tions abroad, and personal crotchets and peculiarities at home. John Wal- ter, its founder, retired from the man- agement of the paper in 1803, and died in 1812, having lived to see his literary offspring grow up into a strong young giant, with thews and sinews growing fuller and firmer every day, tossing his weighty arms in every direction, but never aimlessly; and with his vigorous feet firmly planted, expanded chest, and head boldly erect, fearlessly stand- ing forward in the very first rank of the champions of freedom. Mr. Wal- ters son John succeeded him in the iftanagement in 1803; and, under his abler and more enlightened administra- tion, the paper rapidly increased in importance. He opened his columns to all comers, and whenever afrny com- munication appeared to possess more than average ability he endeavored to engage the writer of it as a regular con- tributor. He perfected the system of reporting, and the reports in The Times soon began to be fuller and more exact perhaps even than Perrys in The Chronicle. He especially turned his attention to the foreign department of his journal, and no trouble or expense was spared in obtaining intelligence from abroad. This had been one of the strong points with the elder Walter, and he had always striven to be the first to communicate important foreign news to the worldthus, for instance, The Times was the first newspaper which announced the execution of Marie Antoinette. This element was now greatly strengthened and devel oped, correspondents were engaged in all the chief cities of Europe, and, as time progressed, in other quarters of the world as well, letters from whom appeared as regularly and as early as the post-office authorities would allow; and a regular system of expresses from the Continent was organized. But the Government, who saw and felt the grow- ing greatness of The Times, placed every possible hinderance in the wayit was not then the custom for the Premier to invite the editor to dinnerand the letters and foreign packages were de- layed in every possible mannerthe machinery of the custom house being even employed for that purposeirL order that the Government organs might at least get the start. But fair means and foul alike failed to win over the young journalistic athlete to the ministerial side, and this illiberal and selfish policy was at length compelled to give in, beaten at all points. But there was one thing which was des- tined to give The Times supremacy, at which the younger Walter began to work soon after the reins of power fell into his handsand that was steam. Great strides had been made in the art of printing. The first metal types ever cast in England were those of Caxton, in 1720. Stereotype printing had been first suggested by William Ged, of Edinburgh, in 1735, and was perfected and brought into general use by Til- lock, in 1779. The printing machine had been originated by Nicholson, in 1790, and an improved form of it, made of iron, the invention of Earl Stanhope, was in general use in 1806. Thomas Martyn, a compositor of The Times, invented some further modifications, and was aided by the younger Walter. Owing, however, to the violent oppo- sition of his fellow workmen, the ex 136 like Engliek Pre88. periments were carried on under the greatest secrecy; but the elder Walter could not be induced to countenance them, and consequently nothing came of them. In 1814, Koenig and Bauer, two German printers, conceived the idea of printing by steam, and the younger Walter, now by his fathers death permitted to do as he liked, en- tered warmly into their project. The greatest silence and mystery was ob- served, but the employ6s of The Times somehow or other obtained an inkling of what was going on, and, foreseeing a reduction in their numbers, vowed the most terrible vengeance upon every- body connected with the newfangled invention. Spite of their threats, how- ever, the necessary- machinery was quietly prepared and erected, and one morning, before day had broken, Mr. Walter called his printers together, and informed them that that days issue was struck off by steam. This ever- memorable day in the history of jour- nalism was Monday, the 28th of No- vember, 1814. Loud murmurs and threats were heard among the work- men, and burning down the whole affair was the least thing suggested; but Mr. Walter had taken precautions, and, showing his work people that he was prepared to meet any outbreak on their part, no violence was attempted. Since then The Times has been regu- larly printed by steam. Various im- provements in steam machinery have from time to time been patented, and Hoes gigantic machinesthe produc- tion of that country the most prolific of all the world in useful inventions, Americaseemed to show that the limit of the application of steam to printing had been reached. But a machine still more wonderfula ma- chine that possessed all the skill of human intelligence and ten times the quickness of human fingersa machine for composing by steam, was shown at the International Exhibition in Lon- don, in 1882. Printing by steam at once raised the circulation of The Times enormously, as was but natural, from. the facilities which it afforded of a rapid multiplication of copies; and under the editorship of Thomas Barnes it soon reached the first place in jour- nalism. But Walter himself was not idle, and was always on the lookout for fresh and rising talent. On one occasion, being at a church in the neighborhood of his country seat in Berkshire, he was very much struck by the sermon which was preached by a new curate. After the service he went into the vestry, and had a long conver- sation with the preacher, the result of which was that he told him that a curacy was not a very enviable position, and that he would do much better to go to London, and write for The Times at a salary of 1,000 a year. It is need- less to add that the offer was not de- clined. In 1817, The Literary aazette was brought out by William Jordan, as an organ of literature and the fine arts, and, until The Athena~um was estab- lished, it was without a rival of any consequence. But its circulation de. dined, and, after Jordans death, dwin- dled down to a very small number. In 1862 its name was changed to The Parthenon, or rather, to speak more correctly, The Parthenon arose as a new publication from the ashes of The Lit- erary Gacette. But change of name did not produce change of circum- stances, and, before many numbers had appeared, The Parthenon was privately offered for sale at the low sum of 100, but, failing to meet with a purchaser, it gave up the ghost early in 1863. In 1817, Lord Sidmouth made a terrific onslaught upon the press. He issued a circular to the different lord lieu- tenants of the counties, to the effect that any justice of the peace might is- sue a warrant for the apprehension of any person charged with printing a libel. One result of this circular and the vigorous prosecutions which en- sued was that William Cobbett for a while gave up printing his Political [[lie Engli8h Pre83. 137 1?egist~r, and went away to America, from whence he did not return for two years. He stated his reasons for adopt- ing this course in his paper, as follows: I do not retire from a combat with the attorney-general, but from a combat with a dungeon, deprived of pen, ink, and paper. A combat with the at- torney-general is quite unequal enough; that, however, I would have encoun- tered. I know too well what a trial by special jury is; yet that or any sort of trial I would have stayed to face. But against the absolute power of imprison- ment, without even a hearing, for time unlimited -an act had been passed which gave the secretary of state power to suspend the luxbeas corpu# act in any jail in the kingdom, without the use of pen, ink, and paper, and without communication with any soul but the keepersagainst such a power it would have been worse than madness. to at- tempt to strive. But the Government met with a notable check in the case of William Howe, the bookseller. Howe was thrice tried for libel, and, despite the exertions of Lord Ellenborough, who descendedfrom the judicial bench to the barristers table, was thrice acquit- ted. Persecution after this languished for a while, but in 1819 were passed those stringent measures which are known as the Six Acts. One of these gave the judges the power, upon the conviction of any person a secondtime of the publication of a seditious libel, to punish him with fine, imprisonment, banishment, or transportation. But such monstrous enactments were not suffered to pass unchallenged, and the result of several animated debates was that the obnoxious words banishment and transportation were withdrawn, but the remaining provisions of the Six Acts were carried in all their rigor. But amid much harm, some good was doubtless effected, for certain provisions were introduced into the act which declared certain inferior newspapers, which had hitherto evaded the stamp act, by calling themselves pamphlets YOL. vi.9 and not newspapers, because they only commented upon the news of the day, to be henceforth liable to the stamp duties. This really did good service to the better class of journals, by sweeping away a swarm of newspapers which, by the quibble above mentioned, were en- abled to undersell them. John Bull was started in 1820, with the avowed object of espousing the Kings side, and covering the Queen and her friends with obloquy. Theodore Hook was the editor, but very few per- sons were in the secret. Every man or woman,who was conspicuous as a friend of the Queen was duly gibbeted, and any tittle-tattle gossip or scandal that could be ferreted out against them was boldly printed in the most unmistaka- ble terms. Trial for libel failed to dis- cover the real proprietors, editor, and writers, and the men who stood theirtrial as printer, publisher, proprietor, etc., were manifestly mere shams, men who would swear to anything and undergo any amount of imprisonment for the consideration of the smallest coin of the realm. The scandalous details in John Bull attracted the public at once, and by the time it reached its sixth number, the circulation had risen to ten thousand, while the first five numbers were reprinted over and over again, and the first and second were actually stereotyped. But it began to be whis- pered about that Hook was the editor, whereupon he printed and signed a let- ter denying the rumor in the most in- dignant terms. This letter was supple- mented by an editorial, from which the following is an extract: ing, and it has not unfrequently been remarked that conceit is in abundance where talent is most scarce. Our read- ers will see that we have received a let- ter from Mr. Hook, disowning and dis- avowing all connection with this paper. We are free to confess that two things surprise us in this business. The first, that anything which we have thought worthy of giving to the public should have been mistaken for Mr. 138 f/ike Englich Pre88. Hooks; and secondly, that such a person as Mr. Hook should think himself dis- graced by a connection with John Bull. After the death of the Queen, Hook devoted himself to the demolition of the Whigs and Radicals. Joseph Hume was his especial target, and was dished up week after week with a decidedly original Latin garnish: Er humili poten8From a surgeon to a member of Parliament; Humili modi loqui To talk Scotch like Hume; Nequis humasse velitLet no one call Hume an ass, etc., etc. John Bull sustained a great many convictions for libel, and its dummies were frequently impris- oned, but they never betrayed Hook, who retained the editorship until his death in 1841. Somewhere about this time The Britannia, a Conservative journal, of a few years standing, was incorporated with it. It had mean- while considerably moderated its tone, and at the present day enjoys a fair circulation among steady-going people chiefly country gentlemen, old ladies, and parsonswho obstinately cling to Tory principles. John Bull was not the only news- paper which was prolific in libels, and perhaps at no time were scandalous at- tacks upon public and private persons more common. Mr. Freemantle, writ- ing to the Marquis of Buckiugham, in 1820, says: The press is completely open to treason, sedition, blasphemy, and false- hood, with impunity I do not know whether you see Cobbetts Inde- pendent Whig, and many other papers now circulating most extensively, and which are dangerous much beyond any- thing I can describe2 This is a sweeping censure, but, al- lowing for a little personal irritation, natural enough under the circum- stanceshe had been lampooned him- selfis true of a great portion of the press. The supply was regulated by the demand, and the character of the wares purveyed depended upon the wants of the market: Editors found that scandal was eagerly devoured by their subscribers, and they did not therefore hesitate or scruple to gratify the prevailing tastes of the day. But the better class of papers were not able to keep clear of the law of libel, even though they did not condescend to pander to the vitiated tastes of the mul- titude. Many of them had to sustain actions for merely reporting proceed- ings before the police magistrates and in the law courts, and many a rascal solaced himself for the disagrecables attending a preliminary examination at the police court for a crinjinal offence, by a verdict in his behalf in a civil ac- tion against any newspaper that had been bold enough to print a report of the ~roceedings. This kind of action originated from a ruling of Lord Ellen- borough, that it was libellous to pub- lish the preliminary examination before a magistrate previously to committing a man for trial or holding him to bail for any offence with which he is charged, the tendency of such a publi- cation being to prejudice the minds of the jurymen against the accused, and to deprive him of a fair trial. This monstrous and at the same time ab- surd doctrine remained in force for many years, but is now happily no longer the law of the land. The Times had now reached the pin- nacle of prosperity, and its claims to be considered the foremost of journals were no longer disputed. The circu- lation of The Morning Chronicle had dwindled during the latter years of Perrys life, and after his death did not revive very much under Black, his suc- cessor. Brougham, Talfourd, and Al- derson were among the writers in The Times, and Captain Sterling, whose vigorous, slashing articles first gained for The Times the title of the Thun- dercr, was regularly engaged upon the staff at a salary of 2,000 a year and a small share in the profits. But the Government still steadily set its face against it, and in 1821 Mr. Hume loudly inveighed against the ministry in the like English Press. 139 House of Commons for not sending Government advertisements to The Times, instead of to otherjournals, which did not enjoy a tithe of its circulation. The arrangements of the post office were a great hinderance to the diffusion of newspapers, since the charge for the carriage of a daily journal was 12 14s., and for a weekly 2 48. a year. The number, therefore, that was sent abroad by this channel, either to the Continent or our own colonies, was very small. In 1810 the whole number thus de- spatched was but three hundred and eighty-three, and in 1817 it had fallen to two hundred and seventy-one, owing to the increase in the charges demanded by the post-office authorities, who were actually allowed to put the money in their own pockets; and in 1821 it was only two hundred and six. The circu- lation through the kingdom of Great Britain itself was not entirely free, in- asmuch as every newspaper sent through the post office was charged for by weight, at an exorbitant rate, unless it was franked by a member of Parlia- ment. This regulation continued in force until 1825, when an act was passed which provided that newspapers should be sent through the post free, on condition that they were open at both ends, and had no other writing upon the cover than the necessary ad- dress. At the same time the ridiculous acts which limited the size of news- papers were done away with, and every printer was henceforth permitted to print his journal upon any sized sheet he pleased. Two important conces- sions were also made to the press at this date, one in the House of Commons, and the other in the House of Lords. In the former, a portion of the strangers gallery was set apart for the exclusive use of the reporters; and in the latter, reporters were permitted to be present for the first time. Previously to this, if any one had been rash enough to attempt to take any notes, an official would pounce upon him, and, with an air of offended dignity well befitting that august assembly, strike the offend- ing pencil from his grasp! In 1825, Joseph flume attempted to get the stamp duty reduced on news- papers to twopence, and the advertise- ment duty to one shilling; and in 1827 he tried to gain an exemption from the stamp act for political pamphlets; but he was defeated on each occasion. In 1827, The Standard was started as a Tory organ, under the auspices of a knot of able writers, the chief of whom were Dr. Giffard, the editor, Alaric At- tila Watts, and Dr. Maginn. It has always possessed a good connection among the Conservative party, but has never been a very profitable concern. After the abolition of the stamp duty its price was reduced to twopence, and in 1858 to one penny, and it was the first of the daily journals to offer a double sheet at that price. In recent times the Letters of Manhattan have given an impulse to its circulation, from their novelty of stylean impulse which was probably further aided by the ridiculous but widely believed as- sertion that those letters had never crossed the Atlantic, but were penned beneath the shadow of St. Pauls. The following statistics of newspa- pers in the chief countries of Europe in 1827, will probably prove interesting: France, with a population ofin round numbersthirty-two millions, possessed 490 journals; the Germanic Confedera- tion, with a population of thirteen mil- lions, 305; Prussia, with a population of twelve millions, 288; Bavaria, with a population of four millions, 48; the Netherlands, with a population of six millions, 150; Sweden and Norway, with a population of four millions, 82; and Denmark, with a population of two millions,80. Great Britain, with a pop- ulation of twenty-three mhllons, far outstripped them all, for she boasted 483 newspapers; but was yet compelled to yield the palm to her Transatlantic kinsmen, for the United States, at the same date, with a population of twelve millions, circulated the unequalled num 140 Zl7be Emgli8h Pre8s. ber of 800. Tn looking at these figures, one cannot help being struck with the enormous disproportion between the journals of Roman Catholic and Prot- estant countriesa disproportion which is so significant that comment upon it is unnecessary. But the difference is still more plainly shown if we take two capitals. Rome, with a population of one hundred and fifty-four thousand, possessed only 3 newspapers, while Copenhagen, with a population of one hundred and nine thousand, en- joyed the advantage of having 53. The London papers were 100, the Eng- lish provincial papers 225, the Irish papers 85, the Scotch 63, and the Welsh 10. The number of stamps issued was more than twenty-seven millions, of which London alone consumed more than fifteen millions; the number of ad- vertisements was seven hundred and seventy thousand, of which London supplied nearly a half; and the amount of advertisement duty was 56,000, of which London contributed 22,000. The year 1829 is remarkable for the first appearance of The Times with a double sheet, consisting of eight pages, or forty-eight columns. This great step in advance must have quite an- swered the expectations of its spirited proprietor, for in 1830 The Times paid to Government for stamps and adver- tisement duty no less than 70,000. The day of perfect freedom was begin- ning to dawn upon the press, although it took a quarter of a century to re- move the last fetter, the stamp, and still longer, if we take into considera- tion the paper duty, which was re- moved in 1862. First came the aboli- tion of the most oppressive portion of Lord Castlereaghs Six Acts, next the advertisement duties, and finally the stamp. The high price of the stamp, fourpence, kept the better journals at sevenpence, but a ~numerous class of unstamped journals at twopence sprang up in defiance of the law, and were al- lowed for a time to go on unchecked. They had a large circulation, one of them, The Land Dispatek, attaining to twenty-five thousand a week. Grow- ing holder with their impunity, they indulged in the most abominable trash and the most frantic sedition and trea- son. They were of course prosecuted and punished, but they were never finally destroyed until the reduction of the stamp duty. They did good in- directly, for they formed one of the strongest arguments in favor of the abolition of that obnoxious impost. In 1833 a battle royal raged between Daniel OConnell and the press; but, as might have been expected, Dan was no match for the hydra-headed antagonist he had been rash enough to provoke. The quarrel originated in a complaint made by the Liberator of a misrepre- sentation of a speech of his, and he did this in so intemperate a manner that the reporters published a letter in The Times, in which they expressed their determination never again to report a speech of OConnells until he had apol- ogized for the insults he had levelled at them. OConnell vainly attempted to put the machiaery of the House of Commons in motion against them, but, after repeated efforts, was obliged to give in. His attacks were principally levelled at The Timeswhich then counted among its contributors the brilliant names of Macaulay, Thack- eray, and Disraelifor he and John Walter were bitter foes. But he evoked several powerful defenders of the press, first and foremost among whom was Sir Robert Peel. In 1834 the syatem of condensing the speeches in Parliament, and placing the summary before the leading articles, was first introduced into The Times by Horace Twiss. At this date there oc- curred a great schism between the pro- prietors and writers of The Sun, some of whom seceded, and brought out The True Sun, in opposition to that eccen- tric planet which always rises in the evening despite the general conviction of mankind that the sun is the lumi- nary of the day. Douglas Jerrold, La- The Englich Pre88. 141 man Blanchard, and, greatest of all, Charles Dickens, commenced their ap- prenticeship to literature in this jour- nal, which enjoyed, however, but a fleeting existence. Jerrold afterward started a paper of his own, which failed, and then became editor of Lloyds Wee/dy London Newspaper, a post which he retained until his death, and which has since been ably filled by his son Blanchard Jerrold. Laman Blanchard became the editor of The Courier, but resigned it when it became a Tory organ, and was one of the ori- ginal writers in and proprietors of Punch. Dickens transferred his ser- vices to The hforning Chronicle, in the columns of which the Sketches by Boz first appeared. Several acts of Parlia- ment relating to newspapers were passed at this period. In 1833 the advertise- ment duty was reduced from three shillings and sixpence to one shilling and sixpence in England, and one shilling in Ireland. In 1834 an act was passed by which the newspapers of those foreign countries in which Eng- lish journals were admitted free of post- age, were allowed to enter Great Brit- ain on the same terms. In 1835 a bill was passed to relieve the press from the action of common informers, and placed them under the jurisdiction of the attorney-general alone; and an- other, which forbade newspapers to publish lectures delivered at literary and scientific institutions, without the permission of the lecturer. The time was now fast approaching for the reduction of the stamp duty. Government was getting wearied of the war with the hydra-headed unstamped monster, and at last adopted the only expedient likely to be successful in putting it down, which was to place the higher-class journals in a position to rival them. From 1831 to 1835 there had been no less than seven hun- dred and twenty-eight prosecutions, of which the year 1835 alone had pro- duced two hundred and nineteen. This fact, joined to the influential agitation which was now being made for the repeal, caused the Government to de- cide upon bringing in a measure of re- lief. It took six months and an im- mense deal of speechifying to bring this measure to maturity; but at last, in 1836, the stamp duty was reduced from fourpence to one penny, being one half- penny less than it had been originally fixed at in 1760. The Tories were the great friends of this reduction, and Lord Lyndhurst, who had been instru- mental in abolishing many of the most oppressive enactments with which the measure had been clogged, wished to do away with the duty altogether. There was of course a loss to the rev- enue at first. In the first half year of the new duty, the number of stamps issued was 21,362,148, realizing 88,- 502. In the corresponding previous half year, under the old scale, the num- ber of stamps had been 14,874,652, and the amount paid, 196,909, so that in six months the number of stamped newspapers had increased by about one half. In 1837, The Economist was started by John Wilson, and attracted great attention by its statistical and politico- economical articles. Wilson afterward became secretary of the treasury, and, having been sent to India, died there, to add one more to the many illustrious victims that our Indian empire has ex- acted. In 1838 a most amusing hoax was perpetrated upon The 3forning Post and ffornin~ Chronicle, which an- nounced the death of Lord Brougham, and published a most elaborate biog- raphy of him. But the next day there came a letter from Lord Brougham, declaring that he was still alive and hearty. The joke, however, did not end herefor people were ill natured enough to assert that he had been the author of the rumor himself, in order to learn what the world would say about him; and so widespread had this sec- ond rumor become, that Lord Brougham was compelled to write another letter contradicting it. 142 17~e Engli8h Pres8. The next great event in the history of journalism is the commercial libel case, Boyle versus Lawson, the print- er of The Times. Barnes had died, and had been succeeded by John T. Delane, a nephew of Mr. Walter, as editor, Who still continues to occupy that responsible post. The matter ori- ginated thus: In May, 1841, The Times published a letter from the Paris corre- spondent, containing the particulars of an organized system of forgery on a gigantic scale, which had been agreed on by certain persons, whose names were published in full. The plan was to present simultaneously at the chief Continental cities letters of credit pur- porting to emanate from Glynn & Co., the London bankers. The confederates had fixed the sum they meant to realize at one million, and had actually se- cured more than 10,000 before the plot was discovered. One of them was Boyle, a banker, of good position, at Florence, and he brought an action for libel and defamation. He pressed on the trial, but The Times maintained its ground, and at an enormous expense despatched agents all over the Conti- nent to collect evidence. The Times triumphantly succeeded in proving the truth of what itThe Times is always spoken and written of as an individual had printed; but as the old lawthe greater the truth the greater the libel still existed, the jury were compelled to find a verdict for the plaintiff, which they did, with one farthing damages, and the judge clinched the matter by refusing the plaintiff his costs. Uni- versal joy was expressed at the result of the trial, and public meetings were called together in London and the chief Continental cities for the purpose of making a subscription to defray the expenses of The Times in defending the action. The proprietors, however, de- clined this, but said that, at the same time, they should feel much grati- fied if a sum of money were raised for some public object in commemoration of the event. Accordingly it was de cided to found two scholarships in per- petuity for Christs Hospital and the City of London School at the Univer- sities of Oxford and Cambridge, to be called the Times Scholarships, and the nomination to them to be placed in the hands of the proprietors of The Times in perpetuity. Two marble tablets were also voted, at the cost of a hundred and fifty guineas each, with commemorative inscriptions, one to be placed in The Times office and the other in the Royal Exchange. Two somewhat similar tablets were also placed in Christs Hospital and the City of London School. For these pur- poses the sum of 2,700 was very quickly subscribed, the lord mayor leading off with ten guineas. If any- thing had been wanting to place The Times upon the pinnacle of pre~mi- nence among journals, this famous trial firmly established it there, and ever since it has been looked up to as an oracle of the commercial world. But The Times was not contented to rest quietly on its oars. It was ambitious, and looked farther afield. In 1845, its vigor, enterprise, and disregard of ex- pense were exemplified in a remarkable manner. The Times had been in the habit of sending a special courier to Marseilles, to bring its Indian de- spatches, and thus anticipate the regu- lar course of the mail. The French Government threw every possible ob- stacle in the couriers way, and The Times took Lieutenant Waghorn, the originator of the Overland Route, into its pay. In October, 1845, a special messenger met the mail on its arrival at Suez on the 19th. Mounted on a dromedary, he made his way, without stopping, to Alexandria, where Wag- horn awaited him with a steamer. Waghorn came rid Triestespecial post horses and steamers and trains being ready for him at the various points of the routeand he reached London on the morning of the 31st, in time for his despatches to appear in the mornings issue of the paper. The re The Engli8h Pre88. 143 suit of this was that The Times reached Paris with the Indian news from London before the regular mail had reached that city from Marseilles. The next noticeable enterprise of The Times was the sending out commission- ers to investigate the condition of.the poor and laboring population of Lon- don in 1847, an enterprise which was crowned with the most satisfactory re- sults. The Times has always been the firm friend of the poor, and its columns are always open to the tale of distress. No case is advocated until it has been thoroughly investigated; but when once it has been mentioned in The Times, subscriptions pour in on all sides. At the commencement of cacti year especially, The Times publishes gratuitously appeals from public chari- ties, and during last January the sums received through those appeals reached the large amount of 12,000. The last great exploit of The Times was the sending forth a special correspondent with the English army to the Crimea, a precedent which it has followed up since in China, India, Italy, Ameri- ca, and Schleswig-Holstein. But this was not the first occasion that report- era had accompanied our armies, for Canning despatched reporters with the troops sent to Portugal in 1826. The tactics of The Times are very general- ly misunderstood and misrepresented. Whatever objections cavilers and op- ponents may urge, and with truth too for the course taken by The Times is not to be praised on all occasions it cannot be denied that The Times is the first journal in the world, a posi- tion which it has reached by its enter- prise, vigor, and ability. It has fre- quently proved its disinterestedness, and during the great railway mania of 1845, while it was receiving no less a sum than 6,000 weekly for adver- tisements, constantly cautioned its readers against the prevailing madness, and persistently predicted the crash that was certain to follow. The Times, while it appears to lead, in reality waits upon public opinion, and hence the accusations of inconsistency and tergiversation so freely lavished upon it. The Times is the printed breath of public opinion. It throws out a feeler, perhaps, though not quite at first, accompanied by some decided ex- pression of opinion, and carefully watches the effect upon the public mind. Should that effect be different to what was expected, The Times knows how to veer round with the poputaris aura. This is not always, however, done so skilfully but that the act is apparent. It is not the most dignified course that a journal which aspires to beand which isthe lead- ing journal of Europe ought to pursue; but The Times knows human nature, and knows, too, that were it to adopt any other course, it would fall from its high estate, and become a mere party organ. Moreover, The Times possesses an enormous prestigedeservedly won, as this article has endeavored to show and that, in a conservative country like England, is considerably more than half the battle. In 1842 appeared the first pictorial newspaper, The Illustrated London News. It was started by Herbert Ingram, who began life as a provincial newsboy, and died, in the vigor of his age, member of Parliament for his native town. It was a success from the first, so great that numerous competitors sprang up and endeavored to undersell it. But these were all vastly inferior, and one by one withered away, the most persistent of them at last passing into the hands of The Illustrated London News, which now enjoys a larger circulation than any other weekly newspaper, am6unting to about six millions a year! There was a satirical paper at this time, called The A~ie, which, being of a strongly libellous character, was con- tinually feeling the weight of the law. It did not improve in character as it grew older, and its editor, Tommy bIt, was proved upon a trial to have received bribes to suppress a slander 144 The En~gli8h Pre& ~. that he had threatened should appear which gave birth to no less than twen- in his paper. This same Tommy Holt ty-nine newspapers, entirely occupied was very successful in inventing sensa- with railway intelligence, in London, tion headings for his columns, and by besides many others in the provinces. no means either delicate or scrupulous Only two of these have survived, for in so doing. There was another ras- the other two railway newspapers cally paper of the same description, which still exist were established be- called The Satirist, which was at last fore that memorable madness fell upon finally crushed by the Duke of Bruns- the nation. Of these, Herapaths JournaZ wick, the result of several actions for is the oldest and best, and is the oracle libel. Among other new literary oddi- of the Stock Exchange on railway mat- ties at this time may be mentioned The ters. There are some slight symptoms Fonetie Ails, the organ of those enthu- of the madness returning in the present siastic reformers who were endeavoring year, as far at least as the metropolis is to accomplish a revolution in our or- concerned, and one new railway journal thography. It lasted, however, but a has just been started in consequence. very short time. There are many amusing anecdotes told The year 1850 saw the initiation of of newspapers at this epoch, of which the final campaign directed against the we will quote one. One of these rail- only remaining burdens of the press. way organs had published and paid Mr. Ewart and Mr. Milner Gibson for, from time to time, lengthy and brought forward a motion for the re- elaborate reports of the meetings of a peal of the advertisement duty, but certain company, supplied by one of were defeated by two hundred and eight the staff of reporters. At length the votes to thirty-nine. But they were editor told the reporter that he thought not cast down by their want of success, it was high time for the company to but manfully returned to the charge. give the paper an advertisement, after In 1851, they procured the appointment all the favorable notices that had been of a committee to inquire into the ques- given to the undertaking in question. tion, and in 1852, gathering strength, The reporter acquiesced, and promised like William of Orange, from each sue- to get the order for an advertisement, cessive defeat, they brought forward a but putting it off from time to time, triple set of resolutions, one fbr the the editor was induced to make in- abolition of the advertisement duty, quiries for himself; whereupon he had another levelled at the stamp, and the the extreme satisfaction of learning third for the repeal of the paper duties. that no such company had ever existed, They carried the first, but lost the and that the elaborate reports of meet- others. In 1854, Mr. Gibson made a ings, speeches, etc., had been entirely fresh motion concerning the laws affect- fabricated by his ingenious employ2 ing the press, and received a promise Au endeavor was made last year to re- that the subject should receive the suscitate one of these defunct daily early attention of the House; and in journals, The Iron Times, and Tommy 1855, Sir G. C. Lewis, then chancellor Holt was the editor. It lingered for of the exchequer, who had hitherto some weeks, and then smashed utterly. opposed the repeal of the duty, brought The editor called the contributors to- in a bill for its abolition. After a gether, ~nd told them that there was struggle in both Houses the measure nothing to pay them withnothing in passed, and received th~ royal assent fact remained but the office furniture. on the 15th of June. Take that, my boys, said he, and In following up this final struggle, divide it among you. This was accord- we have passed over one important ingly done, and one man marched off period, the railway mania in 1845, with a table, another with a chair, a The Engli8h Pre& ~. 145 third with a desk, a fourth with an inkstand, and so on! When the stamp duty was abolished as a tax, it remained optional with the publishers to have any number of their issue stamped they pleased for trans- mission through the post. The num- ber of stamps thus issued in the first six months after the repeal was 21,646,- 688, whereas the number in the corre- sponding period of 1854, when the tax still existed, was 55,732,499. The num- ber of stamps issued in the year 1854 to the principal newspapers was as follows: Times, 15,975,739; Morning Advertiser, 2,392,780; Daily News, 1,485,099; .Miorr~ing Herald, 1,158,000; Morning (21 hroniele, 873,500; The Globe, 850,000; and The Morning Post, 832,- 500. Of the weeklies, The Illustrated London News was then the second, 5,627,866; The News of the World, a Liberal, unillustrated journal, started in 1843, standing first, with 5,673,525 (the price of this paper is now reduced to twopence, and it is an admirably conducted journal); Lloyds Weekly Newspaper, 5,572,897; The Weekly Times, price one penny, 3,902,169; Reynoldss Weelely Newspaper, also a penny journal, which is best described by the epithet rabid, 2,496,256; The Weekly Dispatch, price fivepence, an advanced Liberal journal, which is emphatically the workingmans newspaper, and originally rtarted in 1801, 1,982,933 ;Bells Life in London, 1,161,000. Oft provincial rewspapers, The Manchester Guardian heads the list with 1,066,575, followed by The Liverpool Mercury, with 912,- 000, and The Leeds Mercury, with 735,- 000. Foremost among the Scotch newspapers stands The North British Advertiser, with 808,002; and the Irish paper with the largest circulation was The Telegraph, with 959,000. Of the London literary papers the chief was The E.raminer, with 248,560. With one or two exceptions, the circulation of these journals may be considered to have increased enormously. There are now published in Great Britain 1,350 different newspapers, of which 240 are London papers, 20 being dailies, 776 English provincial papers, 143 Irish, 140 Scotch, 37 Welsh, and 14 are pub- lished in the British Isles. Many of these enjoy but a limited circulation, as naturally follows from the narrow limit they assign to themselves. Thus sev- eral trades have their special organs, as for instance, the grocers, the bakers, and even the hairdressers among others. Before concluding this article it will be well to notice a few of the leading journals which have not been men- tioned. The Daily Telegraph was ori- ginally started at twopence, in 1855, by Colonel Sleigh, but he, getting behind- hand with his printers to the amount of 1,000, sold them the paper for an- other 1,000, and in their hands ~t has since remained. The price was re- duced to a penny, and, under the new management, its circulation rapidly in- creased. The Standard -dealt a heavy blow at it in 1858, by coming out sud- denly one morning, withoi4 any pre- vious warning, as a double sheet. This first number was given away in the streets, in vast quantities, thrown into omnibuses and cabs, pitched into shops and public houses, and so on. The sale of The Telegraph so decreased that it was found necessary to enlarge it to the same size as The Standard, when its circulation rose again immediately. It has now the largest circulation in the world, more than 100,000 daily, a much larger London circulation than The Times, though a smaller provincial and foreign sale; and its clear profits are variously stated by persons who profess to be well informed, at different sums, the least of which is 20,000 a year. The chief causes of its success are its independent and uncompromis- ing tone, the great pains it takes to gain early intelligenceit has frequently anticipated The Times itself in foreign newsand the vigorous and able social articles of Mr. George Augustus Sala. The Daily News wasstarted as a Liberal and Reform journal in 1846. An enor 146 The Engli8h Pres8. mous sum of money was sunk in estab- lishing it, for it was not at first success- ful. Charles Dickens was the first edit- or, but politics were not much in the line of the genial and unrivalled novel- ist, and he was soon succeeded by John Forster and Charles Wentworth Duke, whose connection with the South Ken- sington Museum and the great Exhibi- tion has made him a knight, a C. B., and a very important personage. The Daily News is now one of the ablest and most successful of London journals, and has had and still enjoys the assist- ance of the best writers of the day in every department. The line which this journal has always maintained to- ward America will forever earn it the admiration and gratitude of the United States. Another firm friend of the great republic is The Miorning Star, the organ of Mr. Bright and the Manches- ter school, started in 1856. In addition to its political claims, it has a great hold upon the public as a family news- paper, by t~e careful manner in which everything objectionable is excluded from its columns. Its twin sister, born at the same time, is called The Evening Star. Bells Life in London, a weekly journal, was originally brought out in 1820, and, although it has more than one successful rival to contend against, it still maintains its pre~iminence as the first English sporting paper. It is very carefully edited, each department being placed under a separate editor, and is the great oracle in all matters relating to sports and games. The history of one of the ablest contributors to this journal, who wrote some most charm- ing articles on fly-fishing and other kindred topics, under the signature of Ephemera though he was said never to have thrown a fly in his lifeis a very sad one. His name was Fitz- gerald, a man of good family and con- nections, married to a lady with 1,200 a year, and living in a good house at the West End. But the alcoholic de- mon had got hold of him. He would disappear for days together, and then suddenly present himself at the office of the paper with nothing on but a shirt and trousers. He would then sit down and write an article, receive his pay, go away and purchase decent clothes, return home, and live quietly perhaps for a month, when he would to use a prison phrasebreak out again as before. He was last seen, in the streets of London, in a state of complete intoxication, being carried upon a stretcher by two policemen to the po- lice cell, where he died the same night. At the head of the Sunday papers stands The Observer, founded in 1792. Like The Globe, it is extremely well in- formed upon all political matters, for very good reasons. It spares no ex- pense in obtaining early news, and is an especial favorite with the clubs. The Era is the great organ of the theatrical world, but joins to that specialit~i the general attributes of an ordinary weekly journal. It was estab- lished in 1837. The Field, which calls itself the country gentleman~ s newspaper, is all that it professes to be, and a most admirable publication, treat- ing of games, sports, natural history, and rural matters generally. It was started b~r Mr. Benjamin Webster, the accomplished actor manager, in 1853. But to particularize the principal pa- pers, even in a short separate notice of a few lines, would far transgress the limits at our disposal. All the profes- sions are well supplied with journals devoted to their interests, and it is im- possible here to dwell upon them or those which represent literature and the fine arts. With regard to religious papers, their name is legion, and they would require a separate article to be fairly and honestly considered. Punch, too, and his rivals, dead and living, are in the same category, and must, how- ever reluctantly, be passed over. Two curiosities, however, of the press must be mentioned. Public Opinion was started about two years and a half ago. It consisted of Weekly extracts from the leading articles of English and for- Our Jkfartyr3. 147 eign journals, and scraps of news, and other odds and ends. It has succeeded mainly from its cost of production being so slight, owing to its paste-and- scissors character, a-id also because it freely opens its columns to correspond- ents de rebus omnibas, who are willing to buy any number of copies for the pleasure of seeing themselves in print. The Literary Times, in addition to re- views of books, professed to criticize the leading articles in the various pa- pers, but, after an existence of some six months or so, one Saturday morning The Literary Times was non est inventus. In concluding this series of articles, which has run to a much greater length than he originally intended, the writer is conscious of many shortcomings and omissions, which he trusts will be par- doned and overlooked when his princi- pal object is borne in mind. That ob- ject has been to give a general outline of the history of the press, and especial- ly of its struggles against the powers which be;~ and, though tempted now and againhe fears too often for the patience of his readers-to wander away into particularities, he has always endeavored to keep that object in view. Above all, he hopes he has at least been successful in showing the truth of that sentiment which was first publicly ex- pressed as a toast at a Whig dinner, at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in 1795: The liberty of the pressit is like the air we breatheif we have it not, we die! OUR MARTYRS. LIGHTLY the river runs between Hanging cliffs and meadows green. Blackly the prison, looking down, Frowns at its shadowy s answering frown. Shut from life in his lifes fresh morn, Crouches a soldier, wounded and worn. Chained and starved in the dungeon grim, Day and night are alike to him; Save that the murmurous twilight air Stings his soul with a deeper despair. Day by day, as the taunting breeze Wafts him the breath of orange trees, He fancies in meadows far away The level lines of odorous hay; And sees the scythes of the mowers run In and out of the steady sun. Night by night, as the mounting moon Climbs from his eager gaze too soon, The gleams that across the gratings fall, Broken and bright, on the prison wall,

Our Martyrs 147-149

Our Jkfartyr3. 147 eign journals, and scraps of news, and other odds and ends. It has succeeded mainly from its cost of production being so slight, owing to its paste-and- scissors character, a-id also because it freely opens its columns to correspond- ents de rebus omnibas, who are willing to buy any number of copies for the pleasure of seeing themselves in print. The Literary Times, in addition to re- views of books, professed to criticize the leading articles in the various pa- pers, but, after an existence of some six months or so, one Saturday morning The Literary Times was non est inventus. In concluding this series of articles, which has run to a much greater length than he originally intended, the writer is conscious of many shortcomings and omissions, which he trusts will be par- doned and overlooked when his princi- pal object is borne in mind. That ob- ject has been to give a general outline of the history of the press, and especial- ly of its struggles against the powers which be;~ and, though tempted now and againhe fears too often for the patience of his readers-to wander away into particularities, he has always endeavored to keep that object in view. Above all, he hopes he has at least been successful in showing the truth of that sentiment which was first publicly ex- pressed as a toast at a Whig dinner, at the Crown and Anchor tavern, in 1795: The liberty of the pressit is like the air we breatheif we have it not, we die! OUR MARTYRS. LIGHTLY the river runs between Hanging cliffs and meadows green. Blackly the prison, looking down, Frowns at its shadowy s answering frown. Shut from life in his lifes fresh morn, Crouches a soldier, wounded and worn. Chained and starved in the dungeon grim, Day and night are alike to him; Save that the murmurous twilight air Stings his soul with a deeper despair. Day by day, as the taunting breeze Wafts him the breath of orange trees, He fancies in meadows far away The level lines of odorous hay; And sees the scythes of the mowers run In and out of the steady sun. Night by night, as the mounting moon Climbs from his eager gaze too soon, The gleams that across the gratings fall, Broken and bright, on the prison wall, 148 Our 3fcartyrs. Seem the tangles of Northern rills, Like threads of silver winding the hills. When, sinking into the western skies, The sun aslant on the window lies; And motes that hovered dusty and dim, Golden-winged through the glory swim: He drops his head on his fettered hands, And thinks of the fruitful Northern lands. l3etween his fingers wasted lines, Tear after tear into sunlight shines, As, wandering in a dream, he treads The ripened honey of clover heads; Or watches the sea of yellow grain Break into waves on the windy plain; Or sees the orchards grassy gloom Spotted with globes of rosy bloom. Through the shimmer of shadowy haze Redden the hills with their autumn blaze. The oxen stand in the loaded teams; The cider bubbles in amber streams; And child-like laughter and girlish song Float with the reapers shout along. He stirs his hands, and the jealous chain Wakes him once more to his tyrant pain To festered wounds, and to dungeon taint, And hungers agony, fierce and faint. The sunset vision fades and flits, And alone in his darkning cell he sits: Alone with only the jailers grim, Hunger and Pain, that clutch at him; And, tightning his fetters, link by link, Drag him near to a ghastly brink; Where, in the blackness that yawns beneath, Stalks the skeleton form of Death. I Starved, and tortured, and worn with strife; Robbed of the hopes of his fresh, young life ; Shall one pang of his martyr pain Cry to a sleepless God in vain? .e1~none. 149 ~NONE: A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME. CHAPTER X. BUT though ~~Enones sanguinely con- ceived plan for Cleotoss happiness had so cruelly failed, it was not in her heart to yield to his passionate, unre- flecting demand, and send him away from her, even to a kinder home than he would have found at the house of the captain Polidorus. It would but increase his ill fortune, by enforcing still greater isolation from every fount of human sympathy. Though the affec- tion of the wily Leta had been with- drawn from him, her own secret friend- ship yet remained, and could be a pro- tection to him as long as he was at her side; and in many ways she could yet extend her care and favor to him, until such time as an outward-bound vessel might be found in which to restore him to his native country. Whether there was any instinct at the bottom of her heart, telling her that in the possibility of trying events to come his friendship might be equally serviceable to her, and that, even in the mere distant companionship of a slave with his mistress, she might feel a cer- tain protecting influence, she did not stop to ask. Neither did she inquire whether she wished to retain him for his own benefit alone, and without thought of any happiness or comfort to be derived by her from his presence. Had she been accustomed closely to analyze her feelings, she might have perceived, perhaps, that, in her grow- ing isolation, it was no unpleasant thing to look upon the features and listen to the tones which carried her memory back to her early days of pov- erty, when, except for a short interval, her life had been at its happiest. But had she known and acknowledged all this, it would not have startled her, for she would have felt that, in her heart, there was not the slightest accompany- ing shade of disloyalty. Her nature was not one to admit of sudden trans- fers of allegiance. It was rather one in which a real love would last forever. When the first romantic liking for Cleotos had consumed itself, from the ashes there had sprung no new passion for him, but merely the flowers of ear- nest, true-hearted friendshtp. And it was her misfortune, perhaps, that the real love for another which had suc- ceeded would not in turn consume it- self, but would continue to flourish green and perennial, though now seem- ingly fated to bask no longer in tbe sunshine of kindly words and actions, but only to cower beneath the chill of harsh and wanton neglect. Cleotos therefore remainedat first passing weary days of bitter, heart- breaking despondency. His lost liberty he had borne without much complaint, for it was merely the fortune of war, and hundreds of his countrymen were sharing the same fate with him. But to lose that love upon which he had believed all the happiness of his life depended, was a blow to which, for a time, no philosophy could reconcile himthe more particularly as the man- ner in which that loss had been forced upon him seemed, to his sensitive na- ture, to be marked by peculiar severity. To have had her torn from him in any ordinary wayto part with her in some quarrel in which either side might be partially right, and thenceforth never to see her againor to be obliged to yield her up to the superior claims of an open, generous rivalryany of these things would, in itself have been sufficient affliction. But it was far worse than all this to be obliged to

Aenone: A Tale of Slave Life in Rome 149-161

.e1~none. 149 ~NONE: A TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME. CHAPTER X. BUT though ~~Enones sanguinely con- ceived plan for Cleotoss happiness had so cruelly failed, it was not in her heart to yield to his passionate, unre- flecting demand, and send him away from her, even to a kinder home than he would have found at the house of the captain Polidorus. It would but increase his ill fortune, by enforcing still greater isolation from every fount of human sympathy. Though the affec- tion of the wily Leta had been with- drawn from him, her own secret friend- ship yet remained, and could be a pro- tection to him as long as he was at her side; and in many ways she could yet extend her care and favor to him, until such time as an outward-bound vessel might be found in which to restore him to his native country. Whether there was any instinct at the bottom of her heart, telling her that in the possibility of trying events to come his friendship might be equally serviceable to her, and that, even in the mere distant companionship of a slave with his mistress, she might feel a cer- tain protecting influence, she did not stop to ask. Neither did she inquire whether she wished to retain him for his own benefit alone, and without thought of any happiness or comfort to be derived by her from his presence. Had she been accustomed closely to analyze her feelings, she might have perceived, perhaps, that, in her grow- ing isolation, it was no unpleasant thing to look upon the features and listen to the tones which carried her memory back to her early days of pov- erty, when, except for a short interval, her life had been at its happiest. But had she known and acknowledged all this, it would not have startled her, for she would have felt that, in her heart, there was not the slightest accompany- ing shade of disloyalty. Her nature was not one to admit of sudden trans- fers of allegiance. It was rather one in which a real love would last forever. When the first romantic liking for Cleotos had consumed itself, from the ashes there had sprung no new passion for him, but merely the flowers of ear- nest, true-hearted friendshtp. And it was her misfortune, perhaps, that the real love for another which had suc- ceeded would not in turn consume it- self, but would continue to flourish green and perennial, though now seem- ingly fated to bask no longer in tbe sunshine of kindly words and actions, but only to cower beneath the chill of harsh and wanton neglect. Cleotos therefore remainedat first passing weary days of bitter, heart- breaking despondency. His lost liberty he had borne without much complaint, for it was merely the fortune of war, and hundreds of his countrymen were sharing the same fate with him. But to lose that love upon which he had believed all the happiness of his life depended, was a blow to which, for a time, no philosophy could reconcile himthe more particularly as the man- ner in which that loss had been forced upon him seemed, to his sensitive na- ture, to be marked by peculiar severity. To have had her torn from him in any ordinary wayto part with her in some quarrel in which either side might be partially right, and thenceforth never to see her againor to be obliged to yield her up to the superior claims of an open, generous rivalryany of these things would, in itself have been sufficient affliction. But it was far worse than all this to be obliged to 150 .3none. meet her at every turn, holding out her hand t.o him in pleasant greeting, and uttering words of welcoming import; and all with an unblushing appearance of friendly interest, as though his rela- tions with her had never been other than those of a fraternal character, and as though, upon being allowed her mere friendship, there could be nothing of which he had a right to complain. At first, in the agony of his heart, he had no strength to rise above the weight which crushed him, and to ohey the counsels of his pride so far as to play before her a part of equally as- sumed indifference. To her smiling greetings he could return only looks of bitter despair or passionate entreaty vainly hoping that he might thereby arouse her better nature, and bring her in repentance back to him. And at first sight it seemed not impossible that such a thing might take place; for, in the midst of all her change of conduct and wilful avoidance of allu- sion to the past, she felt no dislike of him. It was merely her love for him that she had suppressed, and in its place there still remained a warm regard. If he could have been content with her friendship alone, she would have grant- ed it all, and would have rejoiced, for the sake of olden times, to use her in- fluence with others in aid of his up- ward progress. Perhaps there were even times when, as she looked upon his misery and thought of the days not so very far back, in which he had been all in all to her, her heart may have been melted into something of its for- mer affection. But if so, it was only for a moment, nor did she ever allow the weakness to be seen. Her path had been taken, and nothing now could make her swerve from it. Before her enraptured fancy gleamed the state and rank belonging to a patricians wife; and as she wove her toils with all the resources of her cunning, the prize seemed to approach her nearer and nearer. Now having advanced so far, she must not allow a momentary weakness to imperil all. And there- fore unwaveringly she daily met her former lover with the open smile of friendly greeting, inviting confidence, mingled with the same indescribable glance, forbidding any renewal of love. And so days passed by, and Cleotos, arousing from his apathetic despair, felt more strongly that, if the lapse of love into mere friendship is a misfor- tune, the offer of friendship as a substi- tute for promised love is a mockery and an insult: his soul rebelled at being made a passive party to such a bar- gain; and he began himself to play the retaliatory part which a wronged na- ture naturally suggests to itself. Like Leta, he learned to hold out the limpid hand in careless greeting, or to mutter meaningless and cold compliments, and, in any communication with her, to assume all the appearances of in- different acquaintanceship. At first, indeed, it was with an aching heart struggling in his breast, and an agony of wounded spirit tempting him to cast away all such studied pretences, and to throw himself upon her mercy, and meanly beg for even the slightest re- turn of her former affection. But grad- ually, as he perceived how vain would be such self-abasement, and how its display would rather tend to add con- tempt to her indifference, his pride came to rescue him from such a course; and he began more and more to tune the temper of his mind to his actions, and to feel something of the same cold- ness which he outwardly displayed. Not but that for a while such a dis- position was forced and unnatural; and however steadily composed he felt, and strongly fortified in his stubborn pride, a look or a word from her would have brought him again a willing slave to her feet. But that look or word was not given. Perhaps, in her eager struggle after the glittering prize which she had held out before herself she disdained the love which had once de- lighted her; perhaps, actuated by a purer and less selfish motive, her friend- ~one. 151 ship for Cleotos forbade her, in mere wanton pride, to keep open the wound which she had made. Whatever the reason, the withdrawal of the fascina- tions which had once attracted him, gave his mind leisure and opportunity to reason with itself in more quietude and composure than could have been expected. And, as he more and more began to realize how closely she was wrapped up in her ambition, to the ex- clusion of any gentler feeling, and how, under the stimulant of her infatuated hopes, she was allowing herself each day to act with less guarded resolu- tion, there were times when he found himself asking whether she had indeed changed from what she had been, or whether, on the contrary, she had not always, at heart, been the same as now, and his conception of her true character been at fault. But, in proportion as the veil of error seemed lifted from his soul, letting calm content once more shine in upon him, so, on the other hand, did a night of despair slowly settle upon Al~none. By no reasoning could she longer urge upon herself the belief that the neglect with which her lord treated her could be traced to any inoffensive cause. Claims of courturgency of military dutiesexactions of business might easily account for transitory slights, but not for long-sustained periods of indifference, unbroken by a single word of kindness. And as days passed by and this indifference continued, until at times seeming ready to give place to openly expressed dislike, and her ears became more and more accustomed to words of hasty petulance, and Sergius grew still deeper absorbed in the infat- uation which possessed him, and less careful to conceal its influences from her, and the Greek girl glided hither and thither, ever less anxious, as she believed her triumph more nearly as- sured, to maintain the humble guise which she had at first assumed, ~none felt that there had indeed come upon her a sorrow from which there could be no escape. There were a hundred methods of relief from it which hourly occurred to her agitated mind, but one after another was in turn laid aside, as she felt that it would but aggravate the evil, or as the opportunity to employ it was not given her. To make open com- plaint of her wrongs and try to drive Leta from the houseto humble herself before her, and thereby strive to n~ove her pityto reproach Sergius for his neglect, and demand that, since he no longer loved her, he would send her back to her native place, away from the hollow world of Rometo assume toward him, by a strong effort of will, a like indifferenceto watch until she could find some season when his better nature appeared more impressible, and then to throw herself before him, as she had once before done, and plead for a return of his lovethese and like expedients fruitlessly passed in review before her. All in turn failed in promise of relief; and at times it seemed as though the only course left to her was to lie down in her sorrow and die. It was no uncommon thing then, as now, for the husband to neglect his wife. All Rome rang with the fre- quent story of marital wrong. But those were days in which the matron did not generally accept her desertion with meekness. Brought up in a fe- vered, unscrupulous society, she had her own retaliatory resources; and if no efforts were sufficient to bring back the wandering affection, she could rec- ompense herself elsewhere for its loss, secure that her wrongs would be held as a justification, and that her associ- ates, equally aggrieved and avenged, would applaud her course. But with ~Enone, brought up in a provincial town, under the shelter of her own na- tive purity and innocence, no such idea could find countenance. Even the thought which sometimes dimly pre- sented itself that by some harmless coquetry she might perhaps excite her husbands jealousy, and thereby chance 152 ~Enone. to win back his love, was one which she always stifled in its beginning as weak and unworthy. But the recompenses of friendship were still left to her, and it was surely doing no wrong to accept them. There- fore the more she realized that her source of real happiness was becoming estranged from her, so much the more did she feel naturally drawn toward the society of Cleotos. To her, of course, he was not a mere slave, but rather a person of equal birth with her- self, who had been beaten down by the same fate which had elevated her. And in conversation with him, it was easy to carry her mind back to her early home, and for a little while forget her present misery. And he, in turn, hav- ing been repulsed where he had placed his highest hopes of happiness, and imbittered with the disappointment, was not at a1~ loth to transfer, in all innocence, his devotion to one who ex- tended such kindly condescension to- ward him. It therefore happened that the two were naturally drawn much together, and, for a time, without at- tracting invidious notice. Those were days in which the association between master and slave was often of an inti- mate character. To the lower class of slaves, indeed, there could be no famil- iar approach. It was sufficient for them that at times they could look upon the faces of their owners from a distance. But above these, were con- vei~ging circles, each rising in rank and responsibility, until there were those who stood at their owners right hands, more in the position of friends and con- fidants than of menials. Of these was Cleotos, whose winning face and grace- ful mien, joined to his natural abilities and his valued accomplishments, would have insured him a higher position than that of most captives, even if he had not been assisted by the partiality of his mistress. It was his duty to announce her guests, to trim the lamps at which she read, to read to her when she felt in- disposed to do so for herself; to indite her correspondenceand generally to superintend all those little elegancies and demands of social life which re- quire grace or mental ability in their execution. These offices naturally kept him near her during much of each day and when ~Enone and he were alone, and no task was before him requiring immediate completion, it was but to be expected that a mingling of curiosity and friendly interest should lead her to question him upon his past life, his home, his associates, even his thoughts. And often it as naturally happened that, while he spoke, the music of his voice lulled her into forgetfulness of all but the past, and she would find her- self unconsciously relaxing. from the somewhat frigid dignity which she felt called upon to assume, until her features must have glowed with some expression of her former familiar kind- ness. For she would be suddenly startled back into her forced propriety by a strange and troubled look of puz zled thought flitting across his facea look which she could read and analyze better than he could; for it told her that, without any real suspicion of the truth, he was wondering at the likeness of that beaming face which bent over him to something which he had seen elsewhere in the past. There was one morning that he sat before her by a little table where he had been writing a letter at her dicta- tion. The letter was folded and sealed, and then ensued one of those vacan1 intervals when eacb, having no press ing task at hand, remains for a few moments listlessly thinking what shall be done next. At that instant Leta passed through the roombowing low as she moved before her mistress, and throwing out toward Cleotos from the corner of her dark eye one of those aggravating looks in which friendly interest in him and pleasure at his sight were mingled with a certain cruel warning against any renewal of past memories. Cleotos retorted with a .~Enone. 1~3 similar careless greeting, expressive of simple friendliness, unconscious of any warmer emotion. But he had not yet perfectly learned his part; for, as Leta passed out of the room, the quiver of his lip showed how difficult had been the task of mastering his forced smile even for that moment. Poor boy! said .~Enone, as she wit- nessed the effort. You have not yet learned not to love her. Not yet, indeed, my mistress, he responded. But it seems as though I knew the task better than last week, and would know it still better a week hence. What can I say? It is not to be thought that I should lapse in a moment into real indifference, even though I may find out that she is un- worthy of love. There cannot but be an interval during which the heart will struggle against the judgment, and lead to foolish longings after what has passed. True, indeed, said ~~Enone. And still, in my heart, I sometimes almost think that I have never loved her, he continued in a reflective, dreamy tone; that I have been under a spellhave been made the slave of certain outward fascinations, which have fettered my judgment. Can it be that one will think lie loves and yet does not I It is indeed hard to answer, I sup- pose. It must be hard; for wherein, after all, is the difference between being and thinking to be? But yet it seems as though there were times, even long past and before this captivity, when, being in our own land, and with nothing to disturb us or make us doubtful of the future, I looked upon her with a strange kind of fear wondering whether, though I loved her with so strong a passion, it might not rather be the passion of an unlasting, unsatisfy- ing slavery of thought, than of a calm, lifelong trustfulness. And now it seems to me that if I ever had this feeling voL. vr.l 1 for I cannot certainly tell whether I ever had or only now imagine itit seems to me as though it were an inner instinct warning me against evil; for day by day I see more clearly that there has been some veil over my soul, hiding it from a clear perception of what was suitable for it. And you begin to dislike her Im- quired ~eEnone. Not so, he said. Nor do I know whether I ought to do so, if I could. I believe now that she does not, and perhaps never has loved me, but I must forgive her for all that. She may have tried to do so, and for a time have thought that she did, and the true blame may all the while have rested with me alone. With her strong, unbending temperament, fearless of correction, an4 jealous of all control, how, indeed, could she long cling to one of such a tranquil and yielding nature as myself? That she loved me not, proves not that she could love no one; and though she now seems so coldly heartless and so rashly heedless of her fame, yet who knows what she might have been if fet- tered by the love of a spirit more im- perious than her own? Who can tell how the great good that is within hei~ might then have conquered the evil~. and her soul have spumed its pres- ent headstrong course, and gloriously aroused itself to its sole great duty of love and innocent trustfulness? These, indeed, are very far from being words of dislike, said A~none; and they only prove that you still love her, or you would not so readily excuse her. Neither have I denied that I love her yet, he said. But it is not with as blind an affection as before. Her touch, her words, her smileif given with real lovewould still please me as of old; and yet I should feel that there was something gone from me forever. Even if we were restored to our own isle, with no enemy near or rival to in. terrupt us, I could not but henceforth 154~ zEn one. feel that destiny had not meant her for me, so much would her stronger nature be ill assorted with my own. And sometimes Well? Sometimesnow that this thraldom of my spirit is passing offthere comes back to me the memory of another face, a gentle, loving facewhich, if it were possible ever to see it again, I have too long forgotten, but which, if I may not see it more, I should, formy own sake, have forgotten long ago. But all this, honored mistress, can be of no interest to you, and therefore it were foolish to mention it. Nay, speak to me of it, murmured iEnone; and, struggle as she would, the telltale blood began to flow up into her face. Is there any woman who does not care to listen to a love story? she added, as though in excuse for her curiosity. It is but a common love tale, he said, and the more so that nothing came of it. A few stolen interviews a few promises exchangedand then a parting forever. That is all. But where and when was this? Six years ago, at Ostia. For, though a Greek, I have been in this land before now. I was a sailor then, and in that port I met her. Met her and loved her, and promised to return again. And for a while I meant to do so; but on our passage back our ship was wrecked. I could not at once find place upon another, and so took employment on the shorenone the less, however, intending some day to come back and claim her. What shall I say? It is the old story. The sea is wide, and I could interchange no tidings with her. Ill success followed me, and I could not return to Ostia. Then, little by little, as the months drifted past, and I believed her lost to m~, her image began to fade from my memory. And then I saw Leta; and under the spell of that new charm, it seemed to me as though the other one had lost all grasp upon my mind. Not altogether, though, for even at the height of my later love, I have always borne about me the last keepsake that she had given me. Let me see it, what it is like, said .~Enone, faintly; and in obedience to her command, and perhaps wondering a little that she should take such inter- est in so simple a story, Cleotos drew from beneath his tunic a thread with a coin dangling at the end. The tears struggled into iEnones eyes as she gazed upon the token. It was a poor little silver coin of the time of the first Otusarsone of the few curiosi- ties of her fathers familyand which she had given to her lover as the most precious thing belonging to her. She remembered that when, in that last stroll by the shore, she had hung it about his neck with her own hands, and had made him promise always to keep it, she had received from him a similar tokena bright silver piece of Vespasian, and had placed it near hel heart, while murmuring similar vows He had kept his word, and she had not kept hers. For the moment, she felt even guilty of bad faith, forgetting thai when she afterward gave her more ma- ture affection to Sergius, it was only her duty to lay aside all that even whis- pered of past promises. I could not bear to part with it, he said; for it still spoke to me of her friendship, if not of her love. And a superstitious thought came into my mind that I might some day see her again, and that, though we should not meet as lovers, yet she might, perhaps, be pleased to learn that I had not en- tirely forgotten her. Would she not, noble lady, do you think? She doesthat is, it surely should so move her, said Al~none. So have I still worn it, he contin- ued. And somehow each day brings back the recollection of her more faith- fully to me. Whether it is because this other absorbing love is passing .Jnone. from my heart, and leaving to me greater freedom of thoughtor wheth- er it is that Ostia is now so near to me that I daily hear of it and see its cos- tumes in the streets, and thus my recol- lection of the place is kindled anew or whether it is Is what? said A~none, encour- agingly. I know not how to dare say it, he stammered. It is a presumption, in- deed, but I mean it not for such. I would say that there is something in your face, most noble mistre~sa look -a flash of thought~a glance of the eyea something I know not what, which reminds me of her whom I knew so many years ago. So that sometimes, were it not for the difference of dress and all else around you, so much at va- riance with what had been her state, I could almost forget the lapse of years, and imagine thatPardon, most noble lady! I meant not to offend! For she had arisen; and now, drawn to her full height, was looking down upon him with all the coldness of pa- trician dignity that she could summon to her aid. He, too, arose, and stood trembling opposite her. For a mo- ment they remained gazing upon each other; he aghast at the apparent con- sequences of his remark, reproaching himself for having so inconsiderately raised her anger by daring to compare, geven in feature, a lowly country girl with her, and despairingly asking him- self what he should do to restore him- self to her favorshe more and more wrapping herself in a disguise of out- ward pride and haughty bearing, lest by some chance his unsuspecting eyes might detect the truth, and yet inward- ly bleeding at the heart to think that she could not reveal herself to him and promise him her friendship, in full con- fidence that his love for her would not return and bring new distress upon them. Then suddenly, while each stood wondering what course to take, a light step was heard in the outer hall, and the poet Emilius entered. 155 CHAPTER XI. At the interruption, iEnone hastily reseated herself; while Cleotos, in obe- dience to a quick and significant motion of her finger, remained in the room, and, resuming his position at the table, prepared to continue his writing. The poet Emilius could not, of course, fail to notice this somewhat confused alter- ation of posture, but no suspicion of having intruded upon an embarrassing scene crossed his mind. He merely saw a proudly erect mistress and a cowering slave; and it was no unusual thing to interrupt a Roman lady in the act of giving even corporeal correction to her attendant, nor did the strangers en- trance always cause the punishment to cease. Has the caitiff been insolent? h~ exclaimed, in gallant tone, as he ap- proached and seated himself before her. Has he dared to look too rebelliously upon so charming a mistress? If so, permit that I may chastise him for you. It is not fit that such fair hands should be obliged to wield the rod. Nay, it is nothing, she said. Noth- ing, indeed, needing much reproof; and it is all past now. And wherefore have we lately seen so little of you I Commands of court-the claims of Parnassusall these fair lady, have withheld me from heretofore giving to beauty its proper meed of admiration and worship. To speak more plainly, I have undertaken, by order of our emperor, the not ungrateful task of weaving a few poetical sentiments to be recited at the opening of our new amphitheatre. And in order that the results of my labor might not lessen my already acquired fame, I judged it most prudent to seclude myself for the past few days from the gayeties of the world, and give myself up to study and medi- tation. Though, after all, I could not deny, if closely questioned, that my seclusion was but little productive of results; for, upon being tempted out one evening, sorely against my judg- ment, to a feast at the house o$~ the 156 comedian Bassus, the true poetic in- spiration overtook me at the end of my third goblet, and, calling for parch- ment, I there accomplished, in one short hour, the greater portion of my task. Then, I presume that your ode, unlike your other works, will be of a cheerful and lively character, more especially as it is written for such a festive occasion. Scarcely, perhaps, what the world would call altogether lively, though here and there a thread of playful thought may gleam upon the more sober texture of the basis. I have rath- er judged it proper that, for the due celebration of an event of such won- drous magnificence, I should give utter- ance to deeper and more lasting senti- ments, so as to fit the minds of the spectators for a higher comprehension of its true significance. But, if you wish, I will read aloud a few of my thoughts; and be assured that so far no eye has seen the scroll, not even the august eye of the emperor Titus him- self. LEnone inclined her head in assent, and he drew from the breast of his tunic a small roll of parchment, care- fully wrapped in a covering of embroi- dered silk. I commence, of course, by an ad- dress to the emperor, whom I call the most illustrious of all the O~esars, and liken unto Jove. I then congratulate the spectators not only upon living in his time, but also upon being there to bask in the effulgence of his majesty; his countenance being the sight most to be desired, and the games and com- bats being merely accessory thereto. After which, I speak to the gladiators and captives; and prove to them how grateful they should be to the gods for allowing them the privilege of dying in such an august presence. Is it such a privilege, do you think? inquired ~Enone. Perhaps not a privilege, but cer- tainly no great hardship. The trained .Inone. gladiators surely cannot complain, for they have voluntarily assumed the risks; and as for the captives, the most of them will some day die a violent death of some kind or another, and, therefore, why not now, attended by the decent observances of the games and the applause of all the Roman peo- ple? But to proceed. From thence I speak of deathits pleasures and its recompenses; showing that, if there be a future life, the gods have done wisely to withhold its exact nature from us, and that, whatever uncertainties may exist in other respects, nothing can be more true than that those who now die in the arena will, in another world, find their highest felicity in the privilege of looking up from a distance at the loved emperor in whose honor they perished, and beholding him enjoying, through adoption, the society of the inhabitants of Olympus. I thenbut it is useless to detail all the argument. I will read the poem itself; or rather, if you so permit, I will let this scribe of yours read it for me. Perhaps, upon hearing it from anothers mouth, I may be led to make still further corrections. Handing the manuscript with all care to Cleotos, the poet leaned back with eyes closed in delicious revery, now and then arousing himself to cor- rect some defective emphasis or unsatis- factory intonation, the tolerance of which, he imagined, would mar the proper effect of the production, or, with persistent desire for praise, mo- mentarily calling closer attention to such passages as appeared to him de- serving of especial commendationand generally omitting no opportunity of exacting that entire admiration to which he believed his genius entitled him. Apart from a somewhat extrava- gant display of high-strained metaphor, the poem had merit, being bold in scope, sonorous and well rounded in tone, and here and there gracefully decked with original and pleasing thoughts. Throughout the whole, however, the singular propensity of the zEnone. 157 author for indulgence in morbid and gloomy reflection found its usual devel- opment, while every line was laden with lofty maxims of moral philosophy, mingled with urgent incentives to the adoption of a virtuous career ;all, in themselves, both unexceptionable and praiseworthy, but, nevertheless, having a strange sound in the ears of those who recognized them as the utterances of one whose conversation was always flippant and puerile, and whose daily life, in the enormity and uninterrupted persistency of its profligacy, rendered him the acknowledged leader of all that was most disreputable and con- taminating in Roman society. At length, the reading having been fully completed, and the listeners pow- ers of flattery exhausted, the author carefully rewrapped his poem in its silken cover and carried it ~way, to read it, in turn, to other noble ladies, with the same transparent pretence of giving exclusive hearing of it to each. For a few moments A~none remained in thoughtful silence, with her head bowed upon her hand; recalling the scattered fragments of the sonorous verses, and wondering why it was that, when each line had seemed so perfect in itself, and every thought so pure and noble in its purport and conception, the whole should have left upon her mind such an undefinable impress of dissatis- faction. Cleotos, with unobtrusive scrutiny, seemed to read her thoughts, for, at the first intimation of her perplexity, he said: It is because the author of those verses has not sincerely felt the full meaning of what he has there written. For, with whatsoever display of inge- nious and artistic skill fair sounding maxims of morality may be expressed, yet, if they come not from the heart, their utterance must seem hollow and unreal. I do not know this author how or where he lives. It may be that in his daily life he is outwardly all that could be desired. But I know thisthat he has written about virtue and death, not because he loves the one and fears not the other, but simply because, by a display of well-toned periods, he may more surely hope to gain the applause of the arena and the smiles of the court. But why should not these senti- ments, though called into being by personal ambition alone, give equal pleasure as if springing directly from the heart? Are they not, after all, as true I Nay, honored mistress, neither are they true. This is again where they fa~il to please; for in your soul there is an instinct, though you may not know of it, which forbids that such cold and unsatisfactory reasoning should bring you comfort. He speaks of death: is it cheering to be told that, though the gods have appointed death to every person, they have given it, not as a veiled mercy, but rather as a dreadful fatethat there is no certainty about our future condition, but that, if we are destined to live again, it may be with the same evils encompassing us which bind us nowand that the slave may then still be a slave, destined forever to look up to and worship the high and mighty ones who trampled on him here? That is, in truth, no comfort, said ~Enone. And she bowed her head upon her hands, and sadly thought how worthless to her would be the gift of eternal life, if her present sorrows were to follow her. But what can we do? If it were possible to discover and believe in some other fate, telling us that death, instead of being a dread- ed pang, is a boon and relief to the sick and weary and oppressed There is a book, said Cleotosand for a moment he hesitated, as though fearful of proceeding there is a book which I have read, and which tells us all this. It says that death is not merely a fate, but is a source of bless- ing; since it leads to a world where the sufferings of this life shall be recoin- 158 zEnone. pensed with abundant joy, not to the rich merely, but more especially to the poor and lowly. Where is that book? cried ~Enone, with sudden energy, as the wondrous depth and ~power of the sentiment flashed upon her. Where can I see and read it? He who can talk like that, must surely have said still more? I have not that book, answered Cleotos. I have only this little copy of a small portion of it; and he hesi- tatingly drew from beneath his tunic a single small leaf of discolored parch- ment, closely filled with Greek charac- ters. But being at Corinth, a year ago, I was permitted to see the book itself, and to hear portions of it read. It was written to a Christian church there, by one Paul, a leader of that sect. At the word Christian the first im- pulse of .LEnone was to shrink back, not knowing but that even the presence of one who had ever come into contact with any of that despised sect might be injurious to her. For at once she began to recall many of the tales which she had heard to its discredit-its members hiding as outcasts in the caves and dens of the earththeir re- peated insults to the godstheir proud and unaccountable worship of a male- factortheir sacrifice of infantsand other exaggerations and calumnies, be- gotten in malice or ignorance, and thence widely spread, making it not hard to believe that the only fate fit for those to whom they related was a life of persecution and a cruel death in the arena. But only for a moment did this in- stinctive horror control her. The sin- gle doctrine which she had just heard advanced already began to bear its fruits. It seemed, indeed, not unlikely that one who could write such truths, and those, his disciples, who could so gratefully treasure them up, might not, after all, be wantonly wicked, but, at the worst, might be merely victims of mistaken zeal. And then, in turn, she thought of much that had been related to her in their favor. During her life at Rome, indeed, she had heard no mention of the Christian sect, unless accompanied with sneers or contempt. But she remembered how that in Ostia, while she was yet a very young girl, she had heard it sometimes whispered that the Christians were kind and lov- ing to all the world, and free from many sins in which other men openly exulted, and that, through their great love for their founder, they organized charities which had never before been even thought ofand how that once, when she had been very sick, a strange woman had nursed her into health and refused all payment for it, alleging that her religion bade her give herself up to such tasks and how that she had once seen pass by, one who was pointed out to her as a holy man among the sectwhose name indeed she could not remember, but whose mild and serene expression yet lived in her recol- lection. It was hardly possible that one whose face was so radiant with universal love and benevolence as to impress itself thus lastingly upon the heart of a young child could have been very wicked. Nor did it seem likely that Cleotos, whose greatest weakness was that his life had been almost too innocent and trusting, could speak well of a sect which worthily ought to be persecuted. And then again she thought upon that little book to the sect at Corinth, and she bade Cleotos to read a verse or two. He did so. At another time she might have listened as she had listened to the moral maxims of the poet Emiliusjudging well of it, perhaps, for the beauty of its -words, but, beyond that, regarding it simply as some new and more original ex- pression of long-accepted philosophy. But now, in her trouble, she felt that there was something in it beyond all known philosophya new development of faith, appealing to the heart, and speaking comfort to all who were in misery. It surely could not be that .i~7none. 159 uuch words were the emanations of an evil influence. Art thouanswer me, Cleotosart thou one of the sect of Christians? she inquired. How can I tell? he responded. I have so often asked that question of my heart, and yet have not been able to understand what it has said to me. There are times when I think that I must pray only to the gods of Olympus, and that all I have heard or read about other gods must be untrue. And again, when I read this little parchment of mine, and remember other like things that have been told to me, and see how they all speak of death as a relief to the sorrowing, and of an. other life in which the down trodden and the captive shall be recompensed for what they have suffered here, and know that I am one of those who need such recompensethen I think that perhaps the only true God is the God of the Christians, But I can learn so little about it all, that I cannot, from my own judgment, determine which must be right. Perhaps, thoughtfully responded tEnone, it may be that if you tell me all you know about it, I may be able to assist your conclusions. Who knows what light I myself need,or how much of good we may borrow from this new religion? It cannot be wrong to examine for ones self and the gods will not be angry if we gain good doctrine even from wrong sources, 80 long as it may make us better. To- morrow, therefore, let us begin. Upon the morrow, the~fore, and for many succeeding days, the mistress and the slave spent stolen moments in grop- ing after the truth of that faith which makes the high and the low equal. It was a blind search, for neither of them had any definite comprehension of the history and doctrine upon which the new religion had been founded. Cleo- tos had enjoyed the best opportunities of acquainting himself with it, having naturally, in his wanderings about the East, and in his contact with the poor and enslaved of many lands, heard much respecting the Christian churches and their belief; but having had no instructor, a great portion of what he had thus received came to him in but distorted and puzzling array. And .LEnone could not comprehend how, when the gods ruled Rome, and Rome had scattered the Jews, one whom the Jews had had the power to slay could be greater than all. But between them, for their study, lay the leaf of parch- ment, closely covered with writing, be- side which the proudest and choicest philosophy of Rome seemed mockery; and though they could not understand its full meaning, they knew that it spoke such good words that, at the least, though it may have come from erring men, it was no less worthy to have come from a God. Whatever the real nature of the faith itself, here was certainly a proof that among its attri- butes were mercy and peace and broth- erly love toward alL What might have been the conse- quences if iEnone had been free to pur- sue the investigation as far as she wishedto send for other books to aid herto consult more learned teachers, who, though perhaps hiding in secret shelter, were yet attainable with proper search, cannot be known. It is not improbable that, in the end, one more might have been added to the list of those few Roman women of high de- gree who even then gave up all their rank and state in order to share the persecutions of the Nazarenes. But it was otherwise ordered. Already indi- cations, each slight in itself but alto- gether of important bearing, began to present themselves before her, warning her that jealous eyes were watching her, and that, if she would avoid the consequences of misconstruction, she must bring her feeble investigations to a close. Until now, Leta, in her struggle to alienate the husband from the wife, had been actuated simply by the exigencies 160 .~Enone of her ambitious policy. Bearing in her heart no especial hatred toward her mistress, she would willingly have spared her, had not the circumstances of the case seemed to require the ruin of the one preliminary to the exaltation of the other. But now, other incentives to her efforts were added. First in her mind came jealousy of Cleotos; for though she had cast him off, and bade him stifle the yearnings of his heart, and, by the cool exercise of intellect and craft alone, seek a better fortune for himself; it was hardly natural that she should feel pleased to have him so soon appear to take her at her word. She would have better liked to see him display more prolonged sorrow for her loss. Then came jealousy of ~Enone, who had apparently been able to con- sole him so early. And mingled with all this, there began to press upon her a startling thoughtone which she at first contemned as unlikely and absurd but which, though continually driven away, so obstinately returned and com- mended itself to her attention with newer plausibility, that at last she be- gan to give bitter and anxious heed to it. What if this constant communica- tion between Al~none and Cleotos were to result in a mutual love? It was no uncommon thing in those days for the high-born lady to cast her eyes upon the slave. How mortifying to herself, then, if; while she had been exerting all her powers of fascination, taxing the utmost resources of her intellect, and making of her whole existence one labored study for the purpose of gain- ing an undue influence over the lord, Cleotos, without art or disguise or ap- parent effort, or any advantage other than that afforded by his simple-hearted, trusting nature, should have quietly won from the other side of the house a victory of almost equal importance? And further than thiswhat if the lord were to perish in some brawl or by the hired assassin of a rival house; and .sEnone, released from her thraldom, and despising conventional scruples as again was not uncommon among the Roman ladies of that daywere to ex- alt her favorite with legal honors, and thus make herself Leta, his slave? This, to be sure, was an improbable chance; but a mind as active as her own did not disdain to foresee and pro- vide against all contingencies. Then, in addition to everything else, she became absorbed in the one over- whelming and bitter reflection, that after all her sacrifice and labor, the an- ticipated success might be escaping her. It is true that, thanks to her efforts,the distance between Sergius and LEnone had widened, until it seemed that there could never be a perfect reunion; but all this, if the state of partial neglect which had existed in the beginning could be relied upon as an indication, was a consequence which might easily, in time, have come of itself. It is true that Sergius had yielded himself a will- ing victim to the unlawful fascinations thrown around him; but yet Leta could not avoid seeing that he regarded her not with the deep, earnest love which she had hoped to inspire, but rather with the trifling carelessness of one giving himself up to the plaything of the hour. Not having, from the very first, been chary of the sidelong glance and the winning smile, and whatever grace of style or manner could tempt him to pursuit, as an illusive appear- ance of success seemed to beckon her onward, her heart at times grew des- perate with the apprehension that all had been in vain. For Sergius, con- tent that the wife whom he neglected did not disturb his repose with idle complaints, had no thought of inflict- ing any deeper injury upon her, being well satisfied to have her remain and confer honor upon him by the grace with which she maintained the dignity of his house. And though well pleased to sun himself in Letas smile, there never came to him the thought that the slave could be worthy of any exal- tation, or that her highest ambition could prompt her to desire more than like ]7.tret (ilhri8ticzn Emperor. 161 a continuance of the companionship with which he honored her. All this Leta began to dimly see; and there were times when, strive to hide it from her heart as she would, it seemed as though he might be even growing weary of her. Thus tormented with doubt and jealousy and the constantly increasing suspicion of baffled ambition, how was she to act? To accept her situation as a decree of fate, to fawn upon the mis- tress like a patient slave, and, if the lord were to tire of her in the end and give himself up to other captivations, to submit unmurmuringly to the un- avoidable necessity? All this some might consent to do; but surely not one like herself, gifted with indoinita ble will, and stung to desperation with the sense of great and irreparable sacri- fices. To her there could be but one course. She must abandon her slow and cautious policy, and seek the earli- est opportunity to urge the matter to its crisis. If, by sparing no watchful- ness or ingenuity, or by the exercise of bold and vigorous mancnuvring, she could produce a quarrel and final sep- aration between Sergius and his wife, it might not be impossible for her to impress upon him how much she was necessary to his happiness, and thereby elevate herself into the vacant place. And if unsuccessful, at the least she would be but sharing a ruin which would fall like an avalanche upon all alike. 4----- THE FIRST CHRISTIAN EMPEROR. Tnn last great imperial persecution of the Christians under Diocletian and Galerius, which was aimed at the entire uprooting of the new religion, ended with the edict of toleration of 311 and the tragical ruin of the persecutors. Galerius died soon after of a disgusting and terrible disease (marbu8 pedicularis), described with great minuteness by Eusebius and Lactantius. His body, says Gibbon, swelled by an intemper- ate course of life to an unwieldy cor- pulence, was covered with ulcers and devoured by innumerable swarms of those insects which have given their name to a most loathsome disease. Diocletian had withdrawn from the throne in 305, and in 313 put an end to his imbittered life by suicide. In his retirement he found more pleasure in raising cabbage than he had found in ruling the empire; a confession we may readily believe. (President Lin- coln, of the United States, during the dark days of the civil war, in Decem ber, 1862, declared that he would gladly exchange his position with any com- mon soldier in the tented field.) Maxi- min, who kept up the persecution in the East, even after the toleration edict, as long as he could, died likewise a violent death by poison, in 313. In this tragical end of their last three im- perial persecutors the Christians saw a palpable judgment of God. The edict of toleration was an involuntary and irresistible concession of the incurable impotence of heathenism and the inde- structible power of Christianity. It left but a step to the downfall of the one and the supremacy of the other in the empire of the Osesars. This great epoch is marked by the reign of Constantine I. He understood the signs of the time, and acted accord- ingly. He was the man for the times, as the times were prepared for him by that Providence which controls both and fits them for each other. He placed himself at the head of true

The First Christian Emperor 161-174

like ]7.tret (ilhri8ticzn Emperor. 161 a continuance of the companionship with which he honored her. All this Leta began to dimly see; and there were times when, strive to hide it from her heart as she would, it seemed as though he might be even growing weary of her. Thus tormented with doubt and jealousy and the constantly increasing suspicion of baffled ambition, how was she to act? To accept her situation as a decree of fate, to fawn upon the mis- tress like a patient slave, and, if the lord were to tire of her in the end and give himself up to other captivations, to submit unmurmuringly to the un- avoidable necessity? All this some might consent to do; but surely not one like herself, gifted with indoinita ble will, and stung to desperation with the sense of great and irreparable sacri- fices. To her there could be but one course. She must abandon her slow and cautious policy, and seek the earli- est opportunity to urge the matter to its crisis. If, by sparing no watchful- ness or ingenuity, or by the exercise of bold and vigorous mancnuvring, she could produce a quarrel and final sep- aration between Sergius and his wife, it might not be impossible for her to impress upon him how much she was necessary to his happiness, and thereby elevate herself into the vacant place. And if unsuccessful, at the least she would be but sharing a ruin which would fall like an avalanche upon all alike. 4----- THE FIRST CHRISTIAN EMPEROR. Tnn last great imperial persecution of the Christians under Diocletian and Galerius, which was aimed at the entire uprooting of the new religion, ended with the edict of toleration of 311 and the tragical ruin of the persecutors. Galerius died soon after of a disgusting and terrible disease (marbu8 pedicularis), described with great minuteness by Eusebius and Lactantius. His body, says Gibbon, swelled by an intemper- ate course of life to an unwieldy cor- pulence, was covered with ulcers and devoured by innumerable swarms of those insects which have given their name to a most loathsome disease. Diocletian had withdrawn from the throne in 305, and in 313 put an end to his imbittered life by suicide. In his retirement he found more pleasure in raising cabbage than he had found in ruling the empire; a confession we may readily believe. (President Lin- coln, of the United States, during the dark days of the civil war, in Decem ber, 1862, declared that he would gladly exchange his position with any com- mon soldier in the tented field.) Maxi- min, who kept up the persecution in the East, even after the toleration edict, as long as he could, died likewise a violent death by poison, in 313. In this tragical end of their last three im- perial persecutors the Christians saw a palpable judgment of God. The edict of toleration was an involuntary and irresistible concession of the incurable impotence of heathenism and the inde- structible power of Christianity. It left but a step to the downfall of the one and the supremacy of the other in the empire of the Osesars. This great epoch is marked by the reign of Constantine I. He understood the signs of the time, and acted accord- ingly. He was the man for the times, as the times were prepared for him by that Providence which controls both and fits them for each other. He placed himself at the head of true 162 :Th~ .Fir8t Ckri8tian Emperor. progress, while his nephew, Julian the Apostate, opposed it, and was left be- hind. He was the chief instrument for raising the church from the low estate of oppression and persecution to well- deserved honor and power. For this service a thankful posterity has given him the surname of the Great, to which he was entitled, though not by his moral character, yet doubtless by his military and administrative ability, his judicious policy, his appreciation and protection of Christianity, and the far- reaching consequences of his reign. His greatness was not indeed of the first, but of the second order, and is to be measured more by what he did than by what he was. To the Greek Church, which honors him even as a canonized saint, he has the same significance as Charlemagne to the Latin. Constantine, the first Christian Ctesar, the founder of Constantinople and the Byzantine empire, and one of the most gifted, energetic, and successful of the Roman emperors, was the first repre- sentative of the imposing idea of a Christian theocracy, or of that system of policy which assumes all subjects to be Christians, connects civil and reli- gious rights, and regards church and state as the two arms of one and the same divine government on earth. This was more fully developed by his successors, it animated the whole Mid- dle Age, and is yet working under va- rious forms in these latest times; though it has never been fully realized, whether in the Byzantine, the German, or the Russian empire, the Roman church-state, the Calvinistic republic of Geneva, or the early Puritanic colo- nies~ of New England. At the same time, however, Constantine stands also as the type of an undiscriminating and harmful conjunction of Christianity with politics, of the holy symbol of peace with the horrors of war, of the spiritual interests of the kingdom of heaven with the earthly interests of the state. In judging of this remarkable man ~nd his reign, we must by all means keep to the great historical principle, that all representative characters act consciously or unconsciously as the free and responsible organs of the spirit of their age, which moulds them first be- fore they can mould it in turn, and that the spirit of the age itself, whether good or bad or mixed, is but an instru- ment in the hands of iDivine Providence, which rules and overrules all the actions and motives of men. Through a history of three centuries Christianity had already overcome the world, and thus rendered such an out- ward revolution, as has attached itself to the name of this prince, both possi- ble and unavoidable. It were extreme- ly superficial to refer so thorough and momentous a change to the personal motives of an individual, be they mo- tives of policy, of piety, or of supersti- tion. But unquestionably every age produces and shapes its own organs, as its own purposes require. ~o in the case of Constantine. He was distin- guisheci by that genuine political wis- dom, which, putting itself at the head of the age, clearly saw that idolatry had outlived itself in the Roman empire, and that Christianity alone could breathe new vigor into it and furnish its moral support. Especially on the point of the external catholic unity, his monarchical politics accorded with the hierarchical episcopacy of the church. Hence from the year 313 he placed himself in close conection with the bishops, made peace and harmony his first object in the Donatist and Arian controversies, and gave the predicate catholic to the church in all official documents. And as his predecessors were supreme pontiffs of the heathen religion of the empire, so he desired to be looked upon as a sort of bishop, as universal bishop of the eternal affairs of the church. All this by no means from mere self-interest, but for the good of the empire, which, now shaken to its foundations and threatened by bar- barians on every side, could only by some new bond of unity be consolidated The Fir8t Chris~ictn Emperor. 163 and upheld until at least the seeds of Christianity and civilization should be planted among the barbarians them- selves, the representatives of the future. His personal policy thus coincided with the interests of the state. Christianity appeared to him, as it proved infact, the only efficient power for a political reformation of the empire, from which the ancient spirit of Rome was fast de- parting, while internal civil and reli- gious dissensions and the outward pres- sure of the barbarians threatened a gradual dissolution of society. But with the political he united also a religious motive, not clear and deep, indeed, yet honest, and strongly infused with the superstitious disposition to judge of a religion by its outward suc- cess, and to ascribe a magical virtue to signs and ceremonies. His whole fami- ly was swayed by religious sentiment, which manifested itself in very different forms, in the devout pilgrimages of his Helena, the fanatical Arianism of Con- stantia and Constantius, and the fanat- ical paganism of Julian. Constantine adopted Christianity first as a supersti- tion, and put it by the side of his hea- then superstition, till finally in his con- viction the Christian vanquished the pagan, though without itself develop- ing into a pure and enlightened faith. At first Constantine, like his father, in the spirit of the Neo-Platonic syn- cretism of dying heathendom, rever- enced all the gods as mysterious pow- ers; especially Apollo, the god of the sun, to whom in the year 308 he pre- sented munificent gifts. Nay, so late as the year 321 he enjoined regular con- sultation of the soothsayers in public misfortunes, according to ancient hea- then usage; even later, he placed his new residence, Byzantium, under the protection of the God of the Martyrs and the heathen goddess of Fortune; and down to the end of his life he re- tained the title and the dignity of a Pont~fex 3Icmximus, or high priest of the heathen hierarchy. His coins bore on the one side the letters of the name of Christ, on the other the figure of the sun-god, and the inscription Solinvietu8. Of course these inconsistencies may be referred also to policy and accommoda- tion to the toleration edict of 313. Nor is it difficult to adduce parallels of per- sons who in passing from Judaism to Christianity, or from Romanism to Protestantism, have honestly so wavered between their old and their new posi- tion, that they might be claimed by both. With his every victory over his pagan rivals, Galerius, Maxentius, and Licinius, his personal leaning to Chris- tianity and his confidence in the magic power of the sign of the cross increased; yet he did not formally renounce hea- thenism, and did not receive baptism until, in 337, he was laid upon the bed of death. He had an imposing and winning person, and was compared by flatterers with Apollo. He was tall, broad shoul- dered, handsome, and of a remarkably vigorous and healthy constitution, but given to excessive vanity in his dress and outward demeanor, always wearing an oriental diadem, a helmet studded with jewels, and a purple mantle of silk richly embroidered with pearls and flowers worked in gold. His mind was not highly cultivated, but natural- ly clear, strong, and shrewd, and sel- dom thrown off its guard. He is said to have combined a cynical contempt of mankind with an inordinate love of praise. He possessed a good knowl- edge of human nature and administra- tive energy and tact. His moral character was not without noble traits, among which a chastity rare for the time, and a liberality and beneficence bordering on wastefulness were prominent. Many of his laws and regulations breathed the spirit of Chris- tian justice and humanity, promoted the elevation of the female sex, im- proved the condition of slaves and of unfortunates, and gave free play to the efficiency of the church throughout the whole empire. 4ltogether he was one of the best, the most fortunate, and the 164 [The Fir8t CArietian Emperor. most influential of the Roman emperors, Christian and pagan. Yet he had great faults. He was far from b~ing so pure and so venerable as Eusebius, blinded by his favor to the church, depicts him, in his bombastic and almost dishonestly eulogistic biog- raphy, with the evident intention of setting him up as a model for all future Christian princes. It must, with all regret, be conceded, that his progress in the knowledge of Christianity was not a progress in the practice of its vir- tues. His love of display and his prod- igality, his suspiciousness and his des- potism, increased with his power. The very brightest period of his reign is stained with gross crimes, which even the spirit of the age and the policy of an absolute monarch can- not excuse. After having reached, upon the bloody path of war, the goal of his ambition, tbe sole possession of the empire, yea, in the very year in which he summoned the great council of Nica~a, he ordered the execution of his conquered rival and brother-in-law, Licinius, in breach of a solemn promise of mercy (324). Not satisfied with this, he caused soon afterward, from political suspicion, the death of the young Licinius, his nephew, a boy of hardly eleven years. But the worst of all is the murder of his eldest son, Cris- pus, in 326, who had incurred suspi- cion of political conspiracy, and of adulterous and incestuous purposes to- ward his stepmother Fausta, but is generally regarded as innocent. This domestic and political tragedy emerged from a vortex of mutual suspicion and rivalry, and calls to mind the conduct of Philip IT. toward Don Carlos, of Peter the Great toward his son Alexis, and of Soliman the Great toward his son Mustapha. Later authors assert, though gratuitously, that the emperor, like David, bitterly repented of this sin. He has been frequently charged besides, though it would seem altogeth- er unjustly, with the death of his sec- ond wife Fausta (326 1), who, after twenty years of happy wedlock, is said to have been convicted of slandering her stepson Crispus, and of adultery with a slave or one of the imperial guards, and then to have been suffo- cated in the vapor of an overheated bath. But the accounts of the cause and manner of her death are so late and discordant as to make Constantines part in it at least very doubtful. At all events Christianity did not produce in Constantine a thorough moral transformation. He was con- cerned more to advance the outward social position of the Christian religion, than to further its inward mission. He was praised and censured in turn by the Christians and pagans, the ortho- dox and the Arians, as they successive- ly experienced his favor or dislike. He bears some resemblance to Peter the Great, both in his public acts and his private character, by combining great virtues and merits with monstrous crimes, and he probably died with the same consolation as Peter, whose last words were: I trust that in respect of the good I have striven to do my people (the church), God will pardon my sins. It is quite characteristic of his piety that he turned the sacred nails of the Saviours cross, which He- lena brought from Jerusalem, the one into the bit of his war horse, the other into an ornament of his helmet. Not a decided, pure, and consistent character, he stands on the line of transition be- tween two ages and two religions; and his life bears plain marks of both. When at last on his deathbed he sub- mitted to baptism, with the remark, Now let us cast away all duplici- ty, he honestly admitted the conflict of two antagonistic principles which swayed his private character and public life. From these general remarks we turn to the leading features of Constantines life and reign, so far as they bear upon the history of the church. We shall consider in order his youth and train- ing, t~~e vision of the cross, the edict The First Christian Emperor. 165 of toleration, his legislation in favor of Christianity, his baptism and death. Constantine, son of the co-emperor Constantius Chlorus, who reigned over Gaul, Spain, and Britain till his death in 306, was born probably in the year 272, either in Britain or at Naissus (now called Nissa), a town of Dardania, in Illyricum. His mother was Iklena, daughter of an innkeeper, the first wife of Constantius, afterward divorced, when Constantius, for political reasons, mnrried a daughter of Maximian. She is described by Christian writers as a discreet and devout woman, and has been honorefi with a place in the cata- logue of saints. Her name is identi- fied with the discovery of the cross and the pious superstitions of the holy places. She lived to a very advanced age, and died in the year 326 or 327, in or near the city of Rome. Rising by her beauty and good fortune from ob- scurity to the splendor of the court, then meeting the fate of Josephine, but restored to imperial dignity by her son, and ending as a saint of the Cath- olic church: Helena would form an interesting subject for a historical nov- el illustrating the leading events of the Nicene age and the triumph of Chris- tianity in the Roman empire. Constantine first distinguished him- self in the service of Diocletian in the Egyptian and Persian wars; went afterward to Gaul and Britain, and in the Pra~torium at York was proclaimed emperor by his dying father and by the Roman troops. His father before him held a favorable opinion of the Chris- tians as peaceable and honorable citi- zens, and protected them in the West during the Diocletian persecution in the East. This respectful, tolerant re- gard descended to Constantine, and the good effects of it, compared with the evil results of the opposite course of his antagonist Galerius, could but en- courage him to pursue it. He reason- ed, as Eusebius reports from his own mouth, in the following manner: My father revered the Christian God, and uniformly prospered, while the em- perors who worshipped the heathen gods, died a miserable death; there- fore, that I may enjoy a happy life and reign, I will imitate the example of my father and join myself to the cause of the Christians, who are growing daily, while the heathen are diminishing. This low utilitarian consideration weighed heavily in the mind of an ambitious captain, who looked forward to the highest seat of power within the gift of his age. Whether his mother, whoni he always revered, and who made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in her eightieth year (A. D. 325), planted the germ of the Christian faith in her son, as Theodoret supposes, or herself be- came a Christian through his influence, as Eusebius asserts, must remain unde- cided. According to the heathen Zosi- mus, whose statement is unquestion- ably false and malicious, an Egyptian, who came out of Spain (probably the bishop Hosius of Cordova, a native of Egypt, is intended), persuaded him, after the murder of Crispus (which did not occur before 326), that by convert- ing to Christianity he might obtain forgiveness of his sins. The first public evidence of a posi- tive leaning toward the Christian reli- gion he gave in his contest with the pagan Maxentius, who had usurped the government of Italy and Africa, and is universally represented as a cruel, dis- solute tyrant, hated by heathens and Christians alike. Called by the Roman people to their aid, Constantine march- ed from Gaul across the Alps with an army of ninety-eight thousand soldiers of every nationality, and defeated Max- entius in three battles; the last in Oc- tober, 312, at the Milvian bridge, near Rome, where Maxentius found a dis- graceful death in the waters of the Tiber. Here belongs the familiar story of the miraculous cross. The precise day and place cannot be fixed, but the event must have occurred shortly before the final victory over Maxentius in the 166 The First Christian Emperor. neighborhood of Rome. As this vision is one of the most noted miracles in church history, and has a representa- tive significance, it deserves a closer examination. It marks for us on the one hand the victory of Christianity over paganism in the Roman empire, and on the other the ominous admixture of foreign, political, and military inter- ests with it. We need not be surprised that in the Nicene age so great a revo- lution and transition should have been clothed with a supernatural character. The occurrence is variously described, and is not without serious difficulties. Lactantius, the earliest witness, some three years after the battle, speaks only of a dream by night, in which the em- peror was directed (it is not stated by whom, whether by Christ, or by an an- gel) to stamp on the shields of his sol- diers the heavenly sign of God, that is, the cross with the name of Christ, and thus to go forth against his enemy. Eusebius, on the contrary, gives a more minute account, on the authority of a subsequent private communication of the aged Constantine himself under oathnot, however, till the year 338, a year after the death of the emperor, his only witness, and twenty-six years after the event. On his march from Gaul to Italy (the spot and date are not speci- fied), the emperor, while earnestly pray- ing to the true God for light and help at this critical time, saw, together with his army, in clear daylight toward evening, a shining cross in the heavens above the sun, with the inscription: By this conquer; and in the following night Christ himself appeared to him while he slept, and directed him to have a standard prepared in the form of this sign of the cross, and with that to proceed against Maxentius and all other enemies. This account of Euse- bius, or rather of Constantine himself adds to the night dream of Lactantius the preceding vision of the day, and the direction concerning the standard, while Lactantius speaks of the inscrip- tion of the initial letters of Christs name on the shields of the soldiers. According to Rufinus, a later historian, who elsewhere depends entirely on Eu- sebius, and can therefore not be regard- ed as a proper witness in the case, the sign of the cross appeared to Constan- tine in a dream (which agrees with the account of Lactantius), and upon his awaking in terror, an angel (not Christ) exclaimed to him: Hoc since. Lactantius, Eusebius, and Rufinus are the only Christian writers of the fourth century, who mention the apparition. But we have besides one or two heathen testimonies, which, though vague and obscure, still serve to strengthen the evidence in favor of some actual occur- rence. The contemporaneous orator Kazarius, in a panegyric upon the em- peror, pronounced March 1, 321, ap- parently at Rome, speaks of an army of divine warriors and a divine assist. ance which Constantine received in the engagement with Maxentius; but he converts it to the service of heathenism by recurring to old prodigies, such as the appearance of Castor and Pollux. This famous tradition may be ex- plained either as a real miracle imply- ing a personal appearance of Christ, or as a pious fraud, or as a natural phenom- enon in the clouds and an optical illu- sion, or finally as a prophetic dream. The propriety of a miracle, parallel to the signs in heaven which preceded the destruction of Jerusalem, might be justified by the significance of the vic- tory as marking a great epoch in his- tory, namely, the downfall of paganism and the establishment of Christianity in the empire. But even if we waive the purely critical objections to the Eusebian narrative, the assumed con- nection, in this case, of the gentle Prince of peace with the god of battle, and the subserviency of the sacred symbol of redemption to military ambition, is repugnant to the genius of the gospel and to sound Christian feeling, unless we stretch the theory of divine accom- modation to the s~5irit of the age and the passions and interests of individuals The hr8t Chrietictn Em~peror. 107 beyond the ordinary limits. We should suppose, moreover, that Christ, if he had really appeared to Constantine ei- ther in person (according to Eusebius) or through angels (as Rufinus and So- zomen modify it), would have exhorted him to repent and be baptized rather than to construct a military ensign for a bloody battle. In no case can we ascribe to this occurrence, with Euse- bius, Theodoret, and older writers, the character of a sudden and genuine con- version, as to Pauls vision of Christ on the way to Damascus; for, on the one hand, Constantine was never hostile to Christianity, but most probably friend- ly to it from his early youth, according to the example of his father ~ and, on the other, he put off his baptism quite five and twenty years, almost to the hour of his death. The opposite hypothesis of a mere military stratagem or intentional fraud is still more objectionable, and would compel us either to impute to the first Christian emperor, at a venerable age, the double crime of falsehood and per- jury, or, if Eusebius invented the story, to deny to the father of church his- tory~ all claim to credibility and com- mon respectability. Besides, it should be remembered that the older testi- mony of Lactantius, or whoever was the author of the work on the Deaths of Persecutors, is quite independent of that of Eusebius, and derives addition- al force from the vague heathen rumors of the time. Finally the Hoe vince, which has passed into proverbial sig- nificance as a most appropriate motto of the invincible religion of the cross, is too good to be traced to sheer false- hood. Some actual fact, therefore, must be supposed to underlie the tra- dition, and the question only is this, whether it was an external, visible phe- nomenon or an internal experience. The hypothesis of a natural forma- tion of the clouds, which Constantine by an optical illusion mistook for a supernatural sign of the cross, besides smacking of the exploded rationalistic explanation ot the New Testament miracles, and deriving an important event from a mere accident, leaves the figure of Christ and the Greek or Latin inscription, By this sign thou shalt conquer I altogether unexplained. We are shut up, therefore, to the theory of a dream or vision, and an experience within the mind of Constan tine. This is supported by the oldest testimony of Lactantius, as well as by the report of Rufinus and Sozomen, and we do not hesitate to regard the Euse- bian cross in the skies as originally a part of the dream, which only subse- quently assumed the character of an outward objective apparition, either in the imagination of Constantine or by a mistake of the memory of the historian, but in either case without intentional fraud. That the vision was traced to supernatural origin; especially after the happy success, is quite natural and in perfect keeping with the prevailing ideas of the age. Tertullian and other ante-Nicene and Nicene fathers attrib- uted many conversions to nocturnal dreams and visions. Constantine and his friends referred the most important facts of his life, as the knowledge of the approach of hostile armies, the dis- covery of the holy sepulchre, the found- ing of Constantinople, to divine revela- tion through visions and dreams. Nor are we disposed in the least to deny the connection of the vision of the cross with the agency of Divine Providence, which controlled this remarkable turn- ing point of history. We may go far- ther and admit a special providence, or what the old divines call a providenti4 .~pecialissirna; but this does not neces- sarily imply a violation of the order of nature or an actual miracle in the shape of an objective personal appearance of the Saviour. We may refer to a some- what similar, though far less important, vision in the life of the pious English Colonel James Gardiner. The Bible itself sanctions the general theory of providential or prophetic dreams and nocturnal visiops through which divine 168 [like FTh8t Ckrietian~ Emperor. revelations and admonitions are com- municated to men. The facts, therefore, may have been these: Before the battle, Constantine, leaning already toward Christianity as probably the best and most hopeful of the various religions, seriously sought in prayer, as he related to Eusebius, the assistance of the God of the Christians, while his heathen antagonist, ~Iaxentius, according to Zosimus, was consulting the sibylline books and offering sacrifice to the idols. Filled with mingled fears and hopes about the issue of the con flict, he fell asleep, and saw in a dream the sign of the cross of Christ with a significant inscription and promise of victory. Being already familiar with the general use of this sign among the numerous Christians of the empire, many of whom no doubt were in his own army, he constructed the lalxtrurn,* afterward so called, that is, the saered standard of the Christian cross with the Greek monogram of Christ, t which he had also put upon the shields of the soldiers. To this cross-standard, which now took the place of the Roman ea- gles, he attributed the decisive victory over the heathen Maxentius. Accordingly, after his triumphal en- trance into Rome, he had his statue * Adj%.~poe, also Xdf3ovpov; derived, not from labor, nor from Xd4)upov, I. e. pratda, nor from Aa#9sZv, but probably from abarbarian root, other. wise unknown, and introduced into the Roman terminology, even before Constantine, by the Celtic or Germanic recruits. Comp. Du Cange, Glossar., and Suicer, Thesaur. s. h. v. The labarum, as described by Eusebius, who saw it himself (Vita Const. i. 30), consisted of a long spear overlaid with gold, and a cross piece of wood, from which hung a square flag of purple cloth, embroidered and covered with precious stones. On the top of the shaft was a crown composed of gold and precious stones, and con- taining the monogram of Christ (see next note), and just under this crown was a likeness of the emperor and his sons in gold. The emperor told Ensebius (1. ii. c. 7) some incredible things about this labarum, e. g. that none of its bearers was ever hurt by the darts of the enemy. I X and P, the first two letters of the name of Christ, so written upon one another as to make the form of the cross: or ..JL or erected upon the forum with the la- barum in his right hand, and the in- scription beneath: By this saving sign, the true token of bravery, I have delivered your city from the yoke of the tyrant. Three years afterward the senate erected to him a triumphal arch of marble, which to this day, within sight of the sublime ruins of the pagan Colosseum, indicates at once the decay of ancient art and the downfall of hea- thenism; as the neighboring arch of Titus commemorates the downfall of Judaism and the destruction of the temple. The inscription on this arch of Constantine, however, ascribes his victory over the hated tyrant, not only to his uRster mind, but indefinitely also to the impulse of Deity; by which a Christian would naturally understand the true God, while a heathen, like the orator Nazarius, in his eulogy on Con- stantine, might take it for the celestial guardian power of the urbs tet a. At all events the victory of Constan- tine over Maxentius was a military and political victory of Christianity over heathenism; the intellectual and moral victory having been already accom- plished by the literature and life of the church in the preceding period. The emblem of ignominy and oppression * (i. e. ChristosAlpha and Omega, the beginning and the end), and similar forms, of which Mituter (Siunbilder der Alten Christen, p. 36 sqq.) has collected from ancient coins, vessels, and tomb- stones more than twenty. The monogram, as well as the sign of the cross, was in use among the Christians long before Constantine, probably as early as the Antonines and Hadrian. Yea, the standards and trophies of victory generally had the appearance of a cross, as Minucius Felix, Tertuilian, Justin, and other apologists of the second century told the heathens. According to Kitten (Ancient Church, p. 317, note), who quotes Ariughus (Roma Subterransa, ii. p. 367) as his authority, the famous monogram (of course in a different sense) is found even before Christ on coins of the Ptolemies. The only thing new, therefore, was the union of this symbol in its Christian sense and application with the Roman military standard. * Cicero says, pro Raberlo, c. 5: Komen Ipsum crucis absit non modo a corpore civium Romanorum, sed etiam a cogitatione, oculis, an- ribus. With other ancient heathens, however, the Egyptians, the Buddhists, and even the abo- rigines of Mexico, the cross seems to have been [[lie First Christian Emperor. 169 became thenceforward the badge of honor and dominion, and was invested in the emperors view, according to the spirit of the church of his day, with a magic virtue. It now took the place of the eagle and other field badges, un- der which the heathen Romans had conquered the world. It was stamped on the imperial coin, and on the stand- ards, helmets, and shields of the sol- diem. Above all military representa- tions of the cross the original imperial labarum shone in the richest decora- tions of gold and gems; was intrusted to the truest and bravest fifty of the body guard; filled the Christians with the spirit of victory, and spread fear and terror among their enemies ;5until, under the weak successors of Theodo- sius II., it fell out of use, and was lodged as a venerable relic in the im- perial palace at Constantinople. Before this victory at Rome (which occurred October 27, 312), either in the spring or summer of 312, Constantine, in conjunction with his Eastern col- league, Licinius, had published an edict of religious toleration, now not extant, but probably a step beyond the edict of the still anti-Christian Galerius in 311, which was likewise subscribed by Constantine and Licinius as co-regents. Soon after, in January, 313, the two emperors issued from Milan a new edict (the third) on religion, still extant both in Latin and Greek, in which, in the spirit of religious eclecticism, they granted full freedom to all existing forms of worship, with special reference to the Christian. This religion the edict not only recognized in its exist- ing limits, but alsowhat neither the in use as a rePgious symbol. Socrates relates (H. E. v. 17) that at the destruction of the temple of Serapis, among the hieroglyphic inscriptions, forms of crosses were found which pagans and Christians alike referred to their respective re- ligions. Some of the heathen converts, conver- sant with hieroglyphic characters, interpreted the form of the cross to mean the L~fe Is come. According to Prescott (Conquest of Mexico, iii. 338340) the Spaniards found the cross among the objects of worship in the idol temples of Anahnac. voL. vx.12 first nor perhaps the second edict had doneallowed every heathen subject to adopt it with impunity. At the same time the church buildings and property confiscated in the Diocletian persecution were ordered to be re- stored, and private property-owners to be indemnified from the imperial treas- ury. In this notable edict however, we should look in vain br the modern Protestant and Anglo-American theory of religious liberty as one of the univer- sal and inalienable rights of man. Sun- dry voices, it is true, in the Christian church itself; at that time and even before, declared firmly against all com- pulsion in religion. But the spirit of the Roman empire was too absolutistic to abandon the prerogative of a super- vision of public worship. The Con- stantinian toleration was a temporary measure of state policy, which, as in- deed the edict expressly states the mo- tive, promised the greatest security to the public peace and the protection of all divine and heavenly powers, for em- peror and empire. It was, as the result teaches, but the necessary transition step to a new order of things. It open- ed the door to the elevation of Chris- tianity, and specifically of Catholic hierarchical Christianity, with its ex- clusiveness toward heretical t~nd schis- matic sects, to be the religion of the state. For, once put on an equal foot- ing with heathenism, it must soon, in spite of numerical minority, bear away the victory from a religion which had already inwardly outlived itself. From this time Constantine decided- ly favored the church, though without persecuting or forbidding the pagan religions. He always mentions the Christian church with reverence in his imperial edicts, and uniformly applies to it, as we have already observed, the predicate of catholic. For only as a catholic, thoroughly organized, firmly compacted, and conservative institution did it meet his rigid monarchical in- terest, and afford the splendid state and 170 f/ike First Christian Emperor. court dress he wished for his empire. So early as the year 313 we find the bishop Hosius of Cordova among his counsellors, and heathen writers ascribe to the bishop even a magical influence over the emperor. Lactantitis, also, and Eusebius of C~esarea belonged to his confidential circle. He exempted the Christian clergy from military and municipal duty (March, 313); abol- ished various customs and ordinances offensive to the Christians (315); facili- tated the emancipation of Christian slaves (before 816); legalized bequests to catholic churches (321); enjoined the civil observance of Sunday, though not as dies D mi, but as dies Solis, in conformity to his worship of Apollo, and in company with an ordinance for the regular consulting of the haruspex (321); contributed liberally to the building of churches and the support of the clergy; erased the heathen sym- bols of Jupiter and Apollo, Mars and Hercules from the imperial coins (323); and gave his sons a Christian educa- tion. This mighty example was fol- lowed, as might be expected, by a gen- eral transition of those subjects who were more influenced in their conduct by outward circumstances than by in- ward conviction and principle. The story, that in one year (324) twelve thousand men, with women and chil- dren in proportion, were baptized in Rome, and that the emperor had promised to each convert a white gar- ment and twenty pieces of gold, is at least in accordance with the spirit of that reign, though the fact itself; in all probability, is greatly exaggerated. Constantine came out with still great- er decision, when, by his victory over his Eastern colleague and brother-in- law, Licinius, he became sole head of the whole Roman empire. To strength- en his position, Licinius had gradually placed himself at the head of the hea- then party, still very numerous, and had vexed the Christians first with wanton ridicule, then with exclusion from civil and military office, with banishment, and in some instances per- haps even with bloody persecution. This gave the political strife for the monarchy between himself and Con- stantine the character also of a war of religions; and th6 defeat of Licinius in the battle of Adrianople, in July, 321, and at Chalcedon, in September, was a new triumph of the standard of the cross over the sacrifices of the gods; save that Constantine dishonored him- self and his cause by the execution of Licinius and his son. The emperor now issued a general exhortation to his subjects to embrace the Christian religion, still leaving them, however, to their own free con- viction. In the year 325, as patron of the church, he summoned the council of Nice, and himself attended it; ban- ished the Arians, though he afterward recalled them; and, in his monarchical spirit of uniformity, showed great zeal for the settlement of all theological disputes, while he was blind to their deep significance. He first introduced the practice of subscription to the ar- ticles of a written creed and of the in- fliction of civil punishments for non- conformity. In the years 325329, in connection with his mother, Helena, he erected magnificent churches on the sacred spots in Jerusalem. As heathenism had still the prepon- derance in Rome, where it was hal- lowed by its great traditions, Constan- tine, by divine command as he sup- posed, in the year 330, transferred the seat of his government to Byzantium, and thus fixed the policy, already initi- ated by Domitian, or orientalizing and dividing the empire. In the selection of the unrivalled locality he showed more taste and genius than the founders of Madrid, Vienna, Berlin, St. Peters- burg, or Washington. With incredible rapidity, and by all the means within reach of an absolute monarch, he turned this nobly situated town, connecting two seas and two continents, into a splendid residence and a new Christian Rome, for which now, as Gregory of !The Fir8t Chri8tictn E~nperor. 171 Nazianzen expresses it, sea and land emulate each other, to load it with their treasures, and crown it queen of cities. Here, instead of idol temples and al- tars, churches and crucifixes rose; though among them the statues of patron deities from all over Greece, mutilated by all sorts of tasteless adap- tations, were also gathered in the new metropolis. The main hall in the pal- ace was adorned with representations of the crucifixion and other Biblical scenes. The gladiatorial shows, so popular in Rome, were forbidden here, though theatres, amphitheatres, and hippodromes kept their place. It could nowhere be mistaken, that the new imperial residence was, as to all outward appearance, a Christian city. The smoke of heathen sacrifices never rose from the seven hills of New Rome, except during the short reign of Julian the Apostate. It became the residence of a bishop, who not only claimed the authority of the apostolic see of neigh- boring Ephesus, but soon outshone the patriarchate of Alexandria, and rivalled for centuries the papal power in an- cient Rome. The emperor diligently attended di- vine worship, and is portrayed upon medals in the posture of prayer. He kept the Easter vigils with great devo- tion. He would stand during the longest sermons of his bishops, who al- ways surrounded him, and unfortunate- ly flattered him only too much. And he even himself composed and deliv- ered discourses to his court, in the Latin language, from which they were trans- lated into Greek by interpreters ap- pointed for the purpose. General invi- tations were issued, and the citizens flocked in great crowds to the palace to hear the imperial preacher, who would in vain try to prevent their loud applause by pointing to heaven as the source of his wisdom. He dwelt mainly on the truth of Christianity, the folly of idolatry, the unity and providence of God, the coming of Christ, and the judgment. At times he would severe- ly rebuke the avarice and rapacity of his courtiers, who would loudly ap- plaud him with their mouths and belie his exhortations by their works. One of these productions is still extant, in which he recommends Christianity in a characteristic strain, and in proof of its divine origin cites especially the fulfil- ment of prophecy, including the sibyl- line books and the Fourth Eclogue of Virgil, with the con1~rast between his own happy and brilliant reign and the tragical fate of his persecuting prede- cessors and colleagues. Nevertheless he continued in his later years true, upon the whole, to the tol- eration principles of the edict of 313, protected the pagan priests and temples in their privileges, and wisely abstained from all violent measures against hea- thenism, in the persuasion that it would in time die out. He retained many heathens at court and in public office, although he loved to promote Chris- tians to honorable positions. In sev- eral cases, however, he prohibited idol- atry, where it sanctioned scandalous immorality, as in the obscene worship of Venus in Phenicia; or in places which were especially sacred to the Christians, as the sepulchre of Christ and the grove of Mamre; and he caused a number of deserted temples and images to be destroyed or turned into Christian churches. Eusebius relates several such instances with evident approbation, and praises also his later edicts against various heretics and schismatics, but without mentioning the Arians. In his later years he seems, indeed, to have issued a general prohi- bition of idolatrous sacrifice; Eusebius speaks of it, and his sons in 341 refer to an edict to that effect; but the repe- tition of it by his successors proves that, if issued, it was not carried into general execution under his reign. With this shrewd, cautious, and moderate policy of Constantine, which contrasts well with the violent fanati- cism of his sons, accdrds the postpone- ment of his own baptism to his last 172 The Fir8t C4ri~tian~ Emperor. sickness. For this he had the further motives of a superstitious desire, which he himself expresses, to be baptized in the Jordan, whose waters had been sanctified by the Saviours baptism, and no doubt also a fear that he might by relapse forfeit the sacramental remis- sion of sins. He wished to secure all the benefit of baptism as a complete expiation of past sins, with as little risk as possible, and thus to make the best of both worlds. Deathbed bap- tisms then were to half Christians of that age what deathbed conversions and deathbed communions are now. But he presumed to preach the gospel, he called himself the bishop of bishops, he convened the first general council, and made Christianity the religion of the empire, long before his baptism! Strange as this inconsistency appears to us, what shall we think of the court bishops who, from false prudence, re- laxed in his favor the otherwise strict discipline of the church, and admitted him, at least tacitly, to the enjoyment of nearly all the privileges of believers, before he had taken upon himself even a single obligation of a catechumen? When, after a life of almost uninter- rupted health, he felt the approach of death, he was received into the number of catechumens by laying on of hands, and then formally admitted by bap- tism into the full communion of the church in the year 337, the sixty-fifth year of his age, by the Arian (or prop- erly Semi-Arian) bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia, whom he had shortly be- tTore recalled from exile together with Anus! His dying testimony then was, as to form, in favor of heretical rather than orthodox Christianity, but merely from accident, not from intention. He meant the Christian as against the hea- then religion, and whatever of Aiian- ism may have polluted his baptism, was for the Greek Church fully neutral- ized by the orthodox canonization. After the solemn ceremony, he promised to live thenceforth worthily of a dis- ciple of Jesus; refused to wear again the imperial mantle of cunningly woven silk, richly ornamented with gold; re- tained the white baptismal robe; and died a few days after, on Pentecost, May 22, 337, trusting in the mercy of God, and leaving a long, a fortunate, and a brilliant reign, such as none but Augustus, of all his predecessors, had enjoyed. So passed away the first Christian emperor, the first defender of the faith, the first imperial patron of the papal see, and of the whole East- ern Church, the first founder of the holy places, pagan and Christian, or- thodox and heretical, liberal and fanat- ical, not to be imitated or admired, but much to be remembered, and deeply to be studied. His remains were removed in a gold- en coffin by a procession of distin- guished civilians and the whole army, from Nicomedia to Constantinople, and deposited, with the highest Christian honors, in the Church of the Apostles, while the Roman senate, after its an- cient custom, proudly ignoring the great religious revolution of the age, enrolled him among the gods of the heathen Olympus. Soon after his death, Eusebius set him above the greatest princes of all times; from the fifth century he began to be recognized in the East as a saint; and the Greek and Russian Church to this day cele- brates his memory under the extrava- gant title of Isqpostolos, the Equal of the Apostles. The Latin Church, on the contrary, with truer tact, has never placed him among the saints, but has been content with naming him the Great, in just and grateful remem- brance of his services to the cause of Christianity and civilization. Constantine marks the beginning of the downfall of ancient and classical paganism. Still it dragged out a sickly old age for about two hundred years longer, until at last it died of incurable consumption, without the hope of a res- urrection. The final dissolution of heathenism in the Eastern empire may be dated [like Fir8t Ckri~tian Emperor. 173 from the middle of the fifth century. In the year 435, Theodosius II. com- manded the temples to be destroyed or turned into churches. There still ap- pear some heathens in civil office and at court so late as the beginning of the reign of Justinian I. (527567). But this despotic emperor prohibited hea- thenism as a form of worship in the empire on pain of death, and in t*29 abolished the last intellectual seminary of it, the philosophical school of Athens, which had stood nine hundred years. At that time just seven philosophers were teaching in that school, the shades of the ancient seven sages of Greece a striking play of history, like the name of the last West-Roman emperor, Romulus Augustus, or,in contemptu- ous diminutive, Augustulus, combining the names of the founder of the city and the founder of the empire. In the West, heathenism maintained itself until near the middle of the sixth century, and even later, partly as a private religious conviction among many cultivated and aristocratic fami- lies in Rome, partly even in the full form of worship in the remote prov- inces and on the mountains of Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica, and partly in heathen customs and popular usages, like the gadiatorial shows still extant in Rome in 404, and the wanton Lu- percalia, a sort of heathen carnival, the feast of Lupercus, the god of herds, still celebrated with all its excesses in February, 495. But, in general, it may be said that the Grieco-Roman heathen- ism, as a system of worship, was buried under the ruins of the Western empire, which sank under the storms of the great migration. It is remarkable that the northern barbarians labored with the same zeal in the destruction of idol- atry as in the destruction of the empire, and really promoted the victory of the Christian religion. The Gothic king Alaric, on entering Rome, expressly ordered that the churches of the apos- tlcs Peter and Paul should be spared, as inviolable sanctuaries; and he showed a humanity, which Augustin justly attributes to the influence of Christianity (even perverted Arian Christianity) on these barbarous people. The Christian name, he says, which the heathens blaspheme, has effected not the destruction, but the salvation of the city. Odoacer, who put an end to the Westem Roman empire in 476, was incited to his expedition into Italy by St. Severin, and, though himself an Arian, showed great regard to the cafh- olic bishops. The same is true of his conqueror and successor, Thcodoriz the Ostrogoth, who was recognized by the East-Roman emperor Anastasius as king of Italy (A. D. 500), and was like- wise an Arian. Thus between the bar- barians and the Rornans, as between the Romans and the Greeks, and in a measure also the Jews, the conquered gave laws to the conquerors. Chris- tianity triumphed over both. This is the end of Gra~co-Roman heathenism, with its power, wisdom, and beauty. It fell a victim to a slow but steady process of incurable con- sumption. Its downfall is a sublime tragedy which, with all our abhorrence of idolatry, we cannot witness without a certain sadness. At the first appear- ance of Christianity it comprised all the wisdom, literature, art, and politi- cal power of the civilized world, and led all into the field against the weap- onless religion of the crucified Naza- rene. After a conflict of four or five centuries it lay prostrate in the dust without hope of resurrection. With the outward protection of the state, it lost all power, and had not even the courage of martyrdom; while the Christian church showed countless hosts of confessors and bloodwitnesses, and Judaism lives to-day in spite of all persecution. The expectation that Christianity would fall about the year 398, after an existence of three hundred and sixty-five years, turned out in the fulifiment to relate to heathenism it- self. The last glimmer of life in the old 174: Causes of the ]ui/innesota 3fassaere. religio~r was its pitiable prayer for toler- ation and its lamentation over the ruin of the empire. Its best elements took refuge in the church, and became con- vertecl, or at least took Christian names. Now the gods were dethroned, oracles arid prodigies ceased, sibylline books were burned, temples were de- stroyed, or transformed into churches, or still stand as memorials of the vic- tory of Christianity. But although ancient Greece and Rome have fallen forever, the spirit of Gr~eco-Roman paganism is not extinct. It still lives in the natural heart of man, which at this day as much as ever needs regeneration by the spirit of God. It lives also in many idola- trous and superstitious usages of the Greek and Roman Churches, against which the pure spirit of Christianity has instinctively protested from the begin- ning, and will protest, till all remains of gross and refined idolatry shall be outwardly as well as inwardly over- come, and baptized and sanctified not only with water, but also with the spirit and fire of the gospel. Finally, the better genius of ancient Greece and Rome still lives in the im- mortal productions of their poets, phi- losophers, historians, and oratorsyet no longer an enemy, but a friend and servant of Christ. What is truly great and noble and beautiful can never perish. The classic literature had pre- pared the way for the gospel, in the sphere of natural culture, and was to be turned thenceforth into a weapon for.its defence. It passed, like the Old Testament, as a rightful im,heritauce, into the possession of the Christian church, which saved those precious works of genius through the ravages of the mi- gration of nations and the darkness of the Middle Ages, and used them as material in the rearing of the temple of modern civilization. The word of the great epostle of the Gentiles was here fulfilled: All things are yours.~ The ancient classics, delivered from the dmemoniacal possession of idolatry, have come into the service of the only true and living God, once unknown to them, but now everywhere revealed, and are thus enabled to fulfil their true mission as the preparatory tutors of youth for Christian learning and cul- ture. This is the noblest, the most worthy, and most complete victory of Christianity, transforming the enemy into friend and ally. CAUSES OF THE MINNESOTA MASSACRE. IF great public phenomena do not come by chance, then there were causes for the Minnesota massacres, by the Sioux, in 18623, quite apart from the aboriginal cruelty and ferocity ef the Indian nature. We all know that the carnal Indian man is a bad enough fel- low ~it the best, and capable of dread- ful crimes and misdemeanors, if only to gratify his whim or the caprice of the moment. And when he is bent upon satiating his revenge for some real or imaginary wrong, I would back him in the horrible ingenuity of his devices for torture, in the unrelenting malice of his vengeance, against any the most fierce and diabolicalof all the potentates in the kingdoms of eternal and immutable evil! But the white man has always had the advantage of the red man. He was his superior in knowledge, power, and intellect; and came, for the most part, of that lordly race, the issue, of whose loins already occupy all the chief countries within the zones of civiliza- tion. He knew, therefore, when he first began to deal with the Indian,

The Causes of the Minnesota Massacre 174-189

174: Causes of the ]ui/innesota 3fassaere. religio~r was its pitiable prayer for toler- ation and its lamentation over the ruin of the empire. Its best elements took refuge in the church, and became con- vertecl, or at least took Christian names. Now the gods were dethroned, oracles arid prodigies ceased, sibylline books were burned, temples were de- stroyed, or transformed into churches, or still stand as memorials of the vic- tory of Christianity. But although ancient Greece and Rome have fallen forever, the spirit of Gr~eco-Roman paganism is not extinct. It still lives in the natural heart of man, which at this day as much as ever needs regeneration by the spirit of God. It lives also in many idola- trous and superstitious usages of the Greek and Roman Churches, against which the pure spirit of Christianity has instinctively protested from the begin- ning, and will protest, till all remains of gross and refined idolatry shall be outwardly as well as inwardly over- come, and baptized and sanctified not only with water, but also with the spirit and fire of the gospel. Finally, the better genius of ancient Greece and Rome still lives in the im- mortal productions of their poets, phi- losophers, historians, and oratorsyet no longer an enemy, but a friend and servant of Christ. What is truly great and noble and beautiful can never perish. The classic literature had pre- pared the way for the gospel, in the sphere of natural culture, and was to be turned thenceforth into a weapon for.its defence. It passed, like the Old Testament, as a rightful im,heritauce, into the possession of the Christian church, which saved those precious works of genius through the ravages of the mi- gration of nations and the darkness of the Middle Ages, and used them as material in the rearing of the temple of modern civilization. The word of the great epostle of the Gentiles was here fulfilled: All things are yours.~ The ancient classics, delivered from the dmemoniacal possession of idolatry, have come into the service of the only true and living God, once unknown to them, but now everywhere revealed, and are thus enabled to fulfil their true mission as the preparatory tutors of youth for Christian learning and cul- ture. This is the noblest, the most worthy, and most complete victory of Christianity, transforming the enemy into friend and ally. CAUSES OF THE MINNESOTA MASSACRE. IF great public phenomena do not come by chance, then there were causes for the Minnesota massacres, by the Sioux, in 18623, quite apart from the aboriginal cruelty and ferocity ef the Indian nature. We all know that the carnal Indian man is a bad enough fel- low ~it the best, and capable of dread- ful crimes and misdemeanors, if only to gratify his whim or the caprice of the moment. And when he is bent upon satiating his revenge for some real or imaginary wrong, I would back him in the horrible ingenuity of his devices for torture, in the unrelenting malice of his vengeance, against any the most fierce and diabolicalof all the potentates in the kingdoms of eternal and immutable evil! But the white man has always had the advantage of the red man. He was his superior in knowledge, power, and intellect; and came, for the most part, of that lordly race, the issue, of whose loins already occupy all the chief countries within the zones of civiliza- tion. He knew, therefore, when he first began to deal with the Indian, Cau8es of t14e Ahnnesota Afassacre. 175 what manner of man he was, what his enlightenment was, and how far it reached out into the darkness where all is night! He knew that this wild, savage, untamable redskin could not be approached, reconciled, traded with, or stolen from, by adopting, in his case, the usages and courtesies of civil life, as we understand them, but that his own peculiar laws, customs, and manners must be studied and con- formed to, if any headway were to be made in his regard and confidence. At no time, from the beginning to the present day and hour, has any white man been so fuddled in his wits as to suppose that the Indian could either act or talk like a clergyman of any recognized Christian denomination. It was too much, therefore, to expect from him that he should exhibit any of the fine charities and warm affec- tions which distinguish the Christian character. He was a redskin, implaca- ble in his hate, not altogether trust worthy even in his friendships, and jealous of his reputation and the tradi- tions of his race. INor was he without manhood either. A brave, bloody, mocking and defiant manhood! capable of the endurances of the martyr, exhib- iting sometimes the sublimest self-sacri- fice and courage. Whether out of these wild and savage materials there lay anywhere, at any time, the human or divine power to mould a civilized community, does not appear upon the record. It is certain, however, that after all the far-too-late attempts to transfigure these savages into the likeness of a down-East Yan- kee, or, better still, into the similitude of a Western farmer, no permanent good results are likely to ensue. The red man and the white are sep- arated indeed by the prodigious dis- tances (ethnologically speaking) not only of race and language, but of noble tradition and glorious history. They could never amalgamate in blood, or in the so-called natural sympathies of man. They seem to be born enemies I as their feelings and their instincts apparently f~ach them when they come into con- tact with each other. They cannot ex- ist side by side. A mightier than they holds the destinies of both in His hands. He has tried the redskins. He has given them a good chance upon the earth, and they have failed to do anything but kill buffalo and breed like ratsoften burrowing like ratsre- fusing to dig and plant the teeming, beneficent earth which had been com- mitted to their charge; and preferring, generally, the life of a vagabond loafer to that of a thrifty, careful husband- man. I do not blame them. They are as God made them, and man left them; for, I suppose, their forebearssome- where afar off in Asia, perhaps, in the dim, immemorial ageshad all passed through the various phases of the civ- ilization of their time, and that they did not grow out of the tail of any gorilla. It is not for profane man to inquire what possible reason there could be for the perpetuationlet alone the creationof such a useless, boot- less race. There they are, occupiers of the soil for unknown centuriesbefore the white man ever saw their faces many thousands of them still squat- ting there, cleaving, like bereaved Au- tochthons, to the bosom of the dear old mother who had whelped and so long nurtured them; and trying to make themselves believe that they are still masters of the continent. What they were made for at all, I do not pretend to divine. The Divine Maker of all knows best, and what He does is its own justificationsatisfying the wellnigh insatiable cry of the uni- verse for universal justice. They are the saurians of humanity; and it is re- markable that the idea of progressive development if I may be pardoned for making use of a term in modem philosophy about which there has beeu so much assumption and cantingit i~ remarkable that this idea, which the name of 8ctUrULfl suggests, should rim 176 through all nature, and be embodied in her finest forms and intelligences There is a considerable distance be- tween the saurian and good Master Adam, the gardener of Eden; but it seems to me, after all, that this brutal, foul, obscene monster of the prime, was only Adam in the making. He came after him, a long way, at all events; and if geology had been fashionable in his time, and he a savant, he might have chalked out for himself a very fine ped- igree. For this strange, eccentric Nature, who meant man from the beginning, and failed to realize her ideal because of those horrible nightmare dreams of which these saurians, mastodons, main- moths were the visible representatives, did, nevertheless, make, in every suc- ceeding world (for every crust of this planet is the crust of a dead world), higher and higher organizationsuntil, at last, she gave to man his in& wutalde birth! That was, no doubt, a great triumph of power and genius! Man is a noble animal, the finest of all living fellows! et cetera! et cetera! But what sort of a fellow was he when he came, in his spindles and shacklebones, from the womb of the All-mother? Was he a Caucasian, or a Mongolian, a Negro, a Malay, or a Bosjesman ?this last being an effigy of man so abominable that no race that I have heard of will include him even as a lodger in the parish set- tlements! Mark! what a sameness, and yet what an infinite variety, there is in all the operations and purposes of Nature! She does not grow us men out of our mothers, but babeshelpless, pitiably, tearfully helpless lales! ignorant; who must grow into the perfect stature and the mature mind of men. Is not this babe also a saurian in its little way? Does a wider gap separate the saurian from the man, than that which separates the tiny babe from some Bacon or Raleigh? The law of nature is progress. It is often, nay, always, a Gauces of the ijliinne8ota .Afa1t~8acre. very slow thingbut how sure! how inevitable! how beneficent in its re- sults! She never makes worse after badand those weird opium monsters of the foreworlds were unspeakably bad !but always she makes of bad bet- ter; and of better she has made her best, at present. In the light of this law, were any one mad enough to grope, he might come to the conclusion that the first man (or race of men) was any- thing but a grandee in mind, person, or estate; and that our seemingly puz- zled but at last~most wonder-working mother, ycleped Nature, made some very ugly attempts at man before she reached the climax of her imagination and her power as it obtains in the man Caucasian! I regard all the colored racesand with no malice or evil of any sort in my heart toward themas first experi- ments in the gamut of human creation. Neither ethnology nor any other ology will pull out of my consciousnesslet alone my active intellectthe belief that these were the oldest, the primor- dial races, or the descendants of such, and that the white Caucasian man, with his noble brain and heart, his match- less person, was an afterthought, the brightest since her birth-thought of the earths creation. Look into the face of any upgrown modern Indian! It is an old face, as if the accumulated wrinkles of, not forty, but ~( hundred centuries had ploughed their marks there. They seem to belong to the dawn of time; while our Caucasian man is ever young and beautiful, the born master of all things. We must deal with races according to their faculty, and credit them ac- cording to their faculty. If we fail, we fail in wisdomand in prudence, which is a valuable attribute of wisdom. Ex- pect not grapes from thistles! Expect no virtueunless it relates to his own selfishness or his own tribefrom an Indian, or from very many other men! It must not be forgotten, however, that Indians are people who, to say Causes of t1~e Jifinnesota lifassacre. the least of them, are fashioned in the likeness of men. Here, as elsewhere, Nature sticks to her old plan, and will not budge an inch. In the chart of the Indians nature are mapped out the same feelings, instincts, passions, the same organs and dimensions as belong to the highest race, or the highest race of the mixed races. She will have no nonsense about her red children, nor about her black. There they are, as she (for purposes of her own, not par- ticularly clear) intended them to be men, alive, oh !not descendants of Monboddos ape, nor of Du Chaillus gorilla, but men proper and absolute! with their duties, responsibilities, and destinies. Seeing, therefore, that tl~e Indian (our American Indian, with whom we have now to do) has all the faculties however defaced and blurred by long centuries of bloody crimes, which they regard not as crimes, but as virtues seeing that these red, thriftless, bloody- minded Indians have all the human faculties intactalthough, it may be, not so bright as those of some of our own people who call themselves Ameri- cansis it not possible that by fair and manly dealing with them, by a just trade, and conscientious regard for the sanctity of treaty rights and obliga- tionsthat you, whom it may more particularly concern, might so win their good will as to make them friends in- stead of enemies? The devil that lies at the bottom of all savage natures is easily roused, not at all so easily laid again, and as easily kept in his own place. Indians are not incapable of friendship, nor of good faith, although the best require a great deal of looking afterand close looking, too! But what I want to urge is this: that if you always appeal to the worst pas- sions of the redskin, rob him of his rights and property, cheat him by false promises, deceive him at all hands, and then mock him when he knocks at your door for credit or charity, that he and his may live, you cannot much wonder if, obeying his traditions, his religion, and the dictates of his savage naturenow maddened into fury and reckless of consequenceshe indulges in the frightful havoc, the relentless murders and burnings, which have so lately marked his trail in Minnesota. Let no one suppose for a moment, from what I have now said, that I de- sign to offer any apology, any excuse for the nameless and unpunishable crimes which these miscreants have perpetrated. I have no pity and no compassion for them, and surely no word either which I desire should be construed, in this respect, to their fa- vor. I go with the old Scotch judge a rigid Antinomian! who, having tried and convicted a Calvinist as rigid as himselg asked him what he had to say why the sentence of the law should not be pronounced against him. My lord, said the prisoner, its a bad job; but I was predestined to do it!, Whereupon his lordship replied: Ay! ay! my cannie laddie I an I was predestined to hang ye fort. So while I set forth the necessary, evil nature of the Indian, and the con- sequent necessity of his bloody deeds, I also insist upon the necessity of hang- ing him for it. I plead not for the Indian of Minne- sota, after these most shocking, most appalling butcheries. I love my own race; and not a man, woman, or child, who was sacrificed by these monsters, but their wounds were my wounds, and their agonies tore my heart to the very core. Henceforth I shall never see an Indian but I shall feel the goose fleshy of loathing and llorror steal over my Adams buff! But you, my beloved friends of Minnesota! you who have suffered so much in your families and homes during the massacre, are you sure that you did all you could do as citizens and rulers in this land to see even-handed justice dealt out between the corrupt Government agencies and storekeepers, and the helpless Indians? Had these last no just and reasonable 178 Cau8es of the .Minnesota ilfas8acre. ground of complaint? complaint of the General Government, complaint of the delays in their payment, complaint of the swindling of the storekeepers and traders? They had sold their lands, and -gone away to their reservations. But the money for their lands promised so faithfully at such a timewhere was that money? Non est! The Indians depended on it, trusted to the certainty of its coming as the saint trusts in the promises. They came for itoften, in their history, in the depth of winter, for hundred of miles, through an in- hospitable forest; their wives, children, and braves starvingmany of them left behind in the wilderness to die; their only weapon made of coarse nails, lashed with wire, and this they called a gun barrel, aid with this they killed what game was killed by the way. This did not happen in Minnesota, it is true; but events as horrible and sickening as this did happen, and brought with them consequences more horrible still, which will never be for- gotten while the State exists or the language lasts. Scenes were enacted at that Lower Agency which were disgraceful to human nature, and the victims were invariably the redskins. Once when Red Iron came there, at the summons, or rather after the repeated summons of Governor Ramsay, it turned out that nearly four hundred thousand dollars of the cash payment due to the Sioux, under the treaties of 15512, were paid to the traders on old indebt- edness! How much of this enormous sum was really due to the traders it is bootless now to inquire; although it is pretty certain, from what we know of similar transactions, that not a twentieth part of it was due to them. Mr. Isaac V. D. Heard, who has writ- ten a History of the Sioux War and Massacres of 1862 and 1863, who is an old resident of Minnesota of twelve years standing, acted with General Sibley in his expedition against the savages in 1862, and was recorder of the military commission which tried some four hundred of the participants in the outbreakhas not been deterred by the just hatred which the Minnesota people nurture against the Indians, and which they will keep hot until their rifles have exterminated the whole brood of them, from saying a brave word respecting the iniquities perpe- trated by rascal peddlers and official prigs against the Indians which were the immediate causes of the massacre and the subsequent wars. The Indian was subjected to all sorts of frauds, little and bigthe smaller thieves thinking that they also must live, no matter at whose expense, al- though I demur to the proposition. Why should they stop at stealing a thousand or two, more or less, while that four hundred thousand swindle leered at them so wickedly over the left shoulder, mocking at all law and justice, and scot free from all punish- ment? These traders could charge what sums they liked against the In- dian, and get them too; for there was no one to defeat or check their rapacity. Mr. Heard tells us that no less a sum than fifty-five thousand dollars was claimed by one Hugh Tyler, as due to him by the Indians, when the great swindle just alluded to was committed; and that he was paid out of the accru- ing funds. This man was a stranger in the country, an adventurer, who went out into the wilderness for to seek his fortune; and it is curious to read the items of which his little bill, fifty-five thousand, is composed. Here they ere: For getting the treaties through the Senate; for nece& ~ary dis?urse- ments in securing the assent of the chiefs. Very curious and instructive items they are, to all who consider them. To say nothing of the corruption of the Senate which the first item sig- nifies, if it has any meaning at all, there is the guilty record of the necessary disbursements, or, in other words, ~nibes, paid to chiefs for betraying their coun- try and their race. This was a part of Causes of the Minnesota liliassacre. 179 the regular machinery of the Agencies. All their plans were cut and dried, and they had men to carry them out. They could not stir a peg without the assent of the chiefs; and when they found a man too noble to be a traitor, they got the Governor to break him as a chief, and invest a more pliable, accommo- dating redskin with his rank and title. Through the influence of bad men, and by the forging of lying documents, which the Indians could not read, and which were never interpreted to them except to cheat them as to their con- tents and meaning, they have always managed to get their treaties signed; after which the newly made chiefs could not so much as take the liberty to beg a pipe of tobacco of them. As a sample of their infamous deal- ings, we take the following excerpt from Mr. Heards book, page 41: In 1857, a trader, pretending that he was getting them to sign a power of attorney to get back the money which had gone to the traders under the treaty of 1851 and 1852, obtained their signatures to vouchers, by which he swindled them out of $12,000. Shortly after, this trader secured the payment of $4,500 for goods which he claimed (falsely, it is said) to have been stolen. About the same time a man in Sioux City was allowed a claim of $5,000 for horses, which he also al- leged to have been stolen. In 1858, the chiefs were taken to Washington, and agreed to treaties for the cession of all their reservations north of the Minnesota, for which, as ratified by the Senate, they were to have $166,000; but of this amount they never received a penny until four years afterward, when $15,000, in goods, were sent to the Lower Sioux, and these were deducted out of what was due them under former treaties. The In- dians, discovering the fraud, refused to receive them for several weeks, aud only consented to take them after the Gov- ernment had agreed to rectify the mat- ter. Most of the large amcnent d under these treaties, went into the pockets of traders, Government officials, and swrn- dlers generall~I. The Indians were grievously disap- pointed with their bargains, and from that time the control of affairs passed from the chiefswho, it was believed, had been bribedto the young men. They had now nearly disposed of all their lands, and received scarcely any- thing for them. They were six thou- sand two hundred in number, and their annuities, when paid in full, were hardly fifteen dollars apiece. Their sufferings, continues Mr. Heard, were often severe, especially during the winter and spring previous to the massacres.~ Their crops failed them; a heavy fall of snow, late in the season, came to in- crease their miseries, and delayed the spring hunts. The Sissetons, of Lac Traverse, had to eat their horses and dogsand at least fifteen hundred of the old men, women, and children had to be supported by the Government at an extra expense; and this was so in- adequately done that some died of starvation. The history of these iniquities is no new thing in Indian affairs. It is, from first to last, a record of the most shame- kss lying and fraud. The Agency seems to have been established there as a sort of Jonathan Wilds shop. for the pur- pose of carrying on the trade of thiev- ing. What did these storekeeperswho credited the Indians for tobacco and rum, for bread and beef, for clothing, and such other luxuries as they had come to regard as necessariescare for the winter prospects of the wretched In- dians, after they had lined their pock- ets with that four hundred thousand dollars I Not a dime I And when subsequently it was found that only half the regular Government payment would be handed over to the Indians during the next year, these storekeepers on the Wild plannot Quly re- fused to give them credit for articles indispensable to life in the wilderness, but insuRed them to boot; and this so exasperated the proud, revengeful na- ture of the Indian, that he remembered it afterward in many a bloody murder which he committed, and the innocent suffered for the guilty! Mr. Heard acquits the Agency, and 180 Cau8es of the Hinn~ota Mas8ctcre. all connected with it, of being in any way the causes of this outbreak. But his own statements of their dealing with the Indians hardly bear him out in his judgment. I do not mean to say that the people of the Lower Agency were a whit worse in such dealings than those of the Upper, or any other similar Agency. It is an understood thing, and mercilessly practised, that the In- dian shall be fleeced whenever the white man has a chance to fleece him. It is the law and the gospel of these Agencies; and we must not allow our- selves to be hoodwinked in this mat- ter by the mistaken humanity of Mr. Heard. And yet, if we think of it, there could not have been devised a more evil scheme, either against the natives or the settlers, than these wellnigh irre- sponsible Agencies. From all parts of the Union, from every country of the Old World, emigrants had come to settle in the beautiful Minnesota State; they had built themselves good, sub- stantial houses, ploughed, fenced, and planted their rich and prosperous farms, conquered the savage wilderness into blooming cornfields, orchards, and gardensand here was their true El Dorado! where they hoped to live in peace, plenty, and security. They were not afraid of the savages, but their wont was to make friends of them, and to be their friends, entertaining them at their homes when they visited the settlements, and doing all they could with some exceptionsto perpetuate among them a good feeling and an in- telligent understanding. To a certain extent, and in some cases, they succeeded in this straight- forward diplomacy. But the predis- position of the reds to enmity with the whites was still there, slumbering only, not eradicated; nor could all the kind- ness, and generosity of the whole Cau- casian heart, heaped upon them in the most lavish profusion, ever root it out. Nature put it thereI wish she hadnt for reasons of her own, just as she put murder into the cruel heart and brain of the tiger in the jungle. There was this original sin, there- fore, to contend against always, with- out reference to any tangible causes or provocations. All knew this. All knew, from the youngest to the oldest, that the true policy of the whites was to conciliate the Indians. They knew his inextinguishable memory of wrongs, his dreadful vengeance, his power, and his constant opportunity to do irrepar- able mischief. And, as I said, the settlers were, for the most part, anxious to smoke the pipe of peace and friend- ship with him. But what was the good of all this? What, think you, did it avail in the councils of the savages, when they sat over their fires discussing their wrongs and prospects? What the good-heart- ed settlers did in the way of reconcilia- tion and good will was undone a thou- sandfold at the Agency. It is true that the Agency had become necessary to the subsistence of the Indian, and that this fact made him bear much which, undei other circumstances, he would instantly have resented and punished. But they well knew how they were robbed; and when did a wrong of that, or any sort, pass muster upon the Indians roll of vengeance? Every fraud against an Indian, every lie told him, every broken promise, every worthless article sold to him at the Agency, was more than a set-off to any act of kindness shown to him by the settlers. Add to these local crimes, the great error of the Govern- ment in unduly withholding the Indian payment for their landsand you have the Indians casus lelli, the grounds, or some of them, on which he justified himself to his own bloody and remorse-~ less conscience, for his inhuman deeds! For the Indian keeps a conscience, such as it is; but of a truth, better no conscience than an Indians con- science! It is like an appeal to hell, ones appeal to this! all the accursed passions imprisoned there coming up from their limbos, their eyes glaring with the malice of ineradicable hate, and bloodshot with murder, to support the conscience, and strengthen its resb- lution for an unspeakable vengeance. But, after all, this pour devil is really tobe pitied for his ignorance and bru- tality, and as really to be killed with- out mercy. He is in the way of civiliz- ation, and must go to the wall. I find that Nature herself is utterly pitiless; that she cares neither for white nor red, nor for any other color or person, but, like a horrible, crashing car of Jugger- naut, she rolk steadily forward, astride the inevitable machinery, crushing all who oppose her. But this digression is no apology, in the matter of its argumcnt, for the In- dian Agents, who must have been aware, long before the outbreak took place, that their frauds were fast culminating in the Indian mind, and that every fresh wrong they did to them was only bringing nearer by a step the indis- criminate massacre of the settlers. There were other causes, however, besides these, to enrage and madden them, which must not be lost sight of. Our Government had prohibited their sanguinary wars upon the Chippewas, and they regarded this as an act of wanton tyranny. They were bred in the faith that war is the true condition of an Indian man, and that peace was made for women and children. War was the only outlet for their power, the only field in which they could distin. guish themselves and win immortal re- nown. All the great kingdoms of knowledge and literature were shut against them as with walls of brass. They could not read or write, and their leisure was passed in idle gossip, or in deliberations on infernal schemes against the white man to revenge them- selves for their wrongs. It was not a wise thing to do, I think; although, no doubt, it was hu- mane enough, as we understand hu- manity. Did not the dragons of the mime tear other in their slime, and so thin out the horrible race, until Na- 181 ture herself put the final claws of an- nihilation upon them? Why, in mercy, then, do we try to prevent the inevi- table? War is a great clearer of the atmosphere; and one of our poets, Coleridge, I believe, says that Carnage is Gods daughter! a bold figure of rhetoric, not without its apparently sufficient apologies. Why not let the Sioux and Chippewas, or any other of the wild, irreclaimable brood, fight their bloodiest, and do their prettiest to help Nature, who seems bent on the exter- mination of all inferior races? They have got to die, any way !that is a great consolation !and if the philan- thropists at Washington had only left them to themselves, they would have died by mutual slaughtergreat num- bers of themlong ago, and saved said philanthropists from the crime of kill- ing them, which they are now doing, by inches !a far more cruel way of dying. I was much pleased, when last sum- mer they were upraided for doing a little war against the Chips, in spite of Washington, with the sarcastic reply of a chief, who said: Our Great Father, we know, has always told us it was wrong to make war; yet now he himself is making war, and killing a great many. Will you explain this to us? We do not understand it! This was a hit, a palpable hit, let who will reconcile it. Mr. Heard givcs us the following brief statement of the manner in which treaties are made with the Indians; and I earnestly call the attention of the Government and all just citizens to its statements. He says: The traders, knowing for years be- fore, that the whites will purchase lands, sell the Indians goods on credit, expecting to realize their pay from the consideration to be paid by the Govern- ment. They thus become interested instruments to obtain the consent of the Indians to the treaty. And by reason of their familiarity with the language, and the associations of half-breed rela- tives, are possessed of great facilities 67auBes of tke Minnesotct Ji1fia~sacre. 182 Causes of the itf4nnesota )Jas8acre. The Bishop continues: to accomplish their object. The per- flection to this subject, who does not sons deputed by the Government to know that our Indian system is an or- effect a treaty are compelled to procure ganized system of robbery, and has their coOperation, and this they do by been for years a disgrace to the nation. providing that their debts shall be It has left savage men without Govern- paid. The traders obtain the concur- mental control; it has looked on un- rence of the Indians by refusing to~give concerned at every crime against the them further credit, and by represent- laws of God and man; it has fostered ing to them that they will receive an savage life by wasting thousands of immense amount of money if they sell dollars in the purchase of paint, beads, their lands, and thenceforth will live at scalping knives, and tomahawks; it ease, with plenty to eat, and plenty to has fostered a system of trade which wear, and plenty of powder and lead, robbed the thrifty and virtuous to pay and of whatever else they may request. the debts of the indolent and vicious; After the treaty is agreed to, the it has squandered the funds for civili- amount of ready money is absorbed by zation and schools; it has connived at the exorbitant demands of the traders, theft; it has winked at murder; and and the expenses of the removal of the at last, after dragging the savage down Indians to their reservations! to a brutishness unknown to his fa- After that the trader no longer thers, it has brought a harvest of blood looks to the Indian for his pay; he gets to our door 1, it from their annuities. He, therefore, does not use the same means to con- ciliate their good will that he did when he was dependent upon their honesty. Claims for depredations upon white settlers are also deducted out of their moneys before they leave Washington, on insufficient testimony; and these are always, when based on fact, double the actual loss; for the Indian Department is notoriously corrupt, and the hand manipulating the machinery must be crossed with gold! The expenses~ of ~obtaining a claim enter into the amount demanded and allowed. The demand is not only generally unjust, but, in- stead of its being deducted from the moneys of the wrong doer, it is taken from the annuities of all! This course punishes the innocent and rewards the guilty, because the property taken by the depredator is of more value than the slight percentage he loses. Many of the stipulations as to estab- lishing schools and furnishing them with farming utensils, are never carried out. Building and supply contracts are entered into without investigation at outrageous prices, and goods belong- ing to the Indians are put into the traders stores, and sold to their owners, and the moneys realized shared by the trader and the Agent! It was under this Indian system that the fierce, warlike Sioux were fit- ted and trained to be the actors in this bloody drama, and the same causes are to-day, slowly but surely, preparing the way for a Chippewa war. There is not, to-day, an old citizen of Minne- sota who will not shrug his shoul- ders as he speaks of the dishonesty which accompanied the purchase of the lands of the Sioux. It left in savage minds a deep sense of injustice. Then followed ten years of savage life, un- checked by law, uninfluenced by good example. They were taught by white men that lying was no disgrace, adul- tery no sin, and theft no crime. Their hunting grounds were gone; the on- ward march of civilization crowded them on every side. Their only possi- ble hope of being saved from starva- tion was the fidelity with Which a great nation fulfilled its plighted faith, which before God and man it had pledged to its heathen wards. The people here, on the border, and the rulers at Washington, know how that faith has been broken. The constant irritations of such a system would, in time, have secured . an Indian massacre. It was hastened Bishop Whipple, of Minnesota, in and precipitated by the sale of nearly eight hundred thousand acres of land, his appeal for the red man, confirms for which they never received one farthvng; this statement beyond doubt or ques- for it was all absorbed in claims! tion: Then came the story (and it was true) that half of their annuity money had There is not a man in America, he also been taken for claims. They wait- says, who ever gave an hours calm re- ed two months, mad, exasperated, Cctu~~e8 of the 2rlinnesota ]ila88acre. 183 hungrythe Agent utterly powerless to undo the wrong committed at Wash- ingtonand they resolved on savage vengeance. For every dollar of which they have been defrauded we shall pay ten dollars in the cost of the war. It has been so for fifty years; it will be so again. Gods retributive ~ustwe al- ways has compelled a people to reap ex- actly what the?, have permitted to be 8OWfl! These extracts from the Bishops Plea confirm what I have stated in the pre- ceding paragraphs; and the last sen- tencewhich I have marked in italics is well worth the while of every reader to ponder well. Mr. Heard dates the commencement of the massacre to the breaking of a stray nest of hens eggs on the prairie, and what came of the transaction; but the date lies farther back than that, so far as the resolution to seize the first favorable opportunity for slaughtering the whites is concernedand belongs to the era of the great crimes of our Government against them, as shown in the forcible seizure of their lands with- out their receiving any payment, even a farthing for them; the hucksters, under the connivance of the Govern- ment agents, getting the whole of it, and, in the instance alluded to a while ago, keeping back from them, as pay- ment for old debts, about three hun- dred boxes of the money upon which they had depended to keep themselves alive during the winter and the follow- ing year. Such enormous crimes were sure to reap a bloody harvest. The Indian is no fool, although he cant do addition and subtraction. He knows when he is about fairly dealt with, and he knows when he is mightily plucked. In this case of the old debt payment he knew that he was robbed wholesale, and through the mouth of Red Iron he proclaimed the fact to Governor Ram- sey, in council assembled. Alluding to this robbery, he said: We dont think we owe them so much. We want to pay all our debts. We want our Great Father to send three good men here, to tell us how much we do owe; and whatever they say, we will pay; and (pointing to the Indians) thats what all these braves say; our chiefs and all our people say this 1 At which all the Indians present re- sponded: Ho! ho! This Red Iron was the principal chief of the Sissetons, and his indigna- tion at the wrongs done to his race made him so boisterous that Governor Ramsey was imprudent enough to break him of his chieftainship. The scene and its results were by no means creditable to the Governor. This lat- ter personage had summoned Red Iron to meet him at a council, held Decem- ber, 1852, and he did not turn up as expected. So, I suppose, he was sent for, and brought in by the soldiers. He is described by one who was pres- ent, as a bout forty years old, tall and athletic; six feet high in his moccasons, with a large, well-developed head, aquiline nose, thin, compressed lips, and physiognomy beaming with intel- ligence and resolution. He was clad in the half military, half Indian cos- tume of the Dacotah chiefs, as he sat in the council room; and no one greet- ed or noticed him. A very poor piece of revenge! In a few minutes the Governor, turning to the chief in the midst of a breathless silence, by the aid of an interpreter, opened council. The Governor asked the chief what excuse he had for not coming to the council when he sent for him. Whereupon Red Iron rose to his feet, with native grace and dignity, says Mr. Heard, his blanket falling from his shoulders, and, purposely dropping the pipe of peace, he stood erect before the Governor, with his arms folded and his right hand pressed upon the sheath of his scalping knife. With the utmost coolness and self-possession, a defiant smile playing upon his thin lips, and his eyes sternly fixed upon his excel- 184 Cauees of tiw ]ifinne6ota ]Jlct88acre. lency, the Indian, with a firm voice, re- plied: I started to come, but your braves drove me back. GOVERNOR. What excuse have you for not coming the second time when I sent for you? RED IRON. No other excuse than I have given you. GOVERNOR. At the treaty, I thought you a good man; but since, you have acted badly, and I am disposed to break you. I do break you. Red Iron looked at the Governor for a moment with a look of withering contempt and scorn, and then burst out in a voice full of derisive mock- ery. RED IRON. You break me! My people made me a chief. My people love me. I will still be their chief. I have done nothing wrong. GOVERNOR. Red Iron, why did you get your braves together, and march around here for the purpose of intimi- dating other chiefs, and prevent their coming to council? RED IRON. I did not get my braves together; they got themselves together, to prevent boys going to council to be made chiefs to sign papers, and to pre- vent single chiefs going to council at night, to be bribed to sign papers for money we have never got. And then the inexorable fellow continued, with- out any regard to his excellencys nerves or conscience: We have heard how the MDewakantons were served at Mendota; that by secret councils you got their names on paper, and took away their money. We dont want to be served so. My braves wanted to come to council in the daytime, when the sun shines; and we want no coun- cils in the dark. We want all our peo- ple to go to council together, so that we can all know what is done. The Governor is nothing abashed at these damaging charges, but returns once more to the assault. GOVERNOR. Why did you attempt to come to council with youi braves, when I had forbidden your braves com- ing to council? To which Red Iron, with the same masterful, defiant smile upon his thin lips, answers: RED IRON. You invited the chiefs only, and would not let the braves come too. This is not the way we have been treated before; this is not accord- ing to our customs; for among Daco- tahs, chiefs and braves go to council together. When you first sent for us there were two or three chiefs here, and we waited, and we wanted to wait till the rest would come, that we might all be in council together, and know what was done, and so that we might all understand the papers, and know what we were signing. When we signed the treaty, the traders threw a blanket over our faces, and darkened our eyes; and made us sign papers which we did not understand, and which were not explained or read to us. We want our Great Father at Washington to know what has been done. This last speechwhose words hit like bulletsmade the Governor wince, and he replied, with more sharpness than wit: GOVERNOR. Your Great Father has sent me to represent him; and what I say, he says. He wants you to pay your old debts, in accordance with the pa~pers you signed when the treaty was made [ which we did not understand; which were never read nor explained to us; which we were forced to sign, as Red Iron had justtold the Governor!]. You must leave that money in my hands to pay those debts. If you re- fuse to do that, I will take the money back. The Governor was getting deeper and deeper into the pit which he had dug for the Indian. This last speech was most unhappy and impolitic for the side he was advocating. It put dreadful weapons into the hands of Red Iron, which the crafty old man eloquent did not fail to use against his antagonist. Cau,~es of the iWlinnecota Afa88aere. 185 He makes this manly answer, not at all abashed in the presence of the chief magistrate: RED IRoN. You can take back your money! We sold our land to you, and you promised to pay us. If you dont give us the money, I will be glad, and all our people will be glad; for we will have our land back if you dont give us the money. That paper was not interpreted or explained to us. We are told it gives about three hundred boxes ($300,000) of our money to some of the traders! We dont think we owe them so much. We want to pay all our debts. We want our Great Father to send three good men here to tell us how much we do owe, and whatever they say, we will pay; and (pointing to the Indians) thats what all these braves say. Our chiefs and all our people say this. And the Indians responded with the usual Ho! ho! of acquiescence. But the Governor dont see it. A poor devil of an Indian, according to his Christian conviction, ought to be content to pay unaudited, untaxed bills, wherein the margin is broad enough for any scoundrel to do his robberies by tens of thousands. So his excellency told Red Iron: GOVERNOR. That cant be done! [Nay, more confounding and appalling still, he added:] You owe more than your money will pay, and I am ready now to pay your annuity, and no more; and when you are ready to receive it, the Agent will pay it. Red Iron replies in a speech full of pathos: RED IRON. We will receive our annuity, but we will sign no papers for anything else. [Youve swindled us enough, lied to us deep enough already, and we have no belief in your words or agreements.] The snow is on the ground, and we have been waiting a long time to get our money. We are poor; you have plenty. Your fires are warm; your tepees (wigwams, tents) keep out the cold. We have nothing vor. vx.13 to eat. We have been waiting a long time for our moneys. Our hunting sea- son is past. A great many of our peo- ple are sick for being hungry. We must die because you wont pay us. We may die! but if we do[hold on, reader! no curses on the white men are coming next, as one might naturally expect, either from Christian or heathen orator, under the circumstances !] but if we do, he continues, we will leave our bones on the ground, that our Great Father may see where his Dacotah chil- dren died! [He has seen many such shambles, 0 thou eloquent Indian! eloquent to ears of flint and hearts of granite! and I never heard that the Great Father ever shed a single tear over them.] He goes on: We are very poor. We have sold our hunting grounds, and with them the graves of our fathers. We have sold our own graves. [Out of all those hundreds of thousands of acres, not six feet of earth, which they could call their own, left for any one of them!] We have no place to bury our dead, and you will not pay us the money for our lands. I give this interview, and what tran- spired there, as a sample of the treat- ment which the Indians were in the habit of receiving at the hands both of the General Government and the State authorities. Not the wisest kind of treatment, one would think, this which Red Iron received, taking all the circumstances into account. The read- er will be surprised, however, that Governor Ramsey, not content with breaking the chief, as he called it the greatest dishonor which he could inflict upon an Indian of ranksent him, when the council broke up, to the guard house, under an escort of soldiers! This impolitic official ought to have remembered that the fire was even then ready for the kindling, which finally burst out in such fearful devas- tation over his devoted State; that it was enough to have cheated the In- dians, without thus inflaming their al- ready excited passions, by heaping so 186 Cause8 of the .Alinne8ota ilfa,~sacre. great an indignity upon the person of their chief. But he was regardless of everything except the display of his own power and authority. No doubt he thought he was acting for the best, and that the dirty redskins .needed to be held with a high hand. But it was bad thinking and doing, nevertheless; a most shortsighted and foolish policy, which came welinigh, as it was, to an Indian outbreak. The braves of Red Iron retired under the leadership of Lean Bear, a crafty fellow, eloquent in his way, and now irreconcilably mad against the whites; and when he had led them about a quarter of a mile from the council house, they set up a simultaneous yell, the gath- ering signal of the Dacotah. Ere the echoes died away, Indians were hurry- ing from their tepees toward them, pre- pared for battle. They proceeded to an eminence near the camp, where moul- dered the bones of many warriors. It was the memorable battle ground where their ancestors had fought, in a Water- loo conflict, the warlike Sacs and Foxes, thereby preserving their lands and na- tionality. A more favorable occasion, a more fitting locality for the display of elo- quence which should kindle the blood of the Indian into raging fire, and per- suade him to any the most monstrous and inhuman deeds, could not have been chosen even by Indian sagacity. An old battle ground, where the Sioux had been victorious over their enemies; the whitened bones of the ghastly skel- etons of their ancestors who fought the battle, bleaching on the turf, or calling to them from their graves below ~o take Gods vengeance in their own hands; the memory of the old and new wrongs inflicted upon them by the whites; the infuriating insult just offered to their favorite chiefall con- spired with the orators cunning to give edge to his eloquence and obe- dience to his commands. Governor Ramsey has a good deal to thank God for, that, stimulated by Lean Bears rhetoric, the Sioux did not that night attack the whites, and make an indiscriminate slaughter of the pop- ulation, as they would have done, if it bad not been for the friendly Indians and half breeds. Perhaps he thought he was strong enough, for the hour, to defeat them in any attempt at an out- break. But it is not strength so much as strategy which is needed in Indian warfare. To whip the Indians, we must become Indians in our plan and con- duct of battle. The civilization and mathematics of war, as practised by cultivated people, are useless in the wilderness, and all our proud and boasted tactics are mere foolish toying and triflinga waste of time, strength, and opportunity. No one doubts that if our troops could meet the Indians in open field, they would slaughter them like rats; but they know better than to be caught on the open field, except they are pretty sure of an advantage. They steal upon you like thieves, shod with moccasons which ha4e no sound; they think it equally brave to shoot a man from behind a tree as to sabre him in a hand-to-hand encounter. It is dreadful to contemplate what an incarnate fiend we have roused in this cheated, wronged, and despised Indian. I tremble to think of it. I tremble when I remember also what Bishop Whipple says in the Plea, from which I have already quoted; they are words which ought to be thundered continu- ally into the ears of the Great Father, until he compels a total revolution in our Indian affairswords which all settlers in fhose regions should keep forever present in their minds; and, with the Minnesota massacres still fresh in their memory, they should be taught by them never for a moment to trust an Indian, and never knowingly to give him just cause for complaint; to go always armed; to organize, iu.towns, districts, and counties, the yeomen of the soil, who must be ready at any moment, by night or day, to meet the treacherous, ubiquitous enemy. These Causes of the 3flnnesota ilfassacre. 187 last will be found of more value than the thundering suggestion contained in the first of these precautionary prop- ositions. For it is upon themselves that they must chiefly rely for defence, these hapless settlers! and upon no Government, and no soldiers. Think of it, our Great Father at Washington! and you, his unruly chil- dren, you Senators and Congressmen! One of your most loyal citizens in the State of Minnesota, a Christian bishop, well acquainted with all the facts, the dodges, lies, frauds, and all the ins and outs of your Indian administration, de- clares, with the fullest solemnity which his office and functions can give to words, and with the voice, not of prophecy, but of logical deduction, that the same causes which brought about the Sioux massacre, ARE TO-DAY, SLOW- LY BUT SURELY, PREPARING TILE WAY FOR A CHIPPEWA WAR! What a Chippewa war means, those who did not know in 1861, found out through the Sioux in 1862 and 1863, to their perpetual sorrow. Like the Bourbons, however, our Government either cannot or will not learn lessons from experi- ence. If they were compelled to bear the penalties of their neglect and wan- ton maladministration of affairs in the Indian districts, the loss would be small and the retribution just. But they sit at ease, far away from the scene of carnage, and get nothing but the news, which they read as they would any other record of human passion and depravity. It ~s the innocent settlers who pay the penalty for the guilt and transgressions of their rulers. It is time somebody, or some vast numbers, banded as one man, began to think upon this threatening question, and to act upon it. It concerns the faith and honor of this great republic before all the world, that the wrongs alluded to should be speedily righted. We are not, in reality, what our Indian legislation would almost seem to accuse and convict us of, a nation of man- catchers, baiting our trap with fine farms, and free government, and happy homes, and abundant prosperity of all sorts, that so we may inveigle the sim- ple minded, and then hand them over to the tender mercies of the Indians! God forbid that such crimes should be ours! But there is a coloring of truth about the whole programme. We in- vite settlers to populate our vast and wellnigh boundless wilderness, promis- ing them protection from enemies abroad and a happy peace at home; and in the same breath we cheat the savages, and stir them up to hatred and violence against every white man, woman, and child in the country. This is like preaching security and peace while your lighted match is applied to the powder barreL It is a logic which confutes itselg and needs no siflygism to prove its lying. Why should we not bravely and manfully, with all the wisdom we pos- sess, confront and reform the evils and iniquities of this system? It is a part and parcel of the work committed to our charge, that we shall wisely deal with this people, until God, by His own mysterious means and agencies, removes them finally from the continent and the planet. There is no room for the red man where the white man comes. He must give way. It is des- tiny, and there is no help for it. He knows this as well as we do; and he gnaws the grim fact with the teeth of the hopeless damned. But why imbit- ter him needlessly against us, against the Government, against the people among whom he resides, and over whose dear lives and properties he holds suspended the scalping knife and the flaming pine brand? We are un- worthy of the sovereign possessions re- served for us from before the founda- tions of the worldmaking the title deeds, therefore, unusually sound and wellnigh unquestionableif we can- not deal like rational men with the hordes of savages, whose lands we have robbed them of, whom we have reduced to mere pensioners upon our 188 6~auee8 of the ginnesota Alassacre. capricenot bountyand so satisfy them and their claims that the business of human life may be carried on safely in their vicinity and actual presence. Who art thou that saith there is a lion in the way? Rise, sluggard, and slay the lion! The road has to be travelled. We are certainly not afraid of any lion, whether he be red or black; and, until lately, I~oth these monstrous red and black animals lay in the direct path of the nation, on which it must travel or perish. We have pretty well mauled and knuckled the black animal, and welinigh settled with his keepers, one and all! but this red lion is of a different sort, and requires altogether another kind of treatment. We shall yet save the bruised and bleeding black to the service of civilization and hu- manity. He never was half a bad fellow at the bottom of his leonine bowels, and he already takes to white civility and customs, like an educated, intelligent, and trusty dog of the poor dog Tray sort! And I, for one, have more than a sneaking affection for his old black mug, and a world of hope in his future behavior, if we dont spoil him for the field and for watch and guard at home, by our infernal culture, as the thing is called. Is this red lion a more terrible devil to combat, or harder to trick into civility, or more impervious to the injunctions of the Ten Commandments? I suppose it will be said that he is; that the black fellow bolted the whole code at a gobble, and wagged his tail, as if the feat must surely please his new mas- ters; that he had long had the benefit of civilized cooking, and knew a gentle- man by his toggery; that, moreover, he was of a teachable, plastic nature, and was meant to lie down in due time upon the hearth rug before the fire, in any gentlemans sitting room in the land. It may be true. I believe all this myself, and a good deal more, about him; and I take renewed hope also for this great republicwhich is the hope of the world !that it has thus, at last, tamed him, and fitted him for exhibition upon a nobler theatre than that of Barnum. But the red lion, you say, is untama- blecannot be dealt with successfully by the wit of white men; and that it is best, therefore, to rob him of the golden apples which he guards, and which are his only food, and so starve him out. But you cant deal that way with the Indian lion, my friend, with- out feeling the taste of his claws. You have tried it long enough. Bishop Whipple says, for fifty years! And I ask you how much nearer are you to the taming of him now, than you were those fifty years ago? Echo an- swers: Thats an impudent question! and I reply, so be it! but you cant shuffle it off in that way. I have tried my hand at suggesting how imminent dangers, calamities, and horrors may even yet be averted from the Western settlements; and if those who urge that justice shall be done to them, equal to that which we here render, or try or pre- tend to render to each otherif those who urge this are not listened to now, their plea will be remembered when it is all too late, and thousands of innocent people are again murdered, and their homes laid waste and desolate. I again say, let no one think by these statements that I am making a special pleading for the Indians, or that I sanction their butcheries. God knows how far all this is from my thought or feeling! I am a white man right through all the inmost fibres of my being: too white, I often fear; for I find my love of race, and pride of blood and ancestry, often encroach too far upon the proper regions of my humani- ty, and ~reaten to blear my eyesight to the fair claims of the inferior races. But I have to do with a thoughtful, reflective, and, at the bottom, just and humane people; and knowing this, I felt safe, or nearly so, against all mis- construction, in this my attempt to show that the late Indian massacres were not Bu~ed Alive. 189 instigated merely and solely by the passion of the Indian for blood, but that they had deeper, broader, more tangible causes than this, some of which I have briefly hinted at. Woe to them by whom these butcheries came! Woe also to them who, knowing what must inevitably result from their foul deal- ings, continued to deal foully with the Indianuntil the doomsday came! I have not put in a single tithe of the evidence which I might adduce to prove my case. It is of no use appeal- ing to the higher powers for redress. I am sick at heart, says the good Bishop Whipple; I fear the words of one of our statesmen to me were true: Bishop, every word you say of this Indian system is true; the nation knows it. It is useless; you will not be heard. Your faith is only like that of the man that stood on the bank of the river, waiting for the water to run by, that he might cross over dryshod!, And then he continues, with solemn emphasis and pity: All I have to say is this, that if a nation, trembling on the brink of anarchy and ruin, is so dead that it will not hear a plea to re- dress wrongs which the whole people admit call for reform, God in mercy pity us and our children! BUI~IED ALIVE. ~ ~irge. There may be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted. DEEP, deep in the tender heart Make a grave for the joys of the Past! Let never a tear fall hot on their bier, But hurry them in as fast As we bury the Beautiful out of our sight, Ere corruption and horror have saddened our light. Deep, deep in the sinking heart Make a grave for the dreams of the Past! Let the shrill cries of pain still assail thee in vain, Though they follow so wild and so fast: Through the fibres and sinews, and hot, bloody dew Let the sharp strokes fall piercing, unceasing, and true. Call, call on the feverish brain To bring aid to the gasping heart! To sustain its quick throbs, to suppress its fierce sobs, As it must with its idols part: While the ruthless spade in the grave it has made Hurries forever the beautiful Dead!

Buried Alive. A Dirge 189-191

Bu~ed Alive. 189 instigated merely and solely by the passion of the Indian for blood, but that they had deeper, broader, more tangible causes than this, some of which I have briefly hinted at. Woe to them by whom these butcheries came! Woe also to them who, knowing what must inevitably result from their foul deal- ings, continued to deal foully with the Indianuntil the doomsday came! I have not put in a single tithe of the evidence which I might adduce to prove my case. It is of no use appeal- ing to the higher powers for redress. I am sick at heart, says the good Bishop Whipple; I fear the words of one of our statesmen to me were true: Bishop, every word you say of this Indian system is true; the nation knows it. It is useless; you will not be heard. Your faith is only like that of the man that stood on the bank of the river, waiting for the water to run by, that he might cross over dryshod!, And then he continues, with solemn emphasis and pity: All I have to say is this, that if a nation, trembling on the brink of anarchy and ruin, is so dead that it will not hear a plea to re- dress wrongs which the whole people admit call for reform, God in mercy pity us and our children! BUI~IED ALIVE. ~ ~irge. There may be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted. DEEP, deep in the tender heart Make a grave for the joys of the Past! Let never a tear fall hot on their bier, But hurry them in as fast As we bury the Beautiful out of our sight, Ere corruption and horror have saddened our light. Deep, deep in the sinking heart Make a grave for the dreams of the Past! Let the shrill cries of pain still assail thee in vain, Though they follow so wild and so fast: Through the fibres and sinews, and hot, bloody dew Let the sharp strokes fall piercing, unceasing, and true. Call, call on the feverish brain To bring aid to the gasping heart! To sustain its quick throbs, to suppress its fierce sobs, As it must with its idols part: While the ruthless spade in the grave it has made Hurries forever the beautiful Dead! 190 Buried Alive. Call, call on the tortured soul To stand close by the sinking heart, While the nervous mesh of the writhing flesh, Shuddering and shivering in every part, Its strange anguish renews as the hot, bloody dews Follow the track ~of the rude spade through. Call, call on the gifted brain To send on in the funeral train Her fair children enwrought from the tissue of thought Though their wailing will all be in vain Yet shrouded in robes of funereal woe Let them move on to monotones, solemn and slow! Rouse, rouse the immortal soul With its hopes and its visions so bright, To send them in the train with the thoughts of the brain, Though their vesture seemed woven of light, To sigh, wail, and weep oer the pulse-rhythmed sleep Of the Dead in their living urn! Heave, heave the weird sculptured stone; Press it deep on the throbbing grave! With a wildering moan leave the Buried alone In their tomb in the quivering heart: While it pours its wild blood in a hot lava flood Round its beautiful sepulchred Dead. But my God, they are not at rest! Can they neither live nor die? See, they writhe in their throbbing grave! While the nervous mesh of the quivering flesh Its strange anguish renews as the hot, bloody dews Follow the track of my Beautiful back As they rush into life again, Bringing nought but a sense of pain! We may bury deep the Past Vain is all our bitter task! It is throbbing, living still, far beyond all power to kill, It can never find a rest in a womans stormful breast, It can never, never sleep rocked by anguish wild and deep, It can never quiet lie with shrill sobs for lullaby; And since woman cannot part from the idols of her he& t, And as severed life is Hell for the souls that love too well, Better far the tender form whose loin life is only storm, With the coffined dead should seek To lie down in a dreamless sleep, And find rest in the dust with the worm. Negro J7irOckjp8. 101 Dig a quiet, lowly grave In the earth where willows wave! Round the burning anguish deep wrap the cooling winding sheet, Shroud the children of the brain, and the souls high-visioned train: Ali, oer the snowy sleep let no pitying mortal weep, For the ~weary s& k repose with the worm! Creeping pines and mosses grow Oer the fragile form below! Violets, bright-eyed pansies wave oer the lowly, harmless grave; Let the butterfly and bee all the summer flutter free, Oer the flowers grown from a heart which no wrongs could ever part, Nor torture eer remove from the creatures of its love; With the wild and feverish brain, and thoughts bright but blighted train, With strong heart, but anguished soul, and pains weird and heavy dole Let the weary, tired form, whose lost life was only storm, In the shrouds pure snow Find release from woe, Nor hope, nor joy, nor love it eer again would know! NEGRO TROOPS. THERE was a time not long since when the serious consideration of a question like this would have met with little favor. We remember seeing, in this city of NeW York, one genial Oc- tober day, not very many years ago, a small company of negro soldiers. They were marching in Canal street, not in Broadway, and seemed to fear molesta- tion even there. The writer was a schoolboy then, cadet in a military school (one of the first established of those excellent institutions), and had, of course, a particular interest in all military matters. So be stopped to look upon these black soldiersmarch- ing with all the more pride (as it seemed to him) because they marched under the floating folds of the stars and stripes. His boys heart was stirred by the spectacle, and full of a big emotion; but the fashion of the times overpow- ered the generous impulse, and he treated the negro soldiers with con- tempt. This was in the palmy days of the old r~fime. The stifling of that gen- erous impulse was one of the glories of the ild r~gime. Not a decade of years went by, and the writer stood again in the streets of New York city, and saw another sight of negro soldiers. It was, indeed, and in all respects, an- other sight. This time the black men marched in Broadway; this time they feared no molestation. It was a balmy day in spring, and Gods sunshine glis- tened gladly from the bright bayonets of United States black soldiers. What a spectacle it was! There marched the retributive justice of the nation car- rying the flag and keeping step to the music of the Union. That march was a march of triumph, and its sublime watchword was: LIBERTY AND UNION, wow AND FOREVER, own AND INSEPARABLE! What a marvellous change in public opinion! Now, negro companies are treated with respect, negro regiments

Negro Troops 191-199

Negro J7irOckjp8. 101 Dig a quiet, lowly grave In the earth where willows wave! Round the burning anguish deep wrap the cooling winding sheet, Shroud the children of the brain, and the souls high-visioned train: Ali, oer the snowy sleep let no pitying mortal weep, For the ~weary s& k repose with the worm! Creeping pines and mosses grow Oer the fragile form below! Violets, bright-eyed pansies wave oer the lowly, harmless grave; Let the butterfly and bee all the summer flutter free, Oer the flowers grown from a heart which no wrongs could ever part, Nor torture eer remove from the creatures of its love; With the wild and feverish brain, and thoughts bright but blighted train, With strong heart, but anguished soul, and pains weird and heavy dole Let the weary, tired form, whose lost life was only storm, In the shrouds pure snow Find release from woe, Nor hope, nor joy, nor love it eer again would know! NEGRO TROOPS. THERE was a time not long since when the serious consideration of a question like this would have met with little favor. We remember seeing, in this city of NeW York, one genial Oc- tober day, not very many years ago, a small company of negro soldiers. They were marching in Canal street, not in Broadway, and seemed to fear molesta- tion even there. The writer was a schoolboy then, cadet in a military school (one of the first established of those excellent institutions), and had, of course, a particular interest in all military matters. So be stopped to look upon these black soldiersmarch- ing with all the more pride (as it seemed to him) because they marched under the floating folds of the stars and stripes. His boys heart was stirred by the spectacle, and full of a big emotion; but the fashion of the times overpow- ered the generous impulse, and he treated the negro soldiers with con- tempt. This was in the palmy days of the old r~fime. The stifling of that gen- erous impulse was one of the glories of the ild r~gime. Not a decade of years went by, and the writer stood again in the streets of New York city, and saw another sight of negro soldiers. It was, indeed, and in all respects, an- other sight. This time the black men marched in Broadway; this time they feared no molestation. It was a balmy day in spring, and Gods sunshine glis- tened gladly from the bright bayonets of United States black soldiers. What a spectacle it was! There marched the retributive justice of the nation car- rying the flag and keeping step to the music of the Union. That march was a march of triumph, and its sublime watchword was: LIBERTY AND UNION, wow AND FOREVER, own AND INSEPARABLE! What a marvellous change in public opinion! Now, negro companies are treated with respect, negro regiments 192 Hegro IAoops. are honored; because we honor the de- fenders of our national ensign, which is the representative and symbol of our national life. The men who joined so gallantly in the assault on Port Hud- son; who fell so nobly at Millikens Bend, in repelling the attack of men whose blackness was not, like theirs, of the outside skin, but of a blacker, deep- er dye, the blackness of treason in their inner hearts; the men whose blood drenched the sands of Morris Island, and made South Carolina more a sacred soil than it had ever been before, be- cause it was blood poured out in de- fence of the nations honor, and to wash out the stain of Carolinas dis- honor; these men cannot be contemned now. They have shown themselves noble men. They have made for them- selves a place in American history, along with their fathers at New Or- leans, and their grandfathers under Washington. And the rebel epitaph of the brave Colonel Shaw, who led them unflinchingly against the iron hail of Wagner, is no reproach, but a badge of honor: We have buried him under his niggers. Since that memorable assault, another State has witnessed the patriotic gal- lantry of these despised niggers; and in the first Virginia campaign of Lieu- tenant-General Grant, negroes have borne an honorable part. There is a division of them attached to the old ninth corps, under Burnside, in the present organization of the Army of the Potomac. While that noble army was fighting the battles of the Wilderness, this division was holding the fords of the Rapid Ann. When Grant swung his base away from the river, after the disaster to his right wing, and moved upon Lees flank, the ninth corps, with its negro division, held an honorable post in the marching column; and at Spottsylvania Court House the corre- spondents tell us how, with the war cry of Fort Pillow in their mouths, these niggers rushed valiantly to the assault, and elicited the highest praise for their steadiness and courage. Not less honorable is the record of the negro troops attached to the cotiperating Army of the Peninsula. The three ex- tracts from official despatches, which follow, show what the record is. May 5th, General Butler telegraphs to Secretary Stanton: We have seized Wilsons Wharf Landing. A brigade of Wilds colored troops are there. At Powhatan Landing two regiments of the same brigade have landed. May 9th, General Butler telegraphs from Bermuda Landing: Our opera- tions may be summed up in a few words. With seventeen hundred cav- alry we have advanced up the Penin- sula, forced the Chickahominy, and have safely brought them to our pres- ent position. These are colored cav- alry, and are now holding position as our advance toward Richmond. May 25th, the War Department an- nounced, in a bulletin, that General Butler, in a despatch dated at head- quarters in the field, at seven oclock this morning, reports that Major-Gen- eral Fitzhugh Lee, lately promoted, made, with cavalry, infantry, and artil- lery, an attack upon my post at Wil- sons Wharf, north side of James River, below Fort Powhatan, garrisoned by two regiments, all negro troops, Brig- adier-General Wild commanding, and was handsomely repulsed. Before the attack, Lee sent a flag, stating that he had force enough to take the place, de- manding its surrender, and in that case the garrison should be turned over to the authorities at Richmond as prisoners of war (!); but if this proposition was rejected, he would not be answerable for the consequences when he took the place. General Wild replied: We will try that. Re~inforcements were at once sent, but the fight was over before their arrival. It has been not unfrequently said that negroes were cowards and would not fight. The best answer that can be made to that charge is the offi- cial order, hereto annexed, of General Negro TIroop8. 193 Baldy Smith. It will be remem- bered that Grant had just accomplished the transfer of his army from the swamps of the Chickahominy to the south side of the James River, and had immediately thereupon attacked the earthworks in front of Petersburg. The time was Junea month later than the official despatches from Butler already quoted: To the Eighteenth Army Corps: The General commanding desires to express to his command his apprecia- tion of the soldierly qualities which have been displayed during the cam- paign of the last seventeen days. With- in that time they have been constantly called upon to undergo all the hard- ships of the soldiers life, and be ex- posed to all of its dangers. Marches under a hot sun have ended in severe battles, and, after the battle, watchful nights in the trenches gal- lantly taken from the enemy. But the crowning point of the honor they are entitled to has been won since the morning of the 15th instant, when a series of earthworks on most com- manding positions and of formidable strength have been carried, with all the guns and materials of war of the ene- my, including prisoners and colors. The works have all been held, and the trophies remain in our hands. This victory is all the more impor- tant to us as the troops never have been regularly organized in camps where time has been given them to learn the discipline necessary to a well-organized corp8 darmie, but they had been hastily concentrated and suddenly summoned to take part in the trying campaign of our countrys being. Such honor as they have won will remain imperishable. To the colored troops comprising the division of General Hinics, the General commanding would call the attention of his command. With the veterans of the Eighteenth Corps they have stormed the works of the enemy and carried them, taking guns and prisoners, and in the whole affair they have displayed all the qualities of good soldiers. By command of W. F. SMITH, Major-GeneraL WM. RUSSELL, Jn., Assistant Adjt.-GeneraL Official: SOLON A. CARTER, Captain and A. A. A.-G. It may be added that Baldy Smith has never been known as being particu- larly partial to the use of negro troops. He is reported to have said, after the assault on Petersburg, that the war was virtually ended, because the negroes had now shown that they could fight, and so it was only a question of time. The man is not to be envied who can contemptuously disregard this record. And while we give unstinted honor to the heroes whose valor has made the Army of the Potomac immortal in his- tory, and made its campaign of the Wil- derness and Spottsylvania a campaigQ of glory, let us not forget that negro troops in that army, and in other armies in the same campaign, have borne their part faithfully, and deserve well of the republic. Nor let us forget the dam- ning atrocities at Fort Pillow, where black men in United States uniform were massacred in cold blood, because they were willing rather to die freemen with their white comrades of the United States army, than live slaves to rebel masters: * thus vindicating their claim to freedom, and reflecting upon our countrys flag the especial honor which such determined bravery has ever been awarded among menre- minding us of the Three Hundred at Thermopylmn, and the Old Guard at Waterloo, disdaining to surrender. So strange are the events of history I So mysterious is the plan of Provi- dence, choosing now, as in the days of the apostle Paul, base things of the world, and things which are despised, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are! What a stinging example of times revenges, to be sure, that negroes should have a part in bringing to nought the rebellion of negro-holders! that they should be found fighting for the very Government whose power had aided to keep them Late Southern newspapers speak of the ob- stinacy of the garrison at Fort Pillow, and assert that Forrest would have stopped the massacre at any time after the capture, if our soldiers had manifested any disposition to yield. 194 in bondage to these negro-holders! In face of such facts, will any one impious- ly declare that fate, or blind chance, rules the affairs of men I We might well pause at this point to consider the philosophy of revolu- tions. It would be an interesting study to investigate the efficient or radical causes of these singular phenomena of Gods providencethese crises in his- tory, when the fountains of the great deep are broken up, and the experience of centuries is crowded into the limits of a single year, and we see the old landmarks all swept away before the overwhelming tides of a new era. Then it is that precedents avail us nothing, and we are driven to lay hold of those principles of justice and right which are alone eternal. For in the storm and wreck of revolution those princi- ples are our sure beacon lights, shining on, like the stars, forever. Thus philosophizing, the question would be: Elave revolutions a fixed law? Is there a recurring sequence in the mighty logic of events, that will enable us to define a formula for the revolutions of systems in society? So science has demonstrated a law for the revolutions and changes of systems of worlds in infinite space. Or, are the revolutions of history, like the volcanic disturb- ances of our planet earth, in a sort, ab- normal? They seem to come, like the deus ex machince of the Roman poet, to cut the Gordian knots that perplex statesmen and bewilder nations. The affairs of men get so tangled up some- times, that to prevent anarchy and chaos, God sends revolutions, which sweep away the effete institutions and old, worn-out systems, to replace them with new and living systems. And thus there is a perpetual genesis, or new creation, of the world. Let any one read Carlyles vivid description of the badness of the eighteenth century, bad in that bad way as never century before was, till the French Revolution came and put an end to it, and he will understand something of this question of revolutions. It suggests the old scholastic dispute of the free agency of man, and looks as though, granting that freedom, it were, after all, too great a gift for us. For history seems to teach, as its one grand lesson, con- firming, as always, the revelation in Christ, that men cannot take care of themselves; and that God leaves them to their own ways long enough to sat- isfy them that human agency is inade- quate to solve the question of reform, and then, when the times are ripe, He takes the reins into His own hand, and starts society anew. It is the patient process of education by centuries, or by agesonly to be made perfect in the millennial age. So it is that the world moves. It moves by the free agency of man, kept in its balance by the guiding hand of God. I. THE VEXED QUESTION OF THE NEGRO. Thus it is that the second American revolution is settling for us the vexed question of the negro. What should be done with him, or for him, or to him, had been the disturbing element in our political system ever since the African slave trade expired by limita- tion of the Constitution in 1808. The devices of human ingenuity (inspired, as we fervently believe, by the purest patriotism) to stave off the inevitable final settlement of this account, innu- merable as they were, and only limited by the predestined decree of Supreme Benevolence (which is Supreme Jus- tice), were, at last, exhausted. The statesmanship of 50 had been out- grown. The giants of those days had gone, one by one, to their reward ere yet the first breaths of the revolution that has opened the decade of 60. Nought remained to their lesser asso- ciates, who still survived, but to bow reverently before the storm, as seeing in it Him who is invisible. Such rec- ognition, indeed, is the measure of mens patriotism to-day. The man who so perverts his mind and reason as to shut out the evidence of the stars Negro Troops. Negro Troop8. 19~ and his own consciousness (the German metaphysicians proof of Deity), and deny that God is, is simply a fool; and every reflecting mind is ready to sanc- tion and adopt the Psalmists word: The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. Equally a fool is he who shuts his eyes to the overwhelming facts of the last two years, refusing to be taught by the Providence behind them. Such and so vast is the revolu- tion by which God has intervened in our history. Such is the Providence that still guides and guards the nation ordained by Him to be. Such is the revolution that has swept away the slave system, and opened for us a new path, and given us a new power of progress. Now, these views need not make one a negro-enthusiast. Because the system of slavery has been swept away, it is not necessary to assert, as some do, the negros equality with the white man in those things wherein he is plainly not his equal. Yet there is an equality that cannot be denied. The negro is cer- tainly a man, and not a brute animal; although so demoralized and corrupt had grown to be the tone of society that we have actually heard the opinion avowed, in all seriousness, that the negro had no soul. Shylock, in The Merchant of Venice, pleads for himself and his Jewish brethren, in one of the most pathetic passages of even Shaks- peares genius, as though the Hebrew race were considered less than men. And such, indeed, was nearly the case in Shylocks time. On the other hand, the Moor of Venice disdains to plead as to his superiors. His conscious equality in presence of the grave and reverend signiors, gives to his renowned ad- dress a consummate dignity, unknown elsewhere in literature. He felt, in- deed, that his victories under the flag of the republic entitled him not only to equality, but especial honor. Is it not singular that in this nineteenth century there should be found men who gladly accord to the Jew, the women. descendant of Shem, that of which they refuse even the possibility to tho dark descendant of Ham? Surely the republic of Venice was not so far be- hind our boasted civilization. Our civ- ilization still clings to the idea of priv- ilege. The privilege of caste is only exchanged for the privilege of color. Nor need we commit ourselves to the doctrine of some, who would appear to think that the negro is to be the dominant race of the future; if not in himself yet in virtue of his supplement- ing the composite Anglo-Saxon race, and thus giving to it a completeness it is assumed not to have at present. Such we understand to be the doctrine of what styles itself Miscegenation. It would be pertinent, and, perhaps, con- clusive, to cite on this point the Latin maxim, De gu8tiI~U8 non disputctndum. There are those who admire a certain new style of music, of which the melo- dy is chiefly hidden from the apprecia- tion of common folk, and which has re- ceived the title, Music of the Future; looking forward to a time when, per- haps, mens senses will be preternatur- ally quickened to comprehend its dis- cordant harmonies. It is something akin to that vagary of religious senti- ment, which, whatever may be its merits, whatever its satisfaction for a spiritually illuminated chosen few, is, nevertheless, beyond the present ken and comprehension and spiritual com- pass of most mortals, and may be called the Religion of the Future. The fatal defect of all these theories is that they serve no purpose of utility. Considered as creations of ideal beauty, they may charm the fancy and quicken the imagi- nation, and even exalt the mental habi- tudes, of a few devotees. Or, allowing that they are a sort of morning twi- light vision, they may, we cannot dog- matically deny, hereafter develop into a splendid fulness, in the perfect day. All this may be. But they do not meet the practical needs of our working life, the wants of weary men and weary 196 Negro Troops. So, what we want for the negro is not a metaphysical theory of his perfect equality with the white man. Nor, on the other hand, are we at liberty to say that he is, by virtue of any physical conformation and structure, something inferior to the white man. Neither of these positions can be sustained. The one plainly contradicts our observation and experience; the other needs the proof of science that inferiority is de- termined by physical structure. We must face the fact of the negros pres- ent degraded condition; and we must accept the equal fact of his being a man, with a soul as precious, in the sight of God, as the soul of his white brother. For the day when the sub- lime exordium of the Declaration of Independence could be stigmatized as a glittering generality, is gone by. The basis of our American system of government, it is no longer doubted, is the equality of all men before the law, as the basis of our Christian faith is the equality of all men before God. Accepting, then, the two undeniable facts above named, the question is, What shall we do now with the negro? II. THE NEGRO SLAVE AS A SOLDIER. Without attempting to discuss this interesting question in all its various aspects, we may briefly advert to some of the problems in the discussion which would seem to be fairly solved in the employment of the negro as a United States soldier. Thus much is certainly true of the American negro, and herein he is doubtless superior to the white man; namely, that he is docile, patient, buoy- ant of spirit, full of affection, and en- dowed with a marvellous apprebension of things spiritual. His patience is shown by his long bondage, borne without serious murmuring; awaiting the day of deliverance, confident that the year of jubilee was to come. This point is lucidly elaborated in a late article, of great interest, in Tue Edin- ?nzrgh Review, said to have been written by a negro escaped from slavery. The negros docility appears in his aptitude to catch quickly the tone of his mas- ters mind, and guide himself by it; in the readiness with which he yields to superior authoritywhich may or may not be due to his spirit-crushing bond- age, but which certainly has in it little of the stupidity we should expect to find if such were the case. The 1)uoy- ancy of his 8pirit overflows in the per- petual music of his laugh and song amid the hard fortunes of his race. The fulness of his capacity of affection is attested by his remarkable devotion to master or mistress, surviving strong amid all vicissitudes, and rising above the iniquitous injustice that holds him in bonds into that exalted triumph of the apostles doctrine: Be not over- come of evil, but overcome evil with good. As for his readiness to appre- hend spiritual things, the experience of every person who has lived at the South furnishes abundant proof. Who that has stood on the banks of a South- ern river, when a negro was baptized, and heard the loud chorus of joy of his brethren and sisters when the sign of the Church was put upon him, and seen the sympathy of eye and hand that welcomed him to the blessed company, has not felt that for this poor, despised race there are riches laid up in that kingdom where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal? Who that has stood in a Southern forest on some Sunday afternoon, in the early South- ern spring, when the woods are res- onant with the songs of birds, and heard a negro congregation of believers in their meeting-house near by, joining with all the fervor of their tropical tem- perament in this glad hymn of nature, in the immortal verse of Wesley and Whitfield, has not felt that to the negro the vision of the New Jerusalem is more of a reality than has yet been granted to his worldly favored white brother and master? Ah, no one who has wit- nessed such scenes all the years of his Ne~ro Troop9. 197 childhood and youth, can deny that among the disciples of Christ are to be reckoned especially the negro race; who bear His blessed cross in our day, amid the jeers of a sceptical world, just as in His own day upon earth the negro Simon of Cyrene bore to the Mount of Calvary the cross on which the Saviour died. What these things prove is just this: the negros capacity for freedom; his capacity to know what is the perfect law of liberty, keeping irresponsible license in check; his absolute freedom from the bloodthirstiness that seems to horrify so many unthinking persons, who affect to fear the consequences of putting a musket in a negros hand. The incontestable points above enumer- ated show the groundlessness of such an alleged fear. It needs only to con- sider them candidly to be disabused on that score. No one who has seen and knows the tenderness of the negro to~ ward the children of his master, and his never-failing respect toward his mistress, dares say he fears the negros savageness. No one who knows the negros religious sensibility and his un- shaken faith in Christ, dares say he fears. No. Only those fear who know nothing at all about the negro. They fear whose creed is given them by men thirsting for the negros blood, that it may be coined into ungodly gold. Thus much will suffice for objections to negro troops, on the ground of their incapacity. It is seen that the negro is capable to comprehend the limitations of liberty; that his nature is not essen- tially savage, or, if so, has been softcned and tempered into a gentle docility un- der the benign influences of civilized society; that, above all, his Christian education has elevated him to a dignity that despises mean revenge. If further proof is neces~ary, the regiments of ne- gro slaves recruited in Louisiana and the Carolinas, acquiring a discipline that has stood them in good stead at Olustee (day of gloom) and elsewhere on their native soil, may be cited in evidence of their capacity. But what about our rights in the matter? For we are considering now the case of the slaves, not the free ne- gro? The proper and sufficient answer to that question is, What about the rights of slave-holders? What rights of theirs are we bound to respect now? They have taken the law into their own hands, and if they cannot enforce it, is it any part of our business to aid them? Certainly and undoubtedly not. It is part of the penalty of treason; part of the price they are paying for their ig- noble thrust at the nations life; and a very light penalty, and cheap price it is, that they lose their right to hold slaves. Such rights as they possessed they held under the Constitution. We have been willing, for the sake of peace (bearing in mind the apostles injunc- tion, If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men to protect, under the sacred covenant of the nation, what they called their rights to property; albeit not willing ourselves to touch the accursed thing.~ The history of the country is a witness to our good faith. But plainly the in- junction of the apostle becomes impos- sible of obedience when men transform themselves into fiends, and hang up in their railway cars, as trophies, the ghastly skulls of such of us as have been slain in defence of the national covenant.* By their own acts the slaveholders have cancelled our obliga- tions as to such permissive rights under the Constitution. We shall not prob- ably hasten to incur any more such obligations. They say that slavery is the strength of their society. Doubtkss it is. Then, Samson-like, they have pulled down upon themselves the pil- lars of their whole fabric, and they cannot complain if they and all their rights, immunities, and titles are buried * The writers father saw these skulls hang- lug in the cars on a railway in Georgia, after first Bull Run, and saw them handed through the cars amid the jeers of passengers. 198 in the ruins. In other words, they have appealed from the Constitution, or the law civil, to the sword, or the law military; and they must abide the re- suit of that appeal. Such is a brief statement of the question of negro troops, as affecting the slaves of the South and their traitor masters. In. THE FREE NEGRO AS A SOLDIER. There is another phase of the ques- tion, less difficult of solution t~ian the preceding, perhaps, but by no means less important. It is the case of the free negro, and especially the free negro of the North. Here again we need not stop to discuss abstract questions of equality, nor declare our adherence to the philosophy of Miscegenation. We need not stop to consider the nature, or justice, of the prejudice which prevails against the negro at the North. It is undeniable that there is such a preju- dice. Accepting the undoubted fact, we see that it shuts nearly every avenue of honest industry against the man with a black skin, restricting him to the most menial offices; and that it is fostered in many ways by the conventions and usages of our society, so as practically to put him in a worse condition than his bonded brother at the Southal- ways except as to his God-given right to his liberty and labor. Experience has shown that even this is not always fully assured to the negro; and the July riots of New York indicate the uncertain tenure of his liberty and life, even under the protection of equal laws. Whai~ then? Shall we remand him to the servitude of the South? Shall we enact for him a sort of Napoleonic law of general safety, to deprive him of the poor liberty he hashowever profitless the boon may seem to us to be? Cer- tainly not. Every instinct of humanity rises up against so monstrous a sugges- tion. Yet something very like it has a place in the legislation of some States in the American Union. Then what a Providential solution of the question is offered in the employ- meat of the negro as a soldier! There cannot surely be any well-founded ob- jection to it. Such opposition as the plan has encountered seems to spring from the same unreasoning prejudice that keeps the black man out of all de- cent industries in our free North. It is that very prejudice which this plan will overcome. For the first thing to be done is to raise the negro from his degradation; and to do this we must obviously begin with teaching him a proper self-respect. This will bear its fruit in making him respected by others. No one will say that it is well to foster a feeling which outlaws any single class in the community from the respect of all. This would be to glorify the slave system of the South, and lay a basis for possible revolutions. Thus the em- ployment of the negro as a soldier, while it must inspire the bondman of the South with a truer sense of his worth and capacity, and thus tend to weaken the foundation of the whole rebel fabric, will also correct the un- questioned evil of a growing class of outlaws in the midst of our society. And if we clothe the negro in the uni- form of a soldier of the United States, the respect of the nation for its brave defenders will teach him self-respect; at the same time that it will teach the nation to put a new value upon its idea of loyalty. The epitaph commemorative of the Spartan valor that has made Ther- mopylte a name forever, serves to show the conclusion of our whole discus- sion: Go, stranger, and at Lacedmemon tell, That here, obedient to her laws, we fell. For the man who is loyal to his flag will not quarrel with the color of a com- rade in arms who has shed blood, red like his own, in defending that flag from dishonor; just as the man who is loyal to the altar feels a fellowship for every one, however humble, who bears the name of their common Master, and is made in the image of their common Father. Negro Troops. Color8 and their .Ateaning. 199 COLORS AND THEIR MEANING. Ir~ order to a due understanding of the signification of colors, it is neces- sary we should commence at the foun- dation. Accordingly I shall begin by saying that colors are primary, second- ary, and tertiary. Primary colors are three: red, yel- low, and blue. RED is the color of greatest heat. YELLOW is the color of greatest light. BLUE is the color of chemical change. In accordance with this philosophi- cal truth, we should naturally expect to find a preponderance of blue rays from the sun in the spring time, and so it is. These rays preponderate at the time of ploughing, sowing, and germina- tion. In the summer time, after the plant has started from the ground, and re- quires vigorous leaves to bring it to perfection ere the cold winter rolls around once more, we have the yellow rays. Light, more light, is then the cry of nature, and as not even length of days affords this element in sufficient completeness, the sun darts his bright- est beams in the leafy month of June. Later still in the year, after germina- tion is past and growth perfected, comes the necessity of heat rays to ripen fruit, vegetables, and grain, and natures be- hests are obeyed in the then prepon- derance of the red rays. Much of this effect may be due to the media through which the suns rays pass. A sensitized photographic paper is not colored as much at an altitude of three miles in half an hour as is a similar paper upon the earths surface in one moment. At any season of the year, gardeners can either stimulate or retard germination as they place a blue or yellow glass over the nursling. That the growth of plants is not due alone to the rays of the sun we can, without experiment, convince ourselves, as even ordinary observers are well aware that upon. some days plants shoot up so rapidly as to grow almost visibly under their eyes, and in other conditions of the atmosphere seemingly remain dormant for days. The germinating influence, let it be due either to peculiar rays alone, or to atmospheric state, does not contain much coloring matter. The first spring flowers are of a pale color; as summer advances we have brighter hues, but not until the approach of fall do we see Flora in all her gorgeousness of coloring. The paleness of mountain and arctic flowers, and the brilliancy of those of the tropics, point to the same cause which gives the temperate zones their brightest flowers when heat rays preponderate. As depth of color seems connected with the red or heat rays; so perfume belongs rightfully to the summer blos- soms; when light is the strongest, then we have our pinks, and roses, and lilies. There are also in the spectrum four secondary colors: orange, green, indi- go, and violet. The secondary colors are alternate with the primary in the spectrum, and are formed by a mixture of the two primary nearest themas orange, formed by a union of red and yellow; green, by a mixture of yellow and blue; indigo and violet, of blue and red. Thus: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. Tertiary colors are many more than both primary and secondary. They are hues not found in the spectrum. They

Colors and their Meaning 199-207

Color8 and their .Ateaning. 199 COLORS AND THEIR MEANING. Ir~ order to a due understanding of the signification of colors, it is neces- sary we should commence at the foun- dation. Accordingly I shall begin by saying that colors are primary, second- ary, and tertiary. Primary colors are three: red, yel- low, and blue. RED is the color of greatest heat. YELLOW is the color of greatest light. BLUE is the color of chemical change. In accordance with this philosophi- cal truth, we should naturally expect to find a preponderance of blue rays from the sun in the spring time, and so it is. These rays preponderate at the time of ploughing, sowing, and germina- tion. In the summer time, after the plant has started from the ground, and re- quires vigorous leaves to bring it to perfection ere the cold winter rolls around once more, we have the yellow rays. Light, more light, is then the cry of nature, and as not even length of days affords this element in sufficient completeness, the sun darts his bright- est beams in the leafy month of June. Later still in the year, after germina- tion is past and growth perfected, comes the necessity of heat rays to ripen fruit, vegetables, and grain, and natures be- hests are obeyed in the then prepon- derance of the red rays. Much of this effect may be due to the media through which the suns rays pass. A sensitized photographic paper is not colored as much at an altitude of three miles in half an hour as is a similar paper upon the earths surface in one moment. At any season of the year, gardeners can either stimulate or retard germination as they place a blue or yellow glass over the nursling. That the growth of plants is not due alone to the rays of the sun we can, without experiment, convince ourselves, as even ordinary observers are well aware that upon. some days plants shoot up so rapidly as to grow almost visibly under their eyes, and in other conditions of the atmosphere seemingly remain dormant for days. The germinating influence, let it be due either to peculiar rays alone, or to atmospheric state, does not contain much coloring matter. The first spring flowers are of a pale color; as summer advances we have brighter hues, but not until the approach of fall do we see Flora in all her gorgeousness of coloring. The paleness of mountain and arctic flowers, and the brilliancy of those of the tropics, point to the same cause which gives the temperate zones their brightest flowers when heat rays preponderate. As depth of color seems connected with the red or heat rays; so perfume belongs rightfully to the summer blos- soms; when light is the strongest, then we have our pinks, and roses, and lilies. There are also in the spectrum four secondary colors: orange, green, indi- go, and violet. The secondary colors are alternate with the primary in the spectrum, and are formed by a mixture of the two primary nearest themas orange, formed by a union of red and yellow; green, by a mixture of yellow and blue; indigo and violet, of blue and red. Thus: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. Tertiary colors are many more than both primary and secondary. They are hues not found in the spectrum. They 200 Color8 and their ffean~ing. are natures stepchildren rather than children, and many of them might not inappropriately be called children of art; yet although most of them are of inventions that man has sought out, they are at best but shades, and must all look back to the spectrum as their common parent. Each of the primary colors forms a simple contrast to the other two; thus blue is contrasted by yellow and by red, either of which forms a simple contrast to it; but as it is a law of color that compound contrasts are more effective than simple in the proportion of two to one, it follows that a mixture of either two of the primitive colors is the most powerful contrast possible with the other. Red and yellow form orange, the greatest and the most harmonious con- trast to blue; red and blue form violet or purple, so much admired in contrast with yellow in the pansy; yellow and blue form green, the contrast to red, and the color needed to restore the tone of the optic nerve when strained or fatigued by undue attention to red. This is the most common and admira- ble contrast in the vegetable kingdom; the brilliant red blossom or fruit, with green leaves, as instance the fiery tulip, the crimson rose, the scarlet verbena, the burning dahlia, the cherry and ap- ple trees, the tomato or loveapple of my childhood, and the scarlet maple and sumach of our American October. There are two distinct harmonies of color: the harmony of contrast, and the harmony of shading. The former is the harmony of striking diversities found in nature, and the other a mel- lowing of colors, or blending of similar hues, attributable to art. From this little synopsis of the effects and uses of the prismatic colors, we shall be enabled the better to under- stand both the ancient and modern popular ideas as to colors as represent- atives and correspondences. Colors have a mental, moral, and physical sig- nificancea good and a bad import. The one to which I shall first direct your attention is that which most readi- ly strikes the eye. lIED, Which Thoreau called the color of colors, in the Hebrew signified to have dominion, and in early art was symbolical or emblematic of Divine love, creative power, etc. The word Adam, we have been taught, signifies red man; it does mean the blood, which, of course, originated to be red, as a secondary signification. Lanci, the great interpreter of Sacred Philology at the Yatican, deems The Blusher, to be the true meaning of the word Adam. God created man, male and female cre- ated He them, and called their name Adam. A blush, so becoming on the countenance of feminine beauty, is gen- erally deemed a sign of weakness when visible upon a mans face. But if the above interpretation be correct, a blush is a mans birthright, which no sense of false shame should prevent him from modestly claiming. Red, as signifying perfection, dominion, fruition, was ap- propriately the name of our first par- ents, whether we regard the account of the creation to be literally under- stood, as the old theologians believe, or spiritually and typically, as the modern ones insist. Red is the color of what is intense, be it love or hatred, kindness or cruelty. It denotes the fulness of strong emo- tions; alike the glowing of conscious love or the blazing of fierce anger, the fiery ardor of daring and valor, or the fierce cruelty of hatred and revenge. Of our own star-spangled banner, we sing: The red is the blood of the brave. The red garments of cardinals, and especially their red hats, are supposed to betoken their readiness to spill their blood for Jesus Christ. Red is the color of undeveloped ideas. It is the hue which most quickly at- tracts the attention of children and C~olare and their .Afieaning. 201 savages. All barbarous nations admire red; many savages paint their faces vermilion before entering battle, to which they look forward as the izeans of attaining enviable position in their tribe; for with barbarians physical prowess is the only superiority. Some animals are excited to mad- ness by the sight of this color. The bull and the turkey take it as a signal of defiance, which they rush to meet, Come, if you dare, they read it, and impetuously hasten to the onset. When the bloody Jeffreys was in his bloodiest humor, he wore into court a red cap, which was the sure death warrant of those about to be tried. The death garment of Charlotte Cor- day was a red chemisefit emblem of the ungovernable instincts, the wild rioting in blood of that reign of terror. Christ was crucified in a scarlet robe, and in that color of love and perfec- tion, perfected his offering of love for mankind. YELLOW Anciently symbolized the sun, the good- ness of God, marriage, faith, and fruit- fulness. Old paintings of St. Peter represent him in a yellow mantle. The Venuses were clothed in saffron.colored tunics; Roman brides of an early day wore a veil of an orange tinge, called the flameum., a flamea flame which, kindled at Hymens torch, it is to be hoped was ever burning, never consum- ing. As every good has its antipodal evil, so every color has its bad sense, which is contrary or opposite to its first or good signification. In a bad sense, yellow means incon- stancy, and the ~sthetic Greeks, fully carrying out this meaning, compelled their public courtesans to distinguish themselves by mantles of saffron color. The radical sense of saffron is to fail, to be hollow, to be exhausted. In tracing customs, it is easy to see the bias un- knowingly received from natural sig- nifications, significations which take their rise in the spiritual world. The San Benito or auto-da-fe dress of the YOL. vI.14 Spanish Inquisition was yellow, blaz- oned with a flaming cross; and, as a mark of contempt for the race, the Jews of Catholic Spain were condemned to wear a yellow cap. Distinguishing colors in dress have ever been one of the most common methods of express- ing distinction of class and differences of faith, until thence has arisen the imperative adage: Show your colors;~ and he who refuses to do so is despised as a hypocrite or changeling. Yellow, as a color, finds but few admirers among modern enlightened nations; it is recognized as the color of shams; but in China, that country of contrarities, where printing, fish breeding, gas burning, and artesian wells have been known and stationary for centuries, where almond-shaped eyes, club feet, and long cues are types of beauty, where old men laughingly fly kites, and little boys look gravely on, where white is mourning, and every- thing is different from elsewherethere yellow is the most admired of colors, restricted to the use of royalty alone under penalty of death. Yellow is the most searching of col- ors, as indeed it should be from its cor- respondence with light. It is gaudy, ~nd does not inspire respect, for it Trings into view every imperfection. Every defect in form or manner is ren- dered conspicuous by it, and we invol- untarily scan the whole person of the unfortunate and tasteless wearer of it. BLUE, In early art, represented truth, honor, and fidelity, and even at this day we associate blue and truthfulness. Christ and the Virgin were formerly painted with blue mantles, and blue is espe- cially recognized as the Virgins color. We can never turn our eyes upward without seeing truths emblematical color. How appropriate that the heav- ens should be blue! Of truthfulness and faithfulness it should be our con- stant reminder. Primary blue enters as a compound 202 Color8 and their 3ifeanin~j. into three other colors of the spectrum: green, indigo, and violet. As a primary color, it is much more rarely seen in nature than either red or yellow. We have few blue birds, few blue flowers, few blue fruits. As one of a compound, it is oftener found than red. The grass, the leaves, everywhere proclaim the marriage of good, as yellow an- ciently represented, and truth, as blue symbolized. There is a deep signifi- cance in the change that has come over mankinds view of the meaning of the first of these colors. With the loss of faith, the tearing apart of truth and goodness, has come a change of corre- spondence. Men have everywhere turned away from the light, though still pro ~fessing to strive for truth. Each color possesses a character of its own, which proclaims to the close observer the peculiar qualities of that -to which it belongs. The horticulturist reads the peculiarities of the fruit as i~eadily by its color as the phrenologist reads his by his bumps. The red one, lie will tell you, is sour, the white one sweet, the pale one flat, and the green one alkaline; that one is a good table apple, this one a superior cider apple; and if you further ask the character- istics of a good cider apple, he will tell you again it is known by its color, not only of the skin, but also of the pulp, and that it can be foretold whether ~ider will be weak, thin, and colorless, or possess strength, or richness, or color. The botanist, too, regards color as indicative of quality, the yellow flower having a bitter ta~te and a fixed, un- fading hue, the black, a poisonous, de- structive property, etc., etc. Tri~ith, of which we have seen blue -was the correspondent, is never super- ~flcial, and, .althowigh apparent truths lie i~pon -the surface, yet a common adage locates -truth at the bottom of a well. Seamen acknowledge deep indigo blue of water to be indicative of profound depth. Of the three or primitive colors, the red or heat color, which has been termed light felt, the yellow or light color, which has been called heat seen, and the blue, a color of chemical change, which is the color of growth, these correspond in an unknown de- gree to the love, wisdom, and truth of the Supreme One; heat to love, for love is heat; light to wisdom, for wis- dom is light; and germination and growth to truth, for by truth souls grow into wisdom and love. The more we explore the arcana of nature the more we will be enabled to discover the cor- respondence of the natural with the spiritual world. WHITE Is the emblem of light, every white ray of light containing all the prismatic colors; and as it symbolizes innocence and purity, it is the oolor must appro- priate for clothing infants, brides, and the dead. We think of the angels as clothed in white. At the transflgura- tion of our Lord and Master, his raiment became shining, exceeding white as snow, as no fuller on earth can white them; and in one of the Evangelists hAs raiment is described as at that time as white as the light, and so our high- est comparison of whiteness is as white as the light. BLACK, Formed by a combination in equal pro- portions of the three primitive colors in equal intensity, is the color of de- spair. As mourning, it is only suitable for those who despair of the future of their friends; but it is prdiminently unsuitable to be worn for those who die in Christian faith with a Christian hope. Despite its gloomy hue, it has almost become a sacred color among Christian nations, being worn as the dress of the priest in his ministerial office, and doubly hallowed from its association with the dead. Black, as an ornamental color, should be below all others, for artistic effect. An artistic dressmaker places the dark or black plaids or stripes beneath the Colors and their 2lfeaning. 203 others. This natural correspondence is almost universally recognized among enlightened nations in clothing for the feet. They not only look smaller and more tasteful in black shoes than in colored, but economy also sanctions them as more usefuL The universal tendency of the nineteenth century is to utilitarianism; the one question asked is: What is the use? and in use is beauty ever found. Ethnological investigation shows that black or dark-colored races have in- variably preceded settlement by the whites. This is in accordance with the law of color above laid down, viz., that, artistically, black is below the other colors (and now, in order that I may not be misunderstood, I explicitly say that because, artistically, black is the lowest color, it by no means follows that I deem black or olive or yellow races subjects for slavery, or unworthy of social and political rights). In ac- cordance with the above axiom, savage and half-civilized races are found to be at the present day black haired and black eyed. I will also venture the assertion that nine tenths of all the people in the world have black hair. The Hindoo legend of the eighth in- carnation of Vishnu under the name of Crishna, makes him then of a bluish- black color, which the name Crishna signifies. His supposititious father, Wauda, said: When I named him Crishna, on account of his color, the priest told me he must be the god who had taken different bodies, red, white, yellow, and black, in his various incarnations, and now he had assumed a black color again, since in black all colors are ab- sorbed. Although among Caucasian nations, and especially in cosmopolitan America, we do not adduce intellectual superiori- ty from the shades or degrees of white- ness, yet it is said of the Moors that the more the color approaches the Uaclc, the handsomer and of more decisive character are the men. It is a physiological fact brought to light partially through the census, that black-eyed races and black-eyed people are more subject to blindness than others. It has also been shown that black-eyed men are not as good marks- men as blue-eyed or light-eyed men. Not only are different races of men subject to different diseases, but statis- tics prove that among Caucasian na- tions, complexion and disease are in some way connected, as for instance, consumption is more rife among dark- haired and dark-eyed people than others, and more rapid with those dark- haired and dark-eyed people who have very fair complexion. As the difference between golden and black hair lies in that there is in the one case an excess of sulphur and oxygen with a defi- ciency of carbon, and in the other an excess of carbon and a deficiency of sulphur and oxygen, it can easily be seen why such deficiency or excess, if arising from idiosyncrasy of the sys- tem, should predispose to dissimilar diseases. But here a wide field yet lies open for experimental and physiologi- cal research. GREEN. There is scarcely a color but has been or is held sacred by some nation or religion. With Mahommedans green is the sacred hue. The prophet ori- ginally wore a turban of that dye, and the sultan shows due preference for that color. The tomb of David, which is in pos- session of the Mahommedans, and which was at great hazard visited by a lady within the past few years, is covered by a green satin tapestry, and over it hangs a satin canopy of red, blue,yel. low, and green stripes, the three primi- tive and the sacred, compound color. Green also seems to have been the sacred color in ancient Peru, virgins of the sun wearing robes of that hue. The ancient Mexican priests also, in the performance of their functions, wore crowns of green and yellow feathers, and at their ears hung green jewels. 204 Color8 and their Jkfeaning. Precious stones of a green color were held in higher estimation by the Aztecs than any other. When the Spaniards were first admitted to an audience with Montezuma, he wore no other ornament on his head than a panache of plumes of royal green. Green comes in the class of second- ary colors, being a compound of yellow and blue, and signifies pale, new, fresh, growing, flourishing (like a green bay tree); and also unripe, when applied to either fruits or men, which, as far as the human is concerned, is a term of reproach. A person without experience, either in position, behavior, or use of anything, is termed green, and laughed at. They are fresh, new, and, instead of the admiring exclamation, How green it is! as applied to a plant, is the reproachful one, flow green he is! At different seasons of the year, differ- ent colors are appropriate in dress. Light green is the color of freshness, youth, and spring, and more suitable to be worn in the spring of the year and by young persons, than later in the season or by mature women. Dark green, like crimson and orange, is a warmer, more intensified color, with less of liveliness and freshness. PURPLE Is the type of monarchical enlighten- ment. With Caucasian nations it has been the symbolic color of royalty, until invest with the purple, in the course of ages, comes to mean kingdom, gov- ernment, power, to rule. Purple is formed by the union of blue and red, truth and valor. Happy the people who are truly governed by truth and valor! The Tyrian purple was famous in Homers days, and our dreams of Tyre and its splendor are all colored. by this most gorgeous of dyes, the manufacture of which from a species of shell fish gave this ancient city a celebrity which all its other arts com- bined could not equal. This was one of the symbolic colors with which the high priests robe was wrought in figures of pomegranates upon its skirt; and when Solomon sent to Hiram, king of Tyre, for a cunning workman to assist in building the temple, he did not fail to require he should be skilled in purple. During the time of the Ro- man emperors, the Tyrian purple was valued so highly that a pound of cloth twice dipped was sold for about one hundred and fifty dollars. Even a purple border about a robe was a mark of dignity. VIOLET Is a color that has often been worn by martyrs; formed of a union of red and blue, it signifies love and truth, and their passion and suffering. It is the court mourning color all over Europe, with the. exception~ of England. It is the softest of the prismatic colors, and its very name carries us in thought to the modest sweet flower which is Floras emblem of humility. Of one of the colors of the spectrum I have failed to speak, because there was so little to say. Orange is a bright, warm color, not quite as intense as red, still one which the eye does not readily seek. Its suitableness in dress is con- fined mainly to children. Upon them our eye naturally seeks for bright, warm colors, and rests with a kind of pleasure upon rich hues. There is nothing upon which the public taste requires more education than upon the arrangement and modification of colors. Gardeners need it in setting their plants and putting in their seeds; florists, in the arrangement ot their bouquets; furnishers, in the decoration of apartments; and especially the fash- ion leaders, who decide what colors or shades must or must not be worn to- gether. Sometimes hues are conjoined by them, that, no matter how loudly proclaimed aufait, the height of style, or d Ia mode, are never artistic, and no dicta can make them so. A fashion framer should needs be a natural phi- losopher, and hold the rudiments of all science in her grasp. Botany, miner~ alogy, conchology should walk as handmaidens to philosophy; optics should steer the rudder of colors bark when launched upon the sea of taste. If, when dressed, the aim is to pre- sent a light and graceful toilet, light and delicate shades of color must be worn; no crimson, dark green, purple, or indigo, but rose, light green, azure, or lavender, with a due admixture of white, must be the hues chosen. White serves as an admirable break, and pre- vents the appearance of violent transi- tion. It is none the less requisite in bouquets, where no two shades of the same color should be allowed without either white or green as a separator. Very handsome self-colored bouquets can be arranged by giving a finish of the complementary shade. One of the most beautiful I ever remember to have seen was scarlet verbenas with a base of rose-geranium leaves, the whole set in a small antique green-and-gold vase. Although the mature fall of the year clothes itself in gay colors, it is deemed an evidence of immaturity for women in the fall time of life to sport crimson ~nd scarlet and orange. Sober grays (which mean old, mature), quiet brown, and even sombre blacks, are rather what are looked for. To dress young when people are old, deceives no one. There is a beauty of age as well as a beauty of youth. Those who live to be old have had their share of the former: why should they seek to deprive them- selves of the latter? Aside from the appropriateness of color as to age, there are yet others as to size and complex- ion. Light-haired men should always wear very dark cravats, in order to give tone and expression to the face. Large women should wear warm colors, if they wish to create a pleasant impres- sion. They cannot attain grace by any aid of color, while they will lose the dignity they might naturally claim if they confined themselves to warm, grave shades. An unartistic arrangement of light 205 or drapery in an apartment will to. tally destroy the harmony of the most carefully prepared toilet. Rooms can be toned warm or cold, but, unless some especial object is sought, neutral tints should predominate, and violent con- trasts should be avoided. Who has failed to notice the fantastic tricks played at times upon some body of worshippers, where light to the church is admitted through stained glass windows? A lambent red flame lighting up the hair of a mans head, while at the same moment his beard is blue and luminous. Over the shoulders of another, the purple mantle of royalty seems about falling, investing him for a moment with regal splendors, while perhaps the cadaverous hue of his next neighbors face well fits him to be some imagined victim of his new majestys anger. Color ranks as one of the earliest arts. No nation is so low but it makes some attempt at decorative color, and we may be well assured it was one of the earliest, if not the earliest method employed in transmitting intelligence. When this country was first discovered, the Peruvians were making use of small knotted cords of various colors, termed quippu, as mediums of records and mes- sages. Our own North American sav- ages employed wampum, made from various colored shells, for a similar pur- pose. Color played its part in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. It speaks to the eye sooner than form. A black flag hoisted upon the battle field pro- claims louder than words the demoniac cruelty that reigns, while a white sig- nifies that submission has been decided upon. Josephs coat of many colors proclaimed the fathers favoritism to his brothers, and worked a mighty change in the history of the race to which he belonged. This very instance, if we possessed no other, would prove to us the high estimation in which color was held, and its symbolic mean- ing, in the most ancient times. The ermine is an animal of such Uolor8 and their .Aleaning. 206 Color8 and t1te~r lilleaning. spotless purity it will tolerate no stain on its fur, and by this symbolic name we designate the judge, who should be stainless, unbiassed, and incorruptible. The highest art of the florist is put forth to procu~& change of color. Self tulips are valueless beside sports, and to induce this breaking various meth- ods are put in requisition, as there is no sporting of colors from natural causes among flowers. A green rose, a blue verbena, are hailed as triumphs, and secure the propagator an enviable name either as an amateur or profes- sional florist. Perhaps the most curious thing con- nected with color is that some stars give colored light; and in one instance, in a northern constellation, a d ble star gives forth blue rays from one and red from the other. How our fancy might be permitted to soar away beyond the stars themselves in wondering fancies as to the meaning of thistruth and love united in a star, not as a com- pound color, but each retaining its own hue of blue and red! What a happy abode of truthful, loving spirits we can imagine this the dwelling place I And may there not here be a symbol of such a union? The art of color is yet in its infancy, and although Tyrian purple was mag- nificent and famous, and the highly prized Turkey red unfading, yet mod- em chemical discovery has opened a wide variety of hues unknown to the ancients. Colors obtained from vegetable sub- stances have been the most numerous, those from the animal kingdom the most brilliant, and from the mineral the greatest variety from the same sub- stance. A buff; a blue, and a black, and again a red, a blue, a purple, and a vio- let, are produced from the same metal. The recent discovery of aniline col- ors, to be extracted from coal refuse, has given art new, beautiful, and du- rable shades of red, blue, purple, and violet. We know but by description what the lauded Tyrian purple was, for monopoly caused the art to be lost; but for softness, richness, and beauty of purple we have none to approach that extracted from this refuse. Nature means nothing to he lost, and waste arises from ignorance. She is a royal mistress when royally represented. To the mineral kingdom we are in- debted for most of the mordants which fix the hues derived from other sources. That in nnion is strength is taught by the most common art. Much is yet to be learned in regard to color. Men have understood its correspondence sufficiently to associate red and cruelty as its lowest expression, so that the men of the bloody French Revolutkn received an undying name from the red cap of the Carmagnole costumeand yellow with shame, for a ruff of this color on the neck of a wom- an hanged drove this fashion out of Englandfind white with purity, as the ermine of the judge shows; al- though, thousands of years ago, the men of Tartary and Thibet prized the wool of the Crimean sheep stained of a pecu- liar gray by its feeding upon the cen- tarinct inyriocejpkala, and although mod em gardeners deepen the hues of plants by feeding them judiciously, yet few attach the requisite importance to color as history. Writers for the most part pass silently by this great aid to a cor- rect understanding of past events. Color in costume is no less essential to a true description or representation than form; in some instances it is more so. The color of the silken sails of Cleo- patras vessel, as she sailed down the Cydnus, proclaimed her royalty as no other could have done. A fairy could not be depicted with- out her green robe, or young Aurora unless tinted with the hues of morn. Here lies the great fault of all sun pictures. The distinctive hues of com- plex~on, hair, and eyes are not pre- served. The flaxen, the auburn, the brown hair alike take black. Light eyes and dark are undistinguishable; the clearest complexion becomes muddy Batth? of the W~dderne8s. 207 and full of lines if the color of the dress is such as to throw the shade upon it. A mixture of colors in dress in which either two of the primitives predomi- nate, is a token of barbarism, even if occurring among so-called enlightened people. Color is an ~xponent of the degree of civilization. RED finds its fitness among savage races, and with undeveloped natures. YELLOW indicates transition from barbarism to civilization. GREEN, advanced civilization. PURPLE, monarchical enlightenment, which is will individualized in but one. Modification and harmony are only with people free to follow taste and select for themselves. Among the most enlightened nations these five states are all found. The highest type, shown by culture, discovery, art, literature, sci- ence, equity, and government, exists with but a few. The mass are civilized, and continue the mass. It is the nat- ural tendency of enlightenment to indi- vidualize. In proportion to genius, culture, and perseverance, is one set apart, becomes a leader of the masses, and should be a teacher of the harmony and correspondence of color, both by precept and example. Strong contrasts are admissible in what is designed to illustrate particu- lar things, and especially if to be viewed from a distance. To me no sight is ever more beautiful than the American flag, red, white, and blue, as the breeze opens every fold and waves it abroad for the gaze of men; the blue signifying a league and covenant against oppression, to be maintained in truth, by valor and purity; the very color proclaiming to despots and tyran- nized man that in one land on the broad face of the earth liberty of con- science prevails, and freedom of speech exists. We shall not want to change it when this war is over. It is the symbol of an idea which has never yet found its full utterance. When Liberty and Union become ene and indivisible, it will be the harmonious exponent of those grand ideas rooted, budded, blos- somed, and bearing fruit forevermore. 4--- BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS. On, how our pulses leaped and thrilled, when, at the dead of night, We saw our legions mustering, and marching forth to ~ght! Line after line comes surging on with martial pomp and pride, And all the pageantries that gild the battles crimson tide. A forest of bright bayonets, like stars at midnight, gleam; A hundred glittering standards flash above the silver stream. We plunged into the Wilderness, and mornings early dawn Disclosed our gallant army in line of battle drawn. An early zephyr fresh and sweet breathed through the forest shade; A thousand happy warbiers, too, a pleasant music made; And modest blossoms bathed in dew the morning light revealed: Oh, who could deem those pleasant shades a savage foe concealed? With lagging pace the morning hours dragged heavily away, And yet we wait the coming strife, in battles stern ~srray. A solemn stillness reigns aroundbut hark! a savage yell, As if ten thousand angry fiends had burst the gates of hell,

Battle of the Wilderness 207-209

Batth? of the W~dderne8s. 207 and full of lines if the color of the dress is such as to throw the shade upon it. A mixture of colors in dress in which either two of the primitives predomi- nate, is a token of barbarism, even if occurring among so-called enlightened people. Color is an ~xponent of the degree of civilization. RED finds its fitness among savage races, and with undeveloped natures. YELLOW indicates transition from barbarism to civilization. GREEN, advanced civilization. PURPLE, monarchical enlightenment, which is will individualized in but one. Modification and harmony are only with people free to follow taste and select for themselves. Among the most enlightened nations these five states are all found. The highest type, shown by culture, discovery, art, literature, sci- ence, equity, and government, exists with but a few. The mass are civilized, and continue the mass. It is the nat- ural tendency of enlightenment to indi- vidualize. In proportion to genius, culture, and perseverance, is one set apart, becomes a leader of the masses, and should be a teacher of the harmony and correspondence of color, both by precept and example. Strong contrasts are admissible in what is designed to illustrate particu- lar things, and especially if to be viewed from a distance. To me no sight is ever more beautiful than the American flag, red, white, and blue, as the breeze opens every fold and waves it abroad for the gaze of men; the blue signifying a league and covenant against oppression, to be maintained in truth, by valor and purity; the very color proclaiming to despots and tyran- nized man that in one land on the broad face of the earth liberty of con- science prevails, and freedom of speech exists. We shall not want to change it when this war is over. It is the symbol of an idea which has never yet found its full utterance. When Liberty and Union become ene and indivisible, it will be the harmonious exponent of those grand ideas rooted, budded, blos- somed, and bearing fruit forevermore. 4--- BATTLE OF THE WILDERNESS. On, how our pulses leaped and thrilled, when, at the dead of night, We saw our legions mustering, and marching forth to ~ght! Line after line comes surging on with martial pomp and pride, And all the pageantries that gild the battles crimson tide. A forest of bright bayonets, like stars at midnight, gleam; A hundred glittering standards flash above the silver stream. We plunged into the Wilderness, and mornings early dawn Disclosed our gallant army in line of battle drawn. An early zephyr fresh and sweet breathed through the forest shade; A thousand happy warbiers, too, a pleasant music made; And modest blossoms bathed in dew the morning light revealed: Oh, who could deem those pleasant shades a savage foe concealed? With lagging pace the morning hours dragged heavily away, And yet we wait the coming strife, in battles stern ~srray. A solemn stillness reigns aroundbut hark! a savage yell, As if ten thousand angry fiends had burst the gates of hell, 208 Battle qf the Wilderne& ~. Now thrills upon our startled ears. By heaven! the traitors come I We see their gleaming banners, we hear the throbbing drum. In solid ranks, their countless hordes from the dense woods emerge, And roll upon our serried lines like oceans angry surge. Our ranks are silenton each face the light of battle glows: Ready! At once our polished tubes are levelled on our foes. Now leaps a livid lightning upfrom rank to rank it flies A fearful diapason rends the arches of the skies. The wooded hills seem reeling before that fierce recoil; With fire and smoke the valleys like Etnas craters boil: From red volcanoes bursting, hissing, hurtling in the sky, A thousand death-winged messengers like fiery meteors fly: Within that seething vortex their shattered cohorts reel. Fix bayonets! At once our lines bristle with burnished steel. Charge! And our gallant regiments burst through the feu dexfer. Before their furious onset the rebel hosts give way; And, surging backward, hide again within the forests shade, Whose mazes dark and intricate our charging columns stayed. Now sinks the fiery orb of day, half hidden from our sight Amid the sulphurous clouds of war dyed red in lurid light; And soon the smoking Wilderness with gloom and darkness fills; The dense, damp foliage on the sod a bloody dew distils. Sleepless we rest upon our arms. Dim lights flit through the shade: We hear the groans of dying men, the rattle of the spade. And when -the morning dawns at last, resounding from afar We hear the crash of musketry, the rising din of war. 0 comrades, comrades, rally round, close up your ranks again; Weep not our brethren fallen upon the crimson plain; For unborn ages shall their tombs with freshest laurels twine; Their names in characters of light on historys page shall shine: We all must die; but few may win a deathless prize of life Close up your ranksagain the foe renews the bloody strife. Two days we struggled fiercely against our stubborn foes Two days from out the Wilderness the din ofeonflict rose. But when the third aurora bathed the eastern sky in gold, And to our soldiers anxious gaze the field of death unrolled, Lo! all was silent in our front. The rebel hosts had fled, Abandoning in hasty flight their wounded and their dead. Come, friends of freedom, gather round, loud shouts of triumph give: The field of blood is won at lastlet the republic live! Our country, 0 our country, our hearts throb wild and high; Your cause has triumphed. God be praised! Freedom shall never die. Our eagle proudly soars to-day, his talons bathed in gore, For treasons hydra head is crushedits reign of terror oer. Wake, wake your shouts of triumph all through our mighty land, From Californias golden hills to proud Potomacs strand. Atlantics waves exulting Pacifics billows call, And great Niagaras cataracts in louder thunders fall. Weve stayed the tempest black as night that on our country lowers, And backward dashed its waves of blood. The victory is ours! Ta~rdy Thuthe. A light shines from the Wildernessfar up times pathway streams Through death, and blood, and agony, on Calvarys cross it gleams; It lights with radiance divine Mount Yernons humble tomb, And sparkles on Harmodius sword bright flashing through the gloom. Ho! slaves of yesterday, arise, now will your chains be riven. Ho! tyrants, tremble, for behold a day of vengeance given. Gaze on our banners stained with bloodthink of your brethren slain; Say, has not freedom, crushed to earth, sprung forth to life again? Freedom, high freedom, friend of man, sheath not thy crimson sted; Still let thy cannon thunder loud, still let thy trumpet peal; Stay not the justice of thy wrath, stay not thy vengeful hand, Till slavery and treason have been blotted from our land. TARDY TRUTHS. UNDER the heading of Tardy Truths The New Nation, of May 7th, republish- ed a compendium of matter some time back given to the world by M. Emile de Girardin, in his paper La Prssse, and in pamphlet form. This matter pur- ports to have been written by a so-. called er-commandant in the late Polish insurrection, a certain M. Fouquet, of Marseilles. Poland has no reason to fear truth. On the contrary, the difficulty has been to find means to set it forth, avenues to the public intelligence and sense of jus- tice, whereby those might be reached who forget the Latin saying: Audi et atteram partem. The Poles are willing to hear reproaches, if such as may be profited by, or if the self-constituted judges be conscientious and unpreju- diced. But, may we not ask why it is that many of these 80-called truths, pro- fessedly founded upon personal ac- quaintance with Polish localities, men, and institutions, spring from sources in many respects similar to that of the recent publication in La Prease, from individuals who never were in Poland beyond a few hours spent in Warsaw who have seen nothing of the country, except as passing in a passenger car from Kracow to Mohilew, a distance of about seven hundred miles, traversed in about twenty-four hourswho never understood one word of Polish, of Ros- sian, or of any of the cognate tongues who have never conversed freely with the inhabitantswho may have been entertained during a few hours by Gov- ernment employ~s or by cautious and distrustful patriotswho were in a hurry to see St. Petersburg and its ele- phant, and who learned Polish history in the Kiemlin, in the saloons of some former prince from the Altay or the Caucasus, or, at best, in the work of M. Koydanoff? La Pre8se, in Paris, undertook the charge of saying things which her frank- er sisters, Le Nord and La Nation, the avowed organs of Rossian czarism, did not venture to propound. M. de Girardin, whose paper has, since a cer- tain period, taken a hiberalistic, even socialistic, infection, is a living example of sundry anomalous eccentricities, such as Alcibiades, Gracchus, Mirabeau, etc., who speak most liberally, and act in a contrary manner. He seems to have been adopted by Rossian diplomatists, and those sanguine of Rossian destiny, 209

Tardy Truths 209-223

Ta~rdy Thuthe. A light shines from the Wildernessfar up times pathway streams Through death, and blood, and agony, on Calvarys cross it gleams; It lights with radiance divine Mount Yernons humble tomb, And sparkles on Harmodius sword bright flashing through the gloom. Ho! slaves of yesterday, arise, now will your chains be riven. Ho! tyrants, tremble, for behold a day of vengeance given. Gaze on our banners stained with bloodthink of your brethren slain; Say, has not freedom, crushed to earth, sprung forth to life again? Freedom, high freedom, friend of man, sheath not thy crimson sted; Still let thy cannon thunder loud, still let thy trumpet peal; Stay not the justice of thy wrath, stay not thy vengeful hand, Till slavery and treason have been blotted from our land. TARDY TRUTHS. UNDER the heading of Tardy Truths The New Nation, of May 7th, republish- ed a compendium of matter some time back given to the world by M. Emile de Girardin, in his paper La Prssse, and in pamphlet form. This matter pur- ports to have been written by a so-. called er-commandant in the late Polish insurrection, a certain M. Fouquet, of Marseilles. Poland has no reason to fear truth. On the contrary, the difficulty has been to find means to set it forth, avenues to the public intelligence and sense of jus- tice, whereby those might be reached who forget the Latin saying: Audi et atteram partem. The Poles are willing to hear reproaches, if such as may be profited by, or if the self-constituted judges be conscientious and unpreju- diced. But, may we not ask why it is that many of these 80-called truths, pro- fessedly founded upon personal ac- quaintance with Polish localities, men, and institutions, spring from sources in many respects similar to that of the recent publication in La Prease, from individuals who never were in Poland beyond a few hours spent in Warsaw who have seen nothing of the country, except as passing in a passenger car from Kracow to Mohilew, a distance of about seven hundred miles, traversed in about twenty-four hourswho never understood one word of Polish, of Ros- sian, or of any of the cognate tongues who have never conversed freely with the inhabitantswho may have been entertained during a few hours by Gov- ernment employ~s or by cautious and distrustful patriotswho were in a hurry to see St. Petersburg and its ele- phant, and who learned Polish history in the Kiemlin, in the saloons of some former prince from the Altay or the Caucasus, or, at best, in the work of M. Koydanoff? La Pre8se, in Paris, undertook the charge of saying things which her frank- er sisters, Le Nord and La Nation, the avowed organs of Rossian czarism, did not venture to propound. M. de Girardin, whose paper has, since a cer- tain period, taken a hiberalistic, even socialistic, infection, is a living example of sundry anomalous eccentricities, such as Alcibiades, Gracchus, Mirabeau, etc., who speak most liberally, and act in a contrary manner. He seems to have been adopted by Rossian diplomatists, and those sanguine of Rossian destiny, 209 210 Tardy Trutk8. as a most convenient defender of czarish ambitionthe more so that they found in him a revealer of things never thought of by the czar; as for instance, liberality and even democracy in Great Rossia, on the plains of Okka and Pet- schora. We might compare N. Fouquets account of Poland with Neumanns ac- count of Kosciusko, or Freneaus of Washington, but will content ourselves with referring the reader to better Eu- ropean sources of knowledge, as the Breslau Zeitung, Ost Deutsche Zeitung, (kas, Wielc, La Pologne, etc. Indeed, it would not be worth our while to pay any attention to N. Fon- quets allegations, had not the Paris letter of April 4th appeared in the above-mentioned paper, and were it not likely to mislead many ignorant of the facts. The writer tells us that he has ex- perienced a great temptation to tell what he has seen, and to expose the result of experience acquired at his own cost, with all attendant risk and danger. Probably we do not under- stand the fear of the author of Tardy Truths, and wish to give no extended explanation to his conclusion: A rare opportunity occurs at present, and he profits by it. We have been taught that we must always have courage to speak the truth. Surely no great amount of that noble quality is required to make accusations in a paper far from the scene of action, and pronounce a verdict where there can be no adequate defence, no judges, only the advantage of the fashion of the day, and the crav- ing for problematical benefits and friendship, to which we must apply Moores comparison: Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, But turn to ashes on the lips. Polish Committee in Paris declined to give him information or furnish means, and even said that they did not wish volunteers. All this may readily be explained by the consideration that a man who thereafter proved to be so bitter an enemy was not sufficiently diplomatic to deceive even the obtuse perceptions of so undeserving a body as the author describes said committee. On the other hand, it would have been more prudent for the writer to have said less on this topic, as such hesita- tion in accepting his services might in- duce the reader to think that the Poles were not so anxious for external aid as he seemed to fancy. We also know that not only at present in Poland, but in former ages, and in our own days, in the happiest of countries, there can be no revolution, no war, which will not attract a host of men covetous of rank or fortune, Lately, in Poland, by cer- tain judicious arrangements, this calami- ty has been prevented, to the great dis- satisfaction of many. No one can doubt or deny that the interest of various Governments, and the sense of justice among nations, gave the Poles a right to expect foreign aid. The assurances of certain politicians and statesmen even gave reasonable expecta- tion of such a result. Such aid would of course neither be rejected nor treated with indifference. But the assertion that the Poles relied solely on such aid is (in the face of the manifesto of Jan- uary 22d and July 81st, 1863) either a proof of ill will, or of entire ignorance of the resources upon which Poland was bound to rely, and which could not be intrusted to the discretion of every volunteer or pretended well-wisher to the Polish nation. Continuing his imputations, the ac- cuser says he only learned afterward why seven thousand Parisian workmen, registered at M. dHarcourts commit- tee, were not sent forth. The prob- able purport of this reproach is: They Let us never be deceived: a free na- tion in the embrace of absolutism must, sooner or later, fall a prey to the ca- jolers hypocrisy and greed. were not sent for fear of the introduc- The correspondent reports that the tion of liberal elementsand the prole Tardy Trutk8. 211 tariatinto Poland. As to the latter, we may at once confidently answer that, were Poland free to-day, the con- dition of the laboring class in Western Europe need not be dreaded for a hun- dred years to come. As to the liberal element, does the author indeed think that Poland has had no Liberalists simi- lar to Voltaire, La Mennais, Victor Hugo, L. Blanc, Mazzini, or Hertzen? Does he fancy that Modzewski (in the sixteenth century), Skarga (a Catholic preacher in the seventeenth), Morsztyn, Jezierski, Andrew Zamoyski, Hugo Kollontay, Loyko (in the eighteenth), Staszye, Lelewel, Mochnacki, Ostrow- ski, Czynski, Mieroslawski, and a host of others, contented with the private good they did, and forced to shun the jealous watchfulness of suspicious rulers does he, we say, fancy that all these needed to be inspired by the liberality of Parisian workmen, or even that all the aforesaid workmen would apply themselves to the dissemination of lib- eral opinions? It is indeed a great disadvantage to Polish Liberalists, phi- losophers, and poets, that they speak and write in a tongue unknown to the noble philanthropists of the West. A greater amount of knowledge would have saved hasty tourists, veracious lec- turers, and all-knowing diplomatists many errors in statement and concep- tion, and much aversion toward a noble people, who, if vanquished, will not be crushed, and will always reserve the right of protest. At all events, this last conclusion of our correspondent leads us to suspect that he may perchance never have been in Polandperhaps never even in Paris since this non-sending forth of seven thousand Parisians was better under- stood by every gamin du faub~urg than apparently by the sincere narrator of Tardy Truths. The writer says further, that he ex- pected to find in Kracow activity and infinite means. Now, the author and the confidence of the Poles must have been quite strangers to one another, or his imagination must have misled him farther than was becoming in a man of knowledge and reflection. He does not mention the date of his journey, but we know about the period referred to. It is true that at that time Kracow had not yet been declared in a state of siege by M. Ponilly de Mensdorf, but, as a personal friend Qf the Czar, he had then held Galicia and Kracow during the past year under a more un- certain condition than even the decla- ration of a state of siege would have produced. Twenty thousand chosen officers and soldiers, with discretionary and greatly enlarged powers, and al- most as many policemen and spies, with early fed and increasing covetous- ness for rewards, promotions, and or- ders, kept constant watch over the an- cient capital of Poland, the last rem- nant of Polish nationality which had been engulfed in the European peace of 1846. We may then safely assert that our author has given us sketches from his whims and fancies, rather than the ma- ture results of his judgment, and that he has also neglected to direct his re- searches into the history of the past. It is doubtless true that he was not de- sired as a volunteer, and that he found danger only, and not fortune, which, indeed, we think his own sagacity might have taught him from the first. We would be forced to doubt that any one understood the policy of the Polish Committee in Warsaw who should apply the epithet mercenary to the Polish soldiers. We would not ask our author how much he gave per diem to those under his own command: we have no wish to rival the wit of a Rossian proclamation which appeared last winter in Warsaw~ in which the Poles in general, including those who fought at Orsza, Wielikie Luki, Kirch- holm, Chocim, Smolensk, Vienna, Zu- rich, Hohenlinden, Samocierros, Pul- tusk, Grochow, Iganie, Zyzyny, Opa- tow, etc., etc., were stigmatized as poltroons and cowards I 212 Tzrdy ]i,~utk& . It is certainly true that the battles of late have not represented a file of twenty thousand men, but to call them on that account frontier demonstrations, is to add subtle calumny to ungener- ous irony; it is a deviation even from the very tardy truths. It is an asser- tion not made in an impartial spirit, but calculated in favor of, and deter- minately stated with the intention of sustaining those who are exerting them- selves to prove that Minsk, Grodno, Mohilew, Woihynia, Podole, Plock, Augustow, Lithuania, Samogitia, Lief- land, etc., were ancient dependencies of Rossia, before she had herself an existence either in name or fact! If the originator of the term frontier denwnstraticne would take the trouble to study the map, he would not be able to cherish the delusion that his in- telligent readers could believe that battles fought near Kowno, Oszmiana, Upita, Poniewiez, Lida, Ihumen,Dulmno, Pinsk, Mscislaw, etc., were really fron- tier demonstrations! This declaration of the letter from Paris to America would not be of much service to The Journal of St. Petersburg or The Inralid, of Moscow, or increase their exhilaration over the extermina- tion of the Polish race, the destruction of Polish principles. There is nothing more natural than that a rebuke to the Sie~de, Opinion Nationale, Patrie, and perhaps even others, should follow such statementstheir views undoubtedly stand in complete opposition to those held by M. de Girardin, and advocated in La Presse. The assertion that the Polish National Government had no object in view but to excite and await the intervention of France; that Galicia was the principal focus of the rebellion, and that the un- known Government had no actual ex- istence, is, on the one hand, an unskil- ful attempt to justify the Governments of Rossia and Austria, and, on the other, by the ignoring of all the reports of the Polish National Governmentall its obvious facts, its printed documents, its acts everywhere known and seen, its seizures of papers and documentsand to portray it as a fraud, a myth, a dream of the imagination, a wild hallucination of a disordered brain, it suggests to us the thought that the tardy and present truths here given us of Poland may perhaps have the same origin as that famous description in one of the St. Petersburg papers, of the at last truly discovered leader of the Polish insur- rection, which was but a portraiture of a certain, not mentioned but easily guessed, personage in Paris. We have no reply to make to this re- proach (we can only wonder that un- der the circumstances they should ever have been made) that the Polish volun- teers were badly armed and illy man- agedpossibly they might have been better even in a partisan war. But as to the want of skill in the officers, in- cluding such as Skarzynski, Bosak, Padlewski, we wonder that the writer or his friend F. could not succeed in making their talents known and val- ued, and become at least leaders among the blind. Of course he had to contend with cross-eyed jealousy. Yet if, as a foreigner, and a learned one too, he was, as he himself informs us, intimately ad- mitted into various chateaux, it seems almost impossible he should have had no opportunity to become major, col- onel, or even general, since it ia well known, and every foreigner will bear witness to the fact, that in these c/ia- teaua~ there has always been too much attention and too great preference shown to foreignersa preference, how- ever, in which the lower classes do not participate. As to the easy chateau life led in Galicia, as in Rossia, we have a remark to offer. .In a country exposed during five or six centuries to incessant strug gle against Asiatic craving for Euro- pean allurements, or, to epeak more definitely, after ninety-four Mongolian incursions, In whi~h twenty millions of Polish people were carried off, and thousands of towns, bourgs, and vil Tardy Truths. 213 lages were destroyed; after numberless wars, plunders, and devastations by Jazygs, Turks, Muscovites, Crusaders, Wallachians, Transylvanians, Swedes, Brandenburgians, etc., etc.; after a hun- dred years of the so-called paternal spoliation of Russia, Prussia, and Au- striathere could have been no oppor- tunity, even under Graff Pouilly de Mensdorg to build comfortable chateaux on the mouldering ruins, or for the a& - cumulation of means for an easy life under the oppressions of an Austrian tariff, which exacted that goods manu- factured in Lemberg should be sent for inspection to the Vienna custom house before being exposed to sale. There are, however, a few ~very splendid cha- teaux, like oases in the Desert of Sa- hara; they can be counted readily on ones fingers; among them few patriots; no conspirator, much less an insurgent or crippled invalid, ever called to ask hospitality. The calumny so often repeated, so urgently insisted upon, that the aim of the Polish insurrection was inconsist- ent, foolish, and wicked, might not perhaps astonish the reader more than the report of the want of zeal and faith in the convictions of the Poles, a fact first revealed to the world in Tardy Truths. This warning with regard to the true character of the struggle on the shores of the Vistula might prove of service in aiding the discrimination of the American people, and be useful in confusing the judgment of the liberal men and newspapers, which, whether in Germany, Belgium, France, or Eng- land, are not too much inclined to favor the cause of Polish independence; nay, it would spare France the useless dem- onstration in the Chambers, made in consequence of the speech of Novem- ber 5th. The late efforts of the Poles are also shown to have been inspired and incited by, and carried on for the benefit of, the Catholic clergy, stimu- lated by fanaticism against the liberal, civilizing, enlightened, Russo - Greek Church, a view which might and has proved very useful to modem lecturers and letter writers. The warning therein given might also serve to degrade the Polish revolution to the level of some of the slaveholders rebellion. Let us reflect but for one single moment on the pai-allel attempted to be drawn, particularly in the New York papers, after the unfortunate Mexican imbroglio and subsequent visit of the Rossian fleet, between things so utterly unlike. The Poles fought for everything most dear to the heart of man, for every right which he can justly claim, for in- dependence, national existence, the right to use his own language, for the integrity of his country ;the States of the South had all these in ftdl pos- session, nay, even the right to pass the law binding the North. These things might be shown to be essentially dis- similar in every respect, but this short statement is deemed sufficient to show the futility of the comparison. Let us now proceed to say a few words with regard to the plausible ar- guments so generally set forth for the glorification of the Czar, in respect to the emancipation of the Polish serfs. The Czar gave in 1864 what had al- ready been given by the Poles them- selves in 1863; less the soil, which in- deed never belonged to him, but for which he exacts payment. Besides, he has confiscated, without regulations or laws, the income from forests, rents, fields, and fisheries, belonging to old men, women, and children, whose only crime was that they had been born Poles, or whom it pleased the hungry throng of unscrupulous, greedy, and fanatical officials, unbounded in their zeal as in their power, to denounce, ac- cuse, or dislike. We could fully prove the fact that the greater part of the peasants are now forced by bayonets to work for the exacted pay, and most of them venture to doubt entirely the pro- priety of the pretended Rossian gift. This one circumstance makes this gift in the greater part of Poland and even of Rossia more burdensome than the 214 Tardy Trutlie. old state of regulated labor; for how is a peasant to procure money in prov- inces distant from markets, rivers, and towns? Under what conditions would it be possible to obtain it? And even in cases where the peasant may be able to make a sale, the value received for eight bushels of potatoes will not be sufficient to buy him a common axe. How many calves, cows, sheep, horses, and hogs are brought back from mar- ket from the impossibility of finding purchasers, even at the lowest prices? Now, by the decree of January 22d, the Polish National Government gave free- dom, and land relieved from all claims, thus executing what was in accordance with the spirit and wishes of the Poles, without losing sight of the difficulties to be encountered. It was their im- perative duty to satisfy and adjust the exigencies of the national political economy. Fortunately, it was found possible to harmonize the requirements of the country with the personal inter- ests of the proprietors. The amount of land held by them was in general so large, that even after endowing the peasant with the allotted portion, con- siderable would still remain in their hands. Diminished in extent and value during the transitional phase, the re- maining land would necessarily rise rapidly in value, because the emanci- pated peasant would now have the right tQ own and buy land. The cal- culation might be sustained that it would quintuple in value in the course of llfty years. Small farms from their possessions would soon be in the mar- ket, farms within the range of small purses and limited means, and the pro- prietors did not fail to see the advan- tage which would accrue to them in the almost unlimited increase of pur- chasers which would soon be found among the enfranchised laborers. The peasants gained freedom, land, and many advantages, nor were the pro- prietors ruined in their advancement. Hence the National Government effected what the Rossian never intended to do or ever will achieve: gain and loss were equalized in the national duty of sus- taming the country in its progressive course, stimulating all to labor simul- taneously to support its public burdens, to aid in the general advancement. The real freedom thus gained, in ac- cordance with the far-sighted policy of the Polish National Government, opened wide the door to liberty, trade, com- merce, and exchange; a policy which czarism, even in its most liberal mood, can never admit, because it would con- demn itself and give the death blow to its own existence. There is another specialty peculiar to the Rossian Gov- ernment, never forgotten by those who live under its rule~.~z.: the late eman- cipation was begun about three years ago by an ukase of no very decided pur- port, which was followed by many others of like uncertain character, ac- cording with the varying views of those by whom they were dictated, by the partisans of emancipation or by those standing in opposition to it. These ukases are ranged in their appropriate numerical titles, and there are at least five hundred thousand of them whether imperial or senatorial, all le- gally binding. What memory could stand such a burden, or what might legal cavil not find therein? It is an easy thing to speak for Buncombe, as we say in America; it is an easy thing to proclaim measures when we take no thought of how they may be carried out; it is easy to excite the enthusiasm of the popular lecturer, always in search of novelty with which to feed his hearers; it may be pleasant to furnish venom to wounded self- esteem or disappointed and petty am- bitionbut it will be found an exceed- ingly difficult task to reconcile absolut- ism with freedom, czarism with liberal- ism, the division of men into appointed castes and classes with the existence of liberty and political equality. We are assured, not only by the writer of the letter in question, but by the sages of New York, that the Polish peasants Tardy Truth8. 215 were not willing to fight for Poland, that they called their countrymen now in arms against Rossia dogs of nobles, and that it was really their duty to rise against and denounce their former masters to Rossia and Austria! If these assertions are true, who then filled the ranks of the Polish insurgents? Who furnished food to those who lived for months in the depths of forests, the haunts of mountain gorges? How was it possible that without the connivance of the peasants the insurgents should pass to and fro, or lie hidden in woods and fields? It was stated authorita- tively that the insurgents were com- posed principally of Hungarian ref- ugees, about ten Frenchmen, a few strangers from other nations, but of the number of the lesser nobility, men, in short, in search of shelter and fortune. A strange fortune, a marvellous shelter indeed to reward the greed of the am- bitious exile, death, and torture! Were the testimony of such witnesses to be relied upon, we might well ex- claim: Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. Yet how is it that we find among the seven hundred patriots who were hung so many Poles, less than a half of whom were Catholics, many of whom were Jews, Protestants, and even Russo- Greeks of various classes? Among the forty thousand known deported, torn ruthlessly away from their native homes for centuries, we find nearly five thou- sand Israelites, ten thousand peasants (known), and from four to six thousand of Greek and other creeds. The two villages near Lida, two in the govern- ment of Grodno, the hundreds of vil- lages and thousands of huts near Dwina, Rzczyca, Mohilew, Witebsk, burned, razed to the ground by an ex- cited and hired rabble of Muscovite Muziks, who had sought and found hospitality in Poland for hundreds of yearscertainly all these villages and huts were not inhabited even by the lesser nobility. And it is also certain that the dwellers were not so cruelly punished for denouncing the dogs of nobles an expression, if we are not mistaken, taken from the vocabulary of the corporal or subaltern officials, and which has never reached the four- teenth classfrom which the Rossian begins to reckon humanity. The allegation of the existence of unrooted feudalism in Poland, because such a system was known to the whole of Middle Europe, must be accounted for by the evident ignorance of Polish history; and we assure both teachers and readers, notwithstanding the evi- dent wish to find it in Poland, that it was unknown to her, nor could it sub- sist in the presence of Polish institu- tions, habits, customs, and geography. We can scarcely suppose it possible that our author means to insinuate that thousands of noble families bought and transported arms for the purpose of speculation. Notwithstanding the evi- dence he had of one such bad business transaction for the purpose of sustain- ing and upholding the insurrection, his frequent intimations of the incor- rigible and unruly character of the few Poles left, would almost authorize us in believing that such was the inten- tion of the writer when speaking of the aforesaid arms. Oh, in the name of common sense, for the sake of the men whose country has been torn from them, who may not speak their mothers tongue in the land of their fathers, who are forbidden to worship in accordance with the dic- tates of their conscience, whose sacred homes are desecrated by the presence of privileged spies, who cannot sit down in peace in the holy quiet of evening, because they know that the morrow may see them dragged off to unknown and inaccessible dungeons, or summoned before brutal judges with- out defenders, where they will find ac- cusers, but will be allowed to cite no witnesses; subjected to witness the horrible anxiety endured every spring and fall by Polish fathers and mothers lest the sons of their love should be un- expectedly seized in the night and hur 216 licsrdy Tiutks. ned off over the Caucasus, the tTral, or to the mouth of the Amour, to serve in the army of the oppressor for life,or longer than home memories in such young bosoms could be expected to last, with no prospect of reward save such as may be reckoned in the nUmber of palkis and pletnis (whips and lashes); sons, whether rich or poor, to be ex- posed to cavil, cunning, and vindictive- ness, to the practices of gambling judges and a profligate soldiery, to a venal police, to fraudulent employ6s, themselves badly paid for service, but whose extortions and abuses always meet with approval, a single complaint against whom would expose the com- plainant to be sent through that hope- less gate always open on the route to Siberia ;oh, for the sake of common humanity, say not that men placed in such situations have, in spite of their glorious history, no rights, no claims on human sympathy, no cause to sacri- fice life even when it has become a haunting horror! Believe not that such complaints are inventions: the facts are known to every- body who will look upon them. They are no slanderous stories, but occur- rences renewed with every morning, taking place under all circumstances and with every transaction patent to the world. They were appreciated and described in Prussia, and even in Aus- tria verified, not long before the last campaign. Under such circumstances, what must be thought of the discoveries and conclusions of writers who assert that the Polish nation is a mere chimera? As no individual, mighty as he may be, can by a blasphemous word suppress the existence of the Eternal Father, so neither passion nor love, favor nor animosity, interest nor purpose of the most talented or ambi- tious, can erase at pleasure a nationality which has a history of over a thousand years of existence, a nationality proved by the last hundred years of incessant struggle for independence with three giants. This nation has marked its boundaries with graveyards toward the Dniester, Dnieper, Kiemen, and Dwina, where rest the beaten hordes of Batu or Nogays. Can the record be erased of the power that broke the sword of the Osmanlis, and was it a chimera that preserved Western Europe from such sights as Polowee and Piet- schiniegs, etc.? You may perhaps to- day designate as a chimera the Vienna saved in 1683, that very Vienna which in 1815 first conceived the idea of sow- ing the seeds of distrust between Gali- cians and Lodomeriansan idea soon after adopted, perfected, and publicly propagated by Rossians, who applied the practice to Lithuanians, Volhyn- ians, Podolans, Polans, Radymicians, etc.an idea now held in the fierce grasp of Muraview, Anienkovr, and probably at no very distant period to be recalled to the mind of the origi- nator. The gentlemans knowledge of Rus- sians (the true name is Rossians, the other being assumed to effect a certain purpose in Western Europe), Prussians, and Austrians, to the exclusion of Poles, proves only that his geographic and ethnographic researches in Poland went no farther than those of the reliable gentleman who described the Bunker Hill monument under President La- fayette. In addition to the above, let us con- sult simply the sound of the names of places, and we can form some idea of the extent of races and nationalities. Nowgorod, Kaluga, Pskoware Ilos- sian; Telsze, Szawle, RosienieLithu- anian; Winszpilis, Gielgawa, Libosie Courland; Lublin, Ostrolenka, Flock Polish; Wlodrimirz, Zytomirz, Ber.. dyczevVolhynian. In Austria, are the inhabitants of Venice, Prague, and Buda, Austrian? The name of Prussia is an old one of Slavonians living at the mouth of the Vistula, and has no etymology in the Teutonic language. Those of Galicia and Lodomeria are unskilfully disfigured from Halitsh (Halicz) and Wlodzimir. The name Tardy Truth8. of Prussia was assumed by Frederic II., margrave of Brandenburg, when he took the title of king, at the same time giving solemn oaths never to pretend to the sovereignty of Dantzick (Gdansk), Thorn (Torun), etc. The present empire of Alexander is not of Russia, but of I?ossia, and the name of Russia is imposed on Polans near Kiow, on Radymicians near Nowo- grodek, on Drewlans south of the river Pripec, etc.; and we must remember that Catharine II., in 1764, had solemnly declared by her ambassadors, Kayser- hug and Repnin, that she had no right to Russias or Ruthenias in Poland: Declaramus suam Imperatoriam Majes- tatem Dominam nostram clementissi- main ex usu tituli totius 1?ossiw, nec sibi, nec successoribus suis neque Imperio suo jus ullum in ditiones et terra3 qine sub nomine Russia~ a Regno Poloni~e magnoque ducatu Lithuanitn possi- duntur, etc. The prediction of the re~stablish- ment of serfdom as a result aimed at in the present Polish struggle, is not only rash but preposterous, and has no foun- dation except in a fixed purpose to di- rect all sympathy toward Rossia. The true bondage that tied man, in Poland to the soil, began with the in- troduction of police, passports, censors or 8lCa8ki, recruiting, conscription, and taxatiom, introduced by Prussia, Aus- tria, and Rossia, as so-called improve- tnents. Poland had more free peasants, called Ziemianin, Kmiec, Kozak, than there were in France during the rigirne of the Gabeles or Leibeigenschaft in Germany. That they entirely disap- peared after the fall of Poland was surely not her fault. The peasants on the estates attached to the clergy of all denominations, to public schools, to the crown, and to the nation, were in a much better condition, materially and morally, than are at present those in some parts of ilainault and Thuringen. Individual abuses by an unconscien- tious lord were to be seen as well in Connaught as near Debretechyn, near vot.. vi.15 21T the Saone as on the Necker. Times contemporary with independent Po- land, and hence not very far back beheld these sins against humanity committed on a larger scale, and in lands in otherwise happier conditions. The phrase bonded labor is known un- der the best institutions. But this excuses no one. Poland, without any compulsive cause, in 1764 and 1768, took these questions into consideration; in 1791, was even more explicit; and in 1792, Kosciuszko distinctly settled the condition of the Polish peasant, and that without opposition from the Polish nobilitya measure immediately overruled and suppressed by Prussia and Rossia, both accusing Poland of being a dangerous nest of Jacobinism. In 1807, in the grand duchy of War- saw, after it was retaken from Prussia, the condition of the peasantry was far more clear and protected than even now promised by the Czar Alexander II., and was probably better preserved than it can be under the crowd of em- ploy6s and magistrates, no~nally elected by the peasants, but in fact im- ported from Saratow, Kazan, Peuza, etc., for the purpose of teaching liberty and Siberian civilization in Warsaw and Wilna. Common sense and the ordinary rules of logic force upon us the con- viction that writings of the above stamp are gotten up to produce certain effects. Can any be found simple enough to believe that a whole people would be aroused, armed, and taught to what end and how to use the given arms, as was done by the manifesto of the Polish National Government, Jan- uary 22d, 1863, only to be deceived, and in the end deprived of that for~ which they had fought? By what right can bad faith be imputed to land1 owners whom experience, a sense of justicc, and even interest, had already impelled to get rid of a useless and burdensome relation? These land owners, even under the Rossian Gov- ernment (in 1818), had solemnly ~beg 218 Tardy Trutbs. ged the uncle of the present czar, Alex- ander I., to allow them to be freed from the onerous responsibilities caused by serfdom under Rossian surveillance and severity. The letter from Paris further states, on what authority we know not, that the condition of the peasant or serf in Poland was dreadful until the seven- teenth century. This is going very far back, and probably at that period, if facts could be found to sustain the writers allegation, the condition of bondmeu vilain* regardants boors, Leibeigensehaft, manans, etc., was not better elsewhere. But here again we must differ in opinion, and beg leave to state, not only to the author of the let- ter, but to all other self-constituted authorities, whose knowledge of Po- land is derived from The London Times, Chamberss iWagaeine, M. Hilperding, Kattow, or M. Morny, etc., that, with all due respect to their social positions, we must deny them the title of well- informed historians and profound judges of Poland and the Slavonic races. Up to the seventeenth century, the peasantry (Kmiec, Ziemiamin) had its representatives in the diet, and could find entrance into the ranks of the no- bility, which had no divisions into classes or titular distinctions. Said nobility had the right to serve their country during war, and a peasant pro- viding himself with a horse and suit- able arms, was not excluded from that class. They could also take orders among the clergy, and hence rise to high dignities in the church. Public schools in Poland were never shut to the peasants, nor were any distinctions therein authorized in favor of one or other class of pupils. In schools then they enjoyed all privileges in common, and these were greata sep- arate jurisdiction, and the facilities of reaching higher ranks. Kromer, Jan- icki, Poniatowski, great names in Po- lish history, can show no other origin than one nearer to the Ziemianin than to any other class. If the current of fashion did not warp all judgments in favor of IRossia, the writers of Tardy Truths from Paris and elsewhere would have re- flected a little longer, and would soon have discovered that the ignorance and poverty of the Polish peasantry were not due solely to the Poles themselves. Polish schools were formerly all com- pletely free, and each school even had funds for the poor, called purses, foun- dations, etc. Rossia, in the last fifty years, charged as high as $625 for in- scription alone in the higher classes, and about $25 for elementary begins ners. How could a poor family rise in prosperity if this school was often the first cause of losing the favorite son; if they did send the child to school they might lose him as a recruit for the army or navy, as designated by the whim of the treacherous teacher and recruiting officer; and this did not ex- empt from public burdens, as they were still obliged to pay taxes for him during ten years, and contribute to all public services, as stations (stoyki), wagons and teams (rozgony), repairing and making public and private roads, extra post service, besides innumerable sery~ices imposed for his own personal benefit by a spravnik, straptschy, zas- iedatel, sotnik, etc. Add to this the thwarting of intercourse and commerce by every imaginable means ur~tler the system of the famous M. Kankrin. Could the peasant or the master be- come wealthy when a measure called a ton, weighing about eight hundred and forty pounds, of wheat brought the enormous sum of $4.25? a load of hay, drawn by one horse, seventy-five cents when well paid, and nothing when wanted by ulans or hussars gar- risoned in the neighborhood? A hen, with a dozen and a half well-grown chickens, hardly brought enough to pay the value of the commonest apron. Such things as these were never known in ancient Poland, now so unani- mously accused and condemned by fashionable philanthropy. Even eighty Tardy TruMs. 219 years ago such abuses would have been vainly looked for. We remember, in our younger days, when conversing with an old sowietnik (counsellor), to have heard him relate his bewildered astonishment at the comfort and well- being in Poland when sent under an escort of Cossacks to introduce Rossian improvements. What has become of them I we asked innocently. Ha! was his naIve reply; St. Petersburg has since then grown into a splendid city! Let us call the attention of Russo- maniacs to the fact that eighty years ago, soon after the second partition of Poland, flax in Riga brought eight hun- dred and seventy forms, while in 1845 it hardly brought two hundred and forty forms; and the famous wheat of San- domir sold, at the first-named period, at sixty, while in 1856 it brought barely thirty-five. Yet money now is cheaper than before 1800. Did the Polish nobleman, selfish and wicked as now seems the fashion to describe him, force the peasant of Sa- mogitia to servile work, when the lat- ter had an opportunity of drawing a good profit from the results of his la- bor in the neighboring marts of Memel, Liban, Riga, Mittan, Venden, etc.? No, must we answer to our readers. There might have been seen a boors wife dressed in sky blue lined with fox fur, and drawn to church in a com- fortable kolaska, by two excellent, plump, Samogitian ponies; and neither did the father of the family exhaust his strength in night watches or day labor, as he had twenty teams to dis- pose of, and could offer to an unex- pected visitor a broiled chicken with milk sauce, and a couple of bottles of brown stout from Barclay, Perkins & Co., of London. Such prosperity, al- though then declining, was still to be found in 1830. Why does it not exist to-day? Let this question be answered by civilizers and democrats from Tam- bow, Saratow, or Penza, and their jeal- ous apologists. Our writer seems to think he has made a wonderful discovery when he exultingly exclaims: How surprised these pretended liberals would be to see that their efforts only tend toward reconstituting a monarchical Poland (was Poland really monarchical ?we may doubt) under the protection of a feudal and Catholic Church! Such charges were also made in the eight- eenth century, and were suggested by similar motives. I do not feel called upon to defend the Catholics of Poland. I would simply retort upon the authors of such suggestions, by referring to cer- tain distinguished rabbis, as Heilprin, Meintzel, Jastrow, etc.; to Protestants, as Konaraki, Potworowaki, Kassius, Krolikowski, Czynski, and hosts of others; and also to Mohammedans, as Baranowski, Mucha, Bi elak, etc. I can- not condemn a man because he is a Catholic, because I have everywhere, and in every religious community, found both patriots and traitors to their country, to their origin, to prin- ciple, and to their religion. But this I must say, that of whatever denomi- nation or sect be the minister or priest, he has a right to be a faithful son to his fatherland and race. It happened that in Poland the Catholic priest stood opposed to the Rossian pope. If the latter can be a Rossian patriot, why should a like sentiment render guilty a Polish priest? This animosity in certain circles proceeds from a par- tiality to the Rosso-Greek Church, which, some years ago, during the visit of the emperor Nicholas to England, certain ignorant or designing persons designated as Protestant. By way of parenthesis, we may add that the Rosso- Greek Church separated long ago from the Eastern Greek Church, preserving, however, all its outward forms. Peter I. abolished the patriarchate, intro- duced his own classes and reforms, and made himself head of the church. He gave the name of synod to a perma- nent council, no~nated, appointed, dismissed, controlled, rewarded, and punished by himself, according to hi~ 220 Tardy Thutlt8. own judgment, pass~n, or will. The Grreco-Rossian Church is kept under the same discipline as the army, and an offending pope is sent, with the rank of private, to some remote regi- ment. The author of the letter from Paris somewhat contradictorily asserts that the women, being superior in Poland, govern the men, but are themselves governed entirely by the priests. This scarcely tallies with strict logic; but, for the sake of truth and of a just re- spect for our mothers, who taught us to love our country and freedom, who gave us strength in exile, and faith through persecution, and who instruct- ed us how to think, and inspired us with those noble sentiments, seemingly denied to the mothers of the fashion- able civ~ization (of St. Petersburg), among whom there is not one lady writerwe will thank this writer for the refutation offered by him to an impudent slander, emanating from a contributor to Chambers Magazine, of January last. We repeat that we thank him for his just tribute to Polish wom- en, however inimical he may be to the Polish cause, and however much he may depreciate our sex. Yet it seems strange that, while accusing Polish women of being entirely under the con- trol of the priests, and hence to have been chiefly instrumental in fomenting the last insurrection, the author did not notice, or is purposely silent re- g~rding, a fact which, as he appears to have been longer in a Galician chateau than elsewhere, must have fallen under his notice, namely, that in Galicia, the Polish priest was the most deeided op- ponent to any insurrection. How, then, could the active Polish women- patriots be instruments of the action condemned by the apologists of the absolute government of Rossia? The admomtion to France, on the ground that, after the revolution of 1789, she is committing a contradic- tory error by showing sympathy to- ward a revolution gotten up by priests, is but a consequence of the first judg- ment, and we may leave to France and her sense of her own interests to do what she may think right and profit- able. We will simply mention that, for French glory, and for this error, as the author calls it, two hundred thou- sand Poles were slain in Egypt, Italy, San Domingo, Spain, Germany, Hol- land, and on the plains of Mozajsk, Kraslaw, Boryssow, Eylau, Friedland, etc. The monument seen from the balcony of the Tuileries has the names upon it, which we scarcely can suppose to have been inscribed for the sole purpose of filling space. The friends of Poland believe that they serve the cause of progress by aid- ing in the re~stablishment of the Polish nation. We presume there are plenty of men in France who know that dur- ing the last thirty years Rossia has spread her dominion in Asia over twice the area of Germany and France to- gether, that she is only eighty miles from Peking, and as far from India as Vienna is from the Black Sea. More- over, Asiatic people, always dreaming of plunder in Europe, once armed with European Mini6 rifles and rifled cannon, may repeat anew the incursions of At- tila, Tamerlane, Battu, etc. The end to be gained and the booty will create the temptation, and offer superior in- ducements. The effort to palliate Rossian cruelty, skilful as it is, by the alleged necessities of war, by denials, or by asserting it to be mere revenge for similar atrocities committed by Poles, must be appre- ciated according to the sources whence it emanates. What the letter writer or similar twelve-hour visitors saw in Poland, particularly in Kracow, of peo- pie sharpening knives or preparing deadly poisons, need here be merely referred to by saying that in times of general confusion we have no means to foresee or to control personal revenge, and also that we will not here cite the reports of Polish papers or accounts of Germans. We will take our data Rardy Truths. 221 from the Moscow Invalid, the czars Universal Journa2 at Warsaw, and the Journal de Petersbourg. From these we find it stated that the number of men hanged in three hundred and sixty- five days of insurrection was eight hun- dred and fifty, besides many others whose names were not given because it was simpler and more profitable to ignore their origin, class, and religion. From Kiow alone Anienkow sent away fourteen thousand men, chiefly of Greek or other non-Roman-Catholic religion, over whom the Catholic priest had neither control or influence. From Warsaw, every Saturday during fifty- two weeks, an average of four hundred men, women, and ciildren were de- ported, all separated from their natural guides and protectors. From Lielland, north of the Dwina, were sent off; in one month, thirty-five hundred of the better educated and comfortable class of people. A Government paper re- joices that Polish and Catholic princi- ples, growing there during five cen- turies, were in a fair way of extinction, since, as it itself admits, forty-five thou- sand men had been transferred to the governments ~of Samara, Orenburg, l{azan, and similar localities. To burn the villages of Ibanie, Szarki, Hrodki, Smoloy, Zabolocie, etc., to destroy the furniture, horses, cattle, and all other property, to send the inhabitants on foot, only allowing for the aged and young children a few small wagons, far away into a cold, strange, savage country, without tools, means, etc. was all this done merely as a military necessity, and was it excusable, or, at most, merely UamaUet Now, certain correspondents and lec- turers, with other gentlemen, deny the use of the lash or whip on the backs of women and ladies, because the American people cannot countenance such barbarism. To say the least of such a denialit is gratuitous. Aus- tria daily publishes similar judgments as the result of police court trials. In Rossia, they are not published, because the administration of lash, whip, and scourge is left to the pat6rnal discretion of every sergeant, lieutenant, police commissary, and district constable, and is enjoyed by them to their hearts con- tent. It is the method employed for ages by Rossia, and considered as an indispensable appendage to patriarchal czarism and its lieutenants. We cannot wonder at such denials, for their au- thors have ordinarily been brought up under a better state of things, and never learned in their youth the possi- bility of resort to such practices: the less also can we wonder when we know that they met only similar denials in the higher Rossian society, and when we consider that such denials came from a source one is naturally inclined to respect, when the man denying seems respectable. How can we fancy a lie told by a gentleman in golden uniform, or a lady in a lace dress? But if the defenders of the civilization of Rossia and of the noble manners of its aristocracy knew all the cruel judg- ments of Rossian masters, the lewdness, recklessness, indecency, and shallow. ness often concealed beneath their arti- ficial good br~eding and apparent cour- tesy, they would learn that laces may cover coarse tissues, and gold hide cor- roded brass. The gaudy dress and uniform serve but to permit more dar- ing deeds; the more they glitter, the more impunity they confer. Under every Government, and more especially under a despotism, subaltern officers may be sure of impunity to abuse, pro- vided it is done under the guise of zeal and devotion. During the past year we have heard and read in lectures, newspapers, cor- respondences, etc., many flattering state- ments of the beauty of the Rossian Government, and the czars liberality and as many accusations and imputa- tions detrimental to the Polish cause. Why the same views were not held and advocated during the Crimean war we will not ask, but merely hint at. These statements come from organs whose Ayhorl8m8. 222 purpose is readily divined. If we turn to the paper that has opened its col- umns to the Paris letter, we find close at hand the advertisement and recom- mendation of a programme for our own great country, and the pointing out of a new Garibaldi for the American Union. Now, neither said platform nor Garibaldi would be consistent with the condemnation, irony, and ridicule flung upon the champions for one thousand years of the growing progress, pros- perity, and Christianity of Western Europe. APHORI5M5.NO. XI. A MAN who has no wants has at- tained great freedom, and firmness, and even dignity.BuRKE. Mad wants and mean endeavors, as Carlyle expresses it, are among the signal characteristics and great follies of our nature. But how can we attain to the free- dom, firmness, and dignity of having no wants? Answer: By learning what our real necessities are, and limiting our sense of want by such knowledge. Otherwise there is little hope for us; for, as soon as we admit imaginary and factitious needs, we become the slaves of mere fancy, the sport of mere hu- man opinion, and devoid of all true dignity. How sublime, as compared with the ordinary condition of men, is the possi- bility suggested by Burke I Freedom, instead of such slavery as the love of pleasure occasions, or such as ambition entails upon men! Firmne8s, such as he has who does not feel compelled to ask how his conduct may affect the supply of his wants from day to day! Dignity, such as we see in every man who studies the great interests of his being, regardless of any harm that may We of this generation are grown fixedly into our ancient habits of thought, and now can make no change; but our successors, perchance, may pos- sibly be reduced to undersign the man- ifesto of Rossian Liberalism, published about a year ngo in Moscow, and, in return for false promises and decep- tions, consent to make common cause against Germany and the whole of Western Europe. What American lib- erties would gain by such an eventuality, is not for us, nor for to-day, to say. thereby accrue to his earthly estate! So free, and firm, and dignified may each be that will. But no such good is possible for men who allow their sense of want to be ruled by the common opinions of men. If the good at which we aim can be secured only by the possession of this worlds favors, as they are dispensed by the wealthy or the powerful, or the suifrages of the multitude (votes for office, and the like), than each one be- comes the servant of his fellow mena servant just as really as if he were hired to perform any menial office. The par- ty politician, for example, is just as fully bound by the will of others as a coachman or foot servant. For him neither freedom, firmness, or dignity is possible. He can do only as others bid him: he can resist no solicitations to evil on the part of those whom he would make his constituents: he has no dignity above that of a tool, in the hands, it may be, of a very unworthy master. So in all cases where we allow our- selves to be dependent in such form and measure that in order to compass our own ends we must look to the will and behests of others. An Army: 1t8 Or~yanizati~n and .Afovements. 223 AN ARMY: ITS ORGANIZATION AND MOVEMENTS. THIRD PAPER. CAVALRY! At this word whose mind does not involuntarily recall pic- tures of mailed knights rushing upon each other with levelled lances, and of the charging squadrons of Austerlitz, of Jena, of Marengo, of the Peninsula, and of Waterloo? Whose blood is not stirred with a throng of memories con- nected with the noble achievements of the war horse and his rider? Who does not imagine a panorama of all that is gay and glorious in warfare prancing coursers, gilded trappings, Durnished sabres, waving pennons, and glittering helmetsrank after rank of gallant ridersanon the blast of bu- gles, the drawing of sabres, the mighty rushing of a thousand steeds, the clash of steel, the shout, the victory? The chief romance of war attaches itself to the deeds accomplished by the assist- ance of the power and endurance of mans noblest servant. Every one has read so much poetry about valiant youths, mounted on fiery yet docile steeds, doing deeds of miraculous prow- ess in the ranks of their enemiesour literature is so full of tapestried repre- sentations of knightly retinues and charging squadronsthe towering form of Nurat is so conspicuous in the nar- ratives of the Napoleonic warsand history has so often repeated the deeds of those horsemen who performed such illustrious feats in the combats of half a century ago, that we associate with the cavalry only ideas of splendor and glory, of wild freedom and dashing gallantry. But the cavalry service~is far different from such vague and fanci- ful imaginations. Instead of ease, there is constant labor; instead of freedom, there is a difficult system of discipline and tactics; and instead of frequent opportunities for glorious charges, there is a constant routine of toilsome duty in scouting and picketing, with rarely an opportunity for assisting prominent- ly in the decision of a great battle, or of winning renown in overthrowing the ranks of an enemy by the impetuous rush of a mass of horses against serried bayonets. In many respects cavalry is the most difficult branch of military service to maintain and to operate. It is exceed- ingly costly, on account of the great loss of horses by the carelessness of the men, by overwork, by disease, and by the fatalities of battle. The report of General Halleck, for the year 1863, stated that from May to October there were from ten thousand to fourteen thousand cavalry in the Armyof the Potomac, while the number of horses furnished them for the same period was thirty-five thousand; adding to these the horses taken by capture and used for mounting men, the number would be sufficient to give each man a horse every two month8. There were two hundred and twenty-three regi- ments of cavalry in the service, which, at the same rate, would require four hundred and thirty - five thousand horses. This is an immense expendi- ture of animals, and is attributable in part to the peculiarities of the volun- teer servicesuch as the lack of care and knowledge on the part of the offi- cers, and the disposition of the men to break down their horses by improper riding, and sometimes out of mere wantonness, for the purpose of getting rid of animals they do not like, for the chance of obtaining better. A measure has recently been adopted to remedy these evils, by putting into the infantry cavalry officers and men who show themselves incompetent to take proper care of their animals, and who neglect other essentials of cavalry service. The

An Army: Its Organization and Movements 223-232

An Army: 1t8 Or~yanizati~n and .Afovements. 223 AN ARMY: ITS ORGANIZATION AND MOVEMENTS. THIRD PAPER. CAVALRY! At this word whose mind does not involuntarily recall pic- tures of mailed knights rushing upon each other with levelled lances, and of the charging squadrons of Austerlitz, of Jena, of Marengo, of the Peninsula, and of Waterloo? Whose blood is not stirred with a throng of memories con- nected with the noble achievements of the war horse and his rider? Who does not imagine a panorama of all that is gay and glorious in warfare prancing coursers, gilded trappings, Durnished sabres, waving pennons, and glittering helmetsrank after rank of gallant ridersanon the blast of bu- gles, the drawing of sabres, the mighty rushing of a thousand steeds, the clash of steel, the shout, the victory? The chief romance of war attaches itself to the deeds accomplished by the assist- ance of the power and endurance of mans noblest servant. Every one has read so much poetry about valiant youths, mounted on fiery yet docile steeds, doing deeds of miraculous prow- ess in the ranks of their enemiesour literature is so full of tapestried repre- sentations of knightly retinues and charging squadronsthe towering form of Nurat is so conspicuous in the nar- ratives of the Napoleonic warsand history has so often repeated the deeds of those horsemen who performed such illustrious feats in the combats of half a century ago, that we associate with the cavalry only ideas of splendor and glory, of wild freedom and dashing gallantry. But the cavalry service~is far different from such vague and fanci- ful imaginations. Instead of ease, there is constant labor; instead of freedom, there is a difficult system of discipline and tactics; and instead of frequent opportunities for glorious charges, there is a constant routine of toilsome duty in scouting and picketing, with rarely an opportunity for assisting prominent- ly in the decision of a great battle, or of winning renown in overthrowing the ranks of an enemy by the impetuous rush of a mass of horses against serried bayonets. In many respects cavalry is the most difficult branch of military service to maintain and to operate. It is exceed- ingly costly, on account of the great loss of horses by the carelessness of the men, by overwork, by disease, and by the fatalities of battle. The report of General Halleck, for the year 1863, stated that from May to October there were from ten thousand to fourteen thousand cavalry in the Armyof the Potomac, while the number of horses furnished them for the same period was thirty-five thousand; adding to these the horses taken by capture and used for mounting men, the number would be sufficient to give each man a horse every two month8. There were two hundred and twenty-three regi- ments of cavalry in the service, which, at the same rate, would require four hundred and thirty - five thousand horses. This is an immense expendi- ture of animals, and is attributable in part to the peculiarities of the volun- teer servicesuch as the lack of care and knowledge on the part of the offi- cers, and the disposition of the men to break down their horses by improper riding, and sometimes out of mere wantonness, for the purpose of getting rid of animals they do not like, for the chance of obtaining better. A measure has recently been adopted to remedy these evils, by putting into the infantry cavalry officers and men who show themselves incompetent to take proper care of their animals, and who neglect other essentials of cavalry service. The 224 An Army: Its Or~janization and iIIovement~. provision and transportation of forage for cavalry horses also constitute items of great cost. To attain proficiency and effective- ness, cavalry soldiers require much longer instruction than those of any other arm. They must become expert swordsmen, and acquire such skill in equitation that horse and rider shall resemble the mythical centaurs of the ancientsshall be only one individual in will. The horses should be as thor- oughly trained as the riders. In Eu- ropean armies this is accomplished in training schools. The Governments keep constantly on hand large supplies of animals, partly purchased and partly produced in public stables, and capable instructors are continually employed in fitting both men and horses for their duties. To insure the provision of proper horses and to recuperate those which are sent from the army disabled or sick, an immense cavalry depot has been established at Giesboro, near Washing- ton. Thousands of horses are kept there ready for service, and as fast as men in the army are dismounted by the loss of their animals, they are sent to this depot. It is one of the most useful and best-arranged affairs connected with our service, and has greatly assist- ed in diminishing the expense attend- ing the provision of animals, and in in- creasing the efficiency of our cavalry. We have had all the difficulties to contend with resulting from inexperi- enced riders and untrained horses. No one who has not beheld the scene, can imagine the awkward appearance of a troop of recruits mounted on horses unaccustomed to the saddle. The sight is one of the most laughable that can be witnessed. We have seen the at- tempt made to put such a troop into a gallop across afield. Fifty horses and fifty men instantly became actuated by a hundred different ~vills, and dispersed in all directionssome of the riders hanging on to the pommels, with their feet out of the stirrups, others tugging away at the bridles, and not a few sprawling on the ground. After a few months drills, however, a different scene is presented, and an old troop horse becomes so habituated to his ex- ercises that not only will he perform all the evolutions without guidance, but will even refuse to leave the ranks, though under the most vigorous incite- ments of whip and spur. An officer friend was once acting as cavalier to a party of ladies on horseback at a re- view, when, unfortunately, the troop in which his horse belonged happening to pass by, the animal bolted from the group of ladies, and took his accus- tomed place in the tanks, nor could all the efforts of his rider disengage him. Finally, our friend was obliged to dismount, and, holding the horse by the bit, back him out of the troop to his station with the party of ladiesa feat performed amid much provoking laughter. Cavalry can operate in masses only when circumstances are favorablethe country open, and the ground free from obstructions. Yet it is in masses alone that it can be effective, and it can tri- umph against infantry only by a shock from the precipitation of its weight upon the lines, crushing them by the onset. Before the time of Frederic the Great, the Prussian horsemen resem- bled those to be seen at a militia review they were a sort of picture soldiers, incapable of a vigorous charge. He revolutionized the service by teaching that cavalry must achieve success by a rapid onset, not stopping to fire them- selves, and not regarding the fire of their opponents. By practising these lessons, they were able to overthrow the Austrian infantry. But if the force of a ~harge is dissipated by obstructions on the ground, or is broken by the fire of the assailed, the effectiveness of cav- alry, as a participant in the manmuvres of a battle field, is entirely destroyed. The question of the future of cavalry is at present one of treat interest among military investigators; for notwith An Army: P8 Organization and .Afovements. 225 standing its brilliant achievements during our civil war, the fact is ap- parent that its sphere has been entirely changed, its old system has become obsolete, and former possibilities no longer lie within its scope. Since Wa- terloo there had not been, until our war commenced, any opportunity to test the action of cavalry; for its opera- tions in the Crimea and in Italy were insignificant. The art of warfare had, meanwhile, in many respects, become revolutionized by the introduction of rifled arms. Military men waited, therefore, with interest, the experience of the war in this country, to judge from it as to the part cavalry was to perform in future warfare. That ex- perience has shown that the day in which cavalry can successfully charge squares of infantry has passed. When the smooth-bore muskets alone were used by infantry, cavalry could be formed in masses for charging at a dis- tance of five hundred yards; now the formations must be made at the dis- tance of nearly a mile, and that inter- vening space must be passed at speed under the constant fire of cannon and rifles; when the squares are reached, the horses are frightened and blown, the ranks have been disordered by the impossibility of preserving a correct front during such a length of time at rapid speed, and by the loss of men; the charge breaks weakly on the wall of bayonets, and retires baffled. In- fantry, before it learns its own strength and the difficulty of forcing a horse against a bayonetor rather to trample down a manhas an absurd and un~ founded fear of cavalry. This feeling was in part the cause of the panic among our troops at Bull Runso much had been said about the Black Horse troop of the rebels. The Water- loo achievements of the French were then thought possible of repetition. Now adays it is hardly probable that the veteran infantry of either army would take the trouble to form squares to resist cavalry, but would expect to rout it by firing in line. Neither party in our war has been able to make its mounted forces effective in a general battle. Nothing has occurred to paral- lel, upon the battle field, those exploits of the cavalryFrench, Prussian, and Englishin the great wars of the last century, extending to Waterloo.~ The enthusiastic admirers of cavalry still maintain that it is possible to re- peat those exploits, even in face of the improved firearms now in use. All that is necessary, they say, is to have the cavalry sufficiently drilled. The ground to be crossed under a positively dangerous fire is only five hundred or six hundred yards, and once taught to continue the charge through the bullets for this distance, and then to throw themselves on the bayonets, horsemen will now, as heretofore, break the lines of infantry. All very true, if cavalry to fulfil the conditions named can be obtained; but in them lies the diffi- culty. Occasional instances of splendid charges will undoubtedly occur in fu- ture warfare; but it seems to be an established fact that the day for the glory of cavalry has passed. Once the mailed knight, mounted on his mailed charger, could overthrow by scores the poor, pusillanimous pikemen and cross- bow men who composed the infantry; he was invulnerable in his iron armor, and could ride them down like reeds. But gunpowder and the bayonet have changed this; and now the most con- fident and domineering cavalryman will put spurs to his horse and fly at a gallop, if he sees the muzzle of an in- fantrymans rifle, with its glittering bayonet, pointed at him from the thicket. Another revolution effected in the mounted service by the improvements in arms and the consequent changes of tactics, is the diminution of heavy and the increase of light cavalrythat is, the transfer of the former into the lat- ter. These two denominations really include all kinds of cavalry, although the non-military reader may have been 226 An Army: 1t8 Orqanization and ]ifovement& dragoons, cuirassiers, hussars, lancers, chasseurs, hulans, etc. Heavy cavalry is composed of the heavier men and horses, and is usually divided into dragoons and cuirassiers. It is designed to act in masses, and to break the lines of an enemy by the weight of its charge. Usually, also, it has had some defensive armor, and is a direct descendant from the knights of the Middle Ages. But the cuirasses, which were sufficient to resist the balls from smooth-bore muskets, are easily penetrated by rifles. Consequently the occupation of this kind of cavalry is gone, and it is likely to disappear grad- ually from the service. In this country we have never had anything except light cavalrythe only kind adapted for use in our Indian warfare. This kind of cavalry is intended to accom- plish results by the celerity of its move- inents, and all its equipments should therefore be as light as possible. The chief difficulty is to prevent the cavalry soldier from overloading his horse, as he has a propensity not only to carry a large wardrobe and a full supply of kitchen utensils, but also to convey, in the language of Pistol, or, in army language, gobble up, or, in plain Eng- lish, steal anything that is capable of being fastened to his saddle. It is evident that the efficiency of a cavalry soldier depends as much upon his horse as upon himself; and it is requisite, therefore, that the weight upon the horse should be as light as possible. The limit has been fixed at about two hundred pounds for light, and two hundred and fifty for heavy cavalry; but both of these are too much. A cavalry soldier ought not to weigh over one hundred and fifty to one hun- dred and sixty pounds, and his ac- coutrements not over thirty pounds additional; but in practice, scarcely any horseexcept where the rider is a very light weight carries less than two puzzled by the numerous subordinate hundred and twenty or two hundred denominations to be found in the ac- and thirty pounds. One great cause of counts of European warfaresuch as the evils incident to our cavalry service is the excessive weight imposed on the horses. The French take particular pains in this respect; while in England the cavalry is almost entirely heavy, and, though well drilled, is clumsy. John Bull, with his roast beef and plum pudding, makes a poor specimen of a light cavalryman. English officers are now endeavoring to revolutionize their mounted service, so as to diminish its weight and increase its celerity. The arms of cavalry have been va- rious, but it is now well settled that its true weapon is the sabre, as its true form of operation is the charge. A great deal of ingenuity has been ex- pended in devising the best form of sabre. Different countries have differ- ent patterns, but the one adopted in our army is very highly considered. It is pointed, so as to be used in thrust- ing; sharp on one edge for cutting; curved, so as to inflict a deeper wound; and the weight arranged, by a mathe- matical rule, so that the centres of per- cussion and of gravity are placed where the weapon may be most easily han- dled. The lance is a weapon very ap- propriate to light mounted troops, and is still used by some of the Cossacks and Arab horsemen. But to wield it effectively requires protracted training. For a long time in Europe it was the chief weapon for horsemen; with the knights it was held in exclusive honor, and continued in use for a consider- able period after firearms had de- stroyed the prestige of the gentlemen of the golden spurs. Prince Maurice, of Orange, when he raised mounted regiments to defend the Netherlands against the Spanish, rejected it, and since his time it has become obsolete except in some regiments especially drilled to it. Such a regiment was raised in Philadelphia at the commence- ment of our war, but after eighteen months experience the lances were abandoned. Besides the sabre, cavalry- An Army: its Organization and !ifovemsnts. 227 men are armed with pistols or carbines cently been abolished from our ser the men having the latter being vice. employed particularly in skirmishing, sometimes on foot. The proportion of mounted troops in an army varies according to the nature of the country which is the theatre of military operations. In a level country it should be about one fourth or one fifth, while in one that is mountainous, it should not be greater than a tenth. As a general rule, improvements in fire- arms have produced a decrease in the proportion of cavalry and lessened its importance. When artillery was intro- duced, the cav.aliers, who composed the Middle Age armies exclusively, com- menced to disappear; knighthood passed out of existence, being super- seded by mercenary bands. Infantry gradually assumed importance, which has constantly increased, until it has now attained the vast predominance. This has not only caused a general diminution of the proportion of cavalry, but has entailed on the Governments of Europe the necessity of keeping their cavalry service always at its maximum, so that the mounted troops may be per- fect in their drill; whereas infantry troops can acquire comparative profi- cieacy in a few months. We will give a brief description of the different classes of cavalry, and close our subject by some remarks on the operation of this arm of service in our civil war. The regiments raised by Prince Maurice, of Orange, above referred to, were the first known as cuirassiers, on account of the cuirasses which they wore for defence. All defensive armor is now being laid aside. Dragoons originally were a class of soldiers who operated both on foot and mounted. They are supposed to take their name from a kind of fire- arm called a dragon.~ In modern practice dragoons are almost entirely used as cavalry, and rarely have re- course to any extended service on foot. The denomination dragoons~ has re CaraZineers were at first some Basque and Gascon horsemen in the French service, whose peculiarly distinguish- ing characteristic was a skilful use in the saddle of a short firearm. Hussars originated in Hungary, tak- ing their denomination from the word huss, which signifies twenty, and ar, payevery twentieth man being re- quired by the state to enter into service. From their origin they were distin- guished for the celerity of their move- ments and their devotion to fine cos- tumes. The hulans were a species of Polish light cavalry, bearing lances, and tak- ing their name from their commander a nobleman named Huland. Chasseurs are French regiments, de- signed chiefly to act as scouts and skirmishers. The chasseurs dAfrique are cavalry which have been trained in Algeria, and have become exceedingly expert through conflicts with the Arabs. The epahis are Arab cavalry, in the French service, and are such ad- mirable riders that they will charge over all kinds of ground, and dash upon a foe who judges himself secure amid rocks or trees or ditches. At the commencement of the war the rebel cavalry was superior to that fur- nished by the North. For this there were many reasons. Southern planta- tion life had accustomed the aristo- cratic youth to the saddle, and great attention was bestowed on the training of horses. At the North the number of skilled riders was comparatively few. Gradually, however, Northern energy, endurance, and patient discipline began to tell, and the time soon arrived when the Southern cavalry were invariably driven, especially in sabre charges, tc which Southerners have great aversion. At present, on account of the scarcity of horses, the difficulty of supplying forage, and the loss of so many gay youths of the chivalry, the Southern cavalry has dwindled into such a 228 An Army: Its Organization and illovements. condition as to be no longer formida- ble. The service of the cavalry in both armies during the war has been exclu- sively as light cavalryscouting, pick- eting, raiding, etc. Its combats have been with forces of its own arm. No commander has yet succeeded in assist- ing to de~ermine the issue of a pitched battle by the charges of his mounted troops. Our cavalry have rendered, however, brilliant and invaluable ser- vices in protecting the rear and flanks of the armies, and by their magnificent raiding expeditions into the enemys country, destroying his supplies, in- juring his communications, diverting his forces, and liberating his slaves. No sufficient accounts of such expedi- tions and of the numerous cavalry con- fficts have been published; yet they are very desirable. They would fur- nish most interesting narratives, and be a valuable contribution not only to the history of the times, but to the his- tory of warfare; for the operations of the cavalry in this war constitute a new era in the history of this branch of military service. Unless care is exer~ cised to procure such narratives, our posterity will never know anything of many battle fields where fought and fell brave troopers from every North- ern State. The chief duties of officers belonging to the corps of engi rs, when connect- ed with an army acting in the field, are the supervision of routes of com- munication, the laying of bridges, the selection of positions for fortifica- tions, and the indication of the proper character of works to be constructed. Should a siege occur, a new and very important class of duties devolves on them, relating to the trenches, saps, batteries, etc. Not only is there in Yirginia a lack of good roads, but the numerous streams have few or no bridges. In many cases where bridges have existed, one or the other of the contending armies has de- stroyed them to impede the march of its opponents. Streams which have an average depth of three or four feet are, however, generally without bridges, except where crossed by some turnpike, the common country roads mostly leading to fords. The famous Bull Run is an example. There were but two or three bridges over this stream in the space of country penetrated by the roads generally pursued by our army in advancing or retreating, and these have been several times destroyed and rebuilt. The stream varies from two to six feet in depththe fords being at places of favorable depth, and where the bottom is gravelly and the banks sloping. Often such streams as this, and indeed smaller ones, become immensely swelled in volume by storms, so that a comparatively insignificant rivulet might greatly delay the march of an army, if means for quickly cross- ing should not be provided. The gen- eral depth of a ford which a large force, with its appurtenances, can safely cross, is about three feet, and even then the bottom should be good and the current gentle. With a greater depth of wa- ter, the men are likely to wet their car- tridge boxes, or be swept off their feet. There is a small stream about three miles from Alexandria, crossing the Little Riv~r turnpike, which has never been bridged, and which was once so suddenly swollen by rain that all the artillery and wagons of a corps were obliged to wait about twelve hours for its subsidence. The mules of some wagons driven into it were swept away. Fords, unless of the best bottom, are rendered impassable after a small por- tion of the wagons and artillery of an army have crossed themthe gravel being cut through into the underlying clay, and the banks converted into sloughs by the dripping of water from the animals and wheels. A very amusing scene was presented at the crossing of Hazel River (a branch of the Rappahannock) last fall, when the Army of the Potomac first marched to Culpepper. The stream was at least An Army: P8 Organization and ~MiQvement8. three feet deep, and at various places fourthe current very rapidthe bot- tom filled with large stones, and the banks steep, except where a narrow road had been cut for the wagons. The men adopted v~ious expedients for crossing. Some went in boldly all accoutred; some took off shoes and stockings, and carefully rolled up their trousers; others (and they were the wisest) divested themselves of all their lower clothing. The long column struggled as best it could through the water, and occasionally, amid vocifer- ous shouts, those who had been careful to roll up their trousers would step into a hole up to the middle; others, who had taken still more precautions, would stumble over a stone and pitch headlong into the roaring waters, drop- ping their guns, and splashing vainly about with their heavy knapsacks, in the endeavor to regain a footing, until some of their comrades righted them; and others, after getting over safely, would slip back from the sandy bank, and take an involuntary immersion. Some clung to the rear of the wagons,. but in the middle of the stream the mules would become fractious, or the wagon would get jammed against a stone, and the unfortunate passengers were compelled to drop off and wade ashore, greeted by roars of derisive laughter. On such occasions soldiers give full play to their humor. They accept the hardships with good nature, and make the best of any ridiculous incident that may happen. At the time referred to, many conscripts had just joined the ranks, and cries resound- ed everywhere among the old soldiers: Hello, conscripts, how do you like this? What dye think of sogering now? This is nothing. Youll have to go in up to yer neck next time. Generally, when the exigencies of the march will permit, bridges are made over such streams, either by the en- gineers of the army, or detachments from the various corps which are pass- ing upon the roads. They are simple 229 corduroy bridges, and can be laid very expeditiously. Two or three piers of stones and logs are placed in the stream, string pieces are stretched upon them, and cross pieces of small round logs laid down for the flooring. The most extensive bridges of this kind used by the Army of the Potomac were those over the Chickahominy in the Peninsular campaign. Sum- ners bridge, by which reenforcements crossed at the baffle of Fair Oaks, was laid in this manner. Of course such bridges are liable to be carried away and to be easily destroyed. Some of the bridges over the Chickahominy were laid much more thoroughly. Cribs of logs were piled in cob-house fashion, pinned together, and sunk ver- tically in the stream. Then string pieces and the flooring were laid, the whole covered with brush and dirt. Men worked at these bridges up to the waist in water for many days in succes- sion. Military art has devised many expe- dients for bridging streams, and use is made of any facilities that may be at hand for constructing the means of passage; but the only organized bridge trains which move with the army are those which carry the pontoons. Of these there are various kinds, made of wood, of corrugated iron, and of in- dia rubber stretched over frames. But the wooden pontoon boats are most in use. They can be placed in a river and the flooring laid upon them with great rapidity. Several very fine bridges have been thus constructed among them may be mentioned the one at the mouth of the Chickahominy, across which General McClellans army marched in retreating from Harrisons Landing. It was about a mile long, and was constructed in a few hours. To cross a river under the fire of an enemy is one of the most difficult oper- ations in warfare. Yet it has been fre- quently accomplished by our armies. The crossing of the Rappahannock by General Burnaides army, previous to 230 An Army: 1t8 Organi2cttion and iliovernent& the great battle of Fredericksburg, in December, 1862, is one of the most re- markable instances of the kind during the war. The rebel rifle pits lined the southern bank, and the fire from them prevented our engineers from approach- ingthe river being only about seventy- five yards wide. For a long time our artillery failed to drive the rebels away. About noon of the day on which the crossing was made, General Burnside ordered a concentration of fire on Fred- ericksburg, in the houses of which place the rebels had concealed their forces. A hundred guns, hurling shot and shell into every building and street of the city, soon riddled it; but the obstinate foes hid themselves in the cellars till the storm was over, and then emerged defiantly. They were only dislodged by sending over a battalion in boats to attack them in flank, when they retreated, and the bridges were laid. It is impossible to explain in articles of this character the mysteries of in- trenchment and fortification, so that they will be comprehensible. A few notes, however, on some of the princi- pal terms constantly employed, may be found useful and interesting. Rifle pitsas the term is now gener- ally usedare small embankments, made by throwing up dirt from an ex- cavation inside. They can be erected quickly, for it will be seen that those behind them have the advantage, not only of the height of the embankment, but also of the depth of the ditch. Thus an excavation of two feet would give a protection of finir feet. This is the ordinary rifle pit, but when time permits it receives many improve- ments. Breastworks are any erections of logs, dirt, etc., raised breast high, to shelter the men behind them. An abatis consists of obstructions placed in front of a work to form ob- stacles to a storming party. The most convenient method of forming it is to cut down trees and allow them tp lie helter skelter. When there is time, the A redoubt is an enclosed parallelogram. trees are laid with the butts toward the work, and the branches outwardthe small limbs being removed, and the ends of the remainder sharpened. A redan is a letter V, with the point toward the enemy, and i~s used generally to cover the heads of bridges, etc. A Zunette is the redan with flanking wings. LIII These works are very imperfect, be- cause they have exposed points. The angles are not protected by the fire from the sides. To remedy this diffi- culty, the next most usual work is the star fort, made in the form of a regu- lar or irregular star. It will be perceived that the fire from the sides covers the angles. The next and still more improved form of work is the bastioned fort, which consists of projecting bastions at the corners, the fire from which en- filades the ditches. The following is a diagram of a ver- tical section of the parapet and ditch used in all fully constructed field works: I, MN 4 G K4 A II A B is the slope of the banquette. B C head of the banquette, or place where the men stand to deliver their fire. C D the Interior slope of the parapet. D E superior slope of the same. F G the berme, or place left to prevent the para- pet from washing down into the ditch. G H the scarp or Interior wall of the ditch. H I the bottom of the ditch. I K the counterscarp. L MN the glacis, which, except the abatis near An Army: It~ Organization and ilfovements. 231 the ditch, is left free and open, so as to expose the assailants to the fire from the parapet. The proportions and angles of all the lines given are fixed according to mathematical rules. The operations of a siege present many incidents of great interest; but we can do nothing more in this article than illustrate the methods in which the approaches are made to the works the capture of which is designed. When reconnoissances have established the conclusion that the works of an enemy cannot be carried by assault, the lines of the investing army are ad- vanced as near to them as is compatible with safety; advantage is then taken of the opportunities afforded by the ground to cover working parties, which are thrown forward to the place fixed for the first parallel; sometimes these parties can commence their work only at night. The parallel is only a deep trench with the dirt thrown toward the enemy; and after the excavation has progressed, the trench is occupied by parties of troops to resist any sorties of the enemy, and to prevent attempts against the batteries established behind the paralleL The first parallel being completed, zigzag excavations are made toward the front to cover the passage of men who proceed to dig the second parallel. Meanwhile the batteries have com- menced to play, and riflemen have been advanced in trenches at convenient places, whose fire annoys the gunners of the enemy. The second parallel being made, the batteries are moved up to it, and the third parallel is pro- ceeded with in a manner similar to that used for the second. We give below a rough diagram of these operations: A B D F C G F? r if L M N. 0 ABODE is thework of the enemy to be besieged. The working parties advance by the zigzag paths MN and o to the position chosen for the first parallel, K L. At the proper time they proceed by the zigzag paths to the sec- ond parallel, H I, and then to the third, F G. When this is reached, the ene- mys work can generally be carried by storm, unless already evacuated, for ceterisparnlnt8 the advantages generally lie with the besieging party. The zig- zags are called boyaux, and they are dug in the form represented, so that the bank of earth thrown up may be always in front of them. Were they in straight lines this could not be. The above refers exclusively to the siege of a field work. The principles for besieging a walled fort or a fortified town are the same, but the operations are much more complicated. LITERARY NOTICES. Popular Edition. RESULTS OF EMANCIPATION. By AUGUSTIN COCHIN, Ex-Maire and Muni- cipal Councillor of Paris. Work crowned by the Institute of France (Acad6mie Fran- Vaise). Translated by MARY L. BOOTH, Translator of Count de Gasparins work on America, etc. Fourth thousand. Bos- ton: Walker, Wise & Co., 245 Washington street. 1864. A REMARKABLE hook, indicative of a new era in the discussion of social, religious, political, and economical questions. Pre- judice, misstatement, and fanaticism are apparently so opposed to the clear, candid mind of the author, that he has needed no effort to avoid them, and in their stead give us simple truth, broad views of men and things, and the highest conceptions of duty and charity, together with the nicest con- sideration of the rights and material interests, even the local prejudices and misconceptions, of our fellow mortals. He shows clearly that a moral wrong can never long tend to ma- terial advantage, and that the laws of society cannot be made ultimately to triumph over the laws of nature; neither, in general, can a wrong he righted without some suffering by way of expiation. Although filled with statistical details, the work cannot fail to be intensely interesting to the general reader. Lofty, hopeful, rational, and yet progressive in its tone, it is calculated to do great good, not only through the use- ful information and instructive generalizations it makes known, but also as a model of right feeling, and consequent good breeding, in its peculiar sphere. The chapters upon the sugar question are wonderfully lucid and convincing. Their bearing npon mooted points of political econ- omy recommend them to the study of all interested in that intricate subject. The dis- tressing relations necessarily existing between slavery and religious instruction are also plainly set forth, and the general conclusion of the book (that emancipation is not only possible, but most expedient, and that, with certain care upon the part of the Gov. eminent and of slave owners, an imme- diate and simultaneous liberation is likely to breed fewer disturbances and less evil than gradual disenthralment) seems to be rapidly gaining ground in the convictions of our own countrymen. The conscience, and prophetia dreams of priests, women, and poets, have long given assurance of such results, but the world, of course, required definite experience and practical essays before instituting any extensive course of action in that direction. A council held in the city of London itt 1102, under the presidency of St. Anselm, interdicted trade in slaves. This was eight hundred years before the same object was debated in the same city before Parliament. In P780, Thomas Clarkson proposed to abol- ish the slave trade. In 1787, Wilberforce renewed the proposition. Seven times pre. seitted from 1793 to 1799, the bill seven times failed. Successively laid over, it tri- umphed at length in 1806 and 1807. All the Christian nations followed this memorable example. At the Congress of Vienna, all the Powers pledged themselves to unite their efforts to obtain tire entire and final abolition of a trcfflla so odious and so loudly reproved by the laws of religion and nature. The slave trade was abolished in 1808 by the American United States; in 1811, by Den- mark, Portugal, and Chili; in 1813, by Sweden; in 1814 and 1815, by holland; in 1815, by France; in 1822, by Spain. In this same year, 1822, Wilberforce attacked slavery after the slave trade, and won over public opinion by appeals and repeated meet- ings, while his friend Mr. Buxton proposed emancipation in Parliament. The Ernancipa- tion Bill was presented in 1833. On the 1st of August, 1834, slavery ceased to sully the soil of the English colonies. In 1846, Sweden, in 1847, Denmark, Uruguay, Wal- lachia, and Tunis, obeyed the same impulse, which France followed in 1848. Portugal in 1856, and which Holland promised to imitate in 1860. An earnest movement agitated BraziL

Popular Edition. Results of Emancipation. By Augustin Cochin Literary Notices 232-233

LITERARY NOTICES. Popular Edition. RESULTS OF EMANCIPATION. By AUGUSTIN COCHIN, Ex-Maire and Muni- cipal Councillor of Paris. Work crowned by the Institute of France (Acad6mie Fran- Vaise). Translated by MARY L. BOOTH, Translator of Count de Gasparins work on America, etc. Fourth thousand. Bos- ton: Walker, Wise & Co., 245 Washington street. 1864. A REMARKABLE hook, indicative of a new era in the discussion of social, religious, political, and economical questions. Pre- judice, misstatement, and fanaticism are apparently so opposed to the clear, candid mind of the author, that he has needed no effort to avoid them, and in their stead give us simple truth, broad views of men and things, and the highest conceptions of duty and charity, together with the nicest con- sideration of the rights and material interests, even the local prejudices and misconceptions, of our fellow mortals. He shows clearly that a moral wrong can never long tend to ma- terial advantage, and that the laws of society cannot be made ultimately to triumph over the laws of nature; neither, in general, can a wrong he righted without some suffering by way of expiation. Although filled with statistical details, the work cannot fail to be intensely interesting to the general reader. Lofty, hopeful, rational, and yet progressive in its tone, it is calculated to do great good, not only through the use- ful information and instructive generalizations it makes known, but also as a model of right feeling, and consequent good breeding, in its peculiar sphere. The chapters upon the sugar question are wonderfully lucid and convincing. Their bearing npon mooted points of political econ- omy recommend them to the study of all interested in that intricate subject. The dis- tressing relations necessarily existing between slavery and religious instruction are also plainly set forth, and the general conclusion of the book (that emancipation is not only possible, but most expedient, and that, with certain care upon the part of the Gov. eminent and of slave owners, an imme- diate and simultaneous liberation is likely to breed fewer disturbances and less evil than gradual disenthralment) seems to be rapidly gaining ground in the convictions of our own countrymen. The conscience, and prophetia dreams of priests, women, and poets, have long given assurance of such results, but the world, of course, required definite experience and practical essays before instituting any extensive course of action in that direction. A council held in the city of London itt 1102, under the presidency of St. Anselm, interdicted trade in slaves. This was eight hundred years before the same object was debated in the same city before Parliament. In P780, Thomas Clarkson proposed to abol- ish the slave trade. In 1787, Wilberforce renewed the proposition. Seven times pre. seitted from 1793 to 1799, the bill seven times failed. Successively laid over, it tri- umphed at length in 1806 and 1807. All the Christian nations followed this memorable example. At the Congress of Vienna, all the Powers pledged themselves to unite their efforts to obtain tire entire and final abolition of a trcfflla so odious and so loudly reproved by the laws of religion and nature. The slave trade was abolished in 1808 by the American United States; in 1811, by Den- mark, Portugal, and Chili; in 1813, by Sweden; in 1814 and 1815, by holland; in 1815, by France; in 1822, by Spain. In this same year, 1822, Wilberforce attacked slavery after the slave trade, and won over public opinion by appeals and repeated meet- ings, while his friend Mr. Buxton proposed emancipation in Parliament. The Ernancipa- tion Bill was presented in 1833. On the 1st of August, 1834, slavery ceased to sully the soil of the English colonies. In 1846, Sweden, in 1847, Denmark, Uruguay, Wal- lachia, and Tunis, obeyed the same impulse, which France followed in 1848. Portugal in 1856, and which Holland promised to imitate in 1860. An earnest movement agitated BraziL