{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_18820/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_18820","id":"gutenberg_18820","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18820","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Journalism/Media/Writing","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Science - Earth/Agricultural/Farming","Continental Monthly","Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals","United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Janet Blenkinship and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n(This file was produced from images generously made\navailable by Cornell University Digital Collections)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:\n\nDEVOTED TO\n\nLITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.\n\nVOL. V.--APRIL, 1864.--No. IV.\n\n\n\n\nSIR CHARLES LYELL ON THE ANTIQUITY OF MAN.[1]\n\n\nWhen Thomas Chalmers, sixty years ago, lecturing at St. Andrews,\nventured to announce his conviction that 'the writings of Moses do not\nfix the antiquity of the globe,' he startled and alarmed, to no small\ndegree, the orthodoxy of the day. It was a statement far in advance of\nthe religious thinking of the time. That massive breadth and\ncomprehensiveness of intellect which soon placed him, _facile princeps_,\nat the head of the clergy of Scotland, joined with a candor, and\ningenuous honesty, which made him admired and beloved by all, could not\nfail to perceive, and would not hesitate to acknowledge, the force of\nthe evidence then for some time slowly but steadily and surely\naccumulating from the investigations and discoveries of geological\nscience, which has forced back the origin of the earth to a vast and\nundated antiquity. But nothing could have been farther from the\nimagination of the great majority of evangelical, unscientific clergymen\nof his day. They held that the writings of Moses fixed the antiquity of\nthe globe as surely as they fixed anything else. And it required no\nlittle boldness in the lecturer to announce a doctrine which was likely\nto raise about his ears the hue and cry of heresy. But fortunately for\nthe rising Boanerges of the Scottish pulpit, whatever questions might\narise in philology and criticism as to the meaning of the writings of\nMoses, the evidence adduced in behalf of _the fact_ of the earth's\nantiquity was of such a nature that it could not be resisted, and he not\nonly escaped a prosecution for heresy, but lived to see the doctrine he\nhad broached almost universally accepted by the religious world.\n\nIf now some divine of acknowledged power and position in any branch of\nthe Christian Church were to put forth the statement that 'the writings\nof Moses do not fix the antiquity of man,' he would startle the ear of\northodoxy quite as much, but no more than did Chalmers in the early\nyears of the present century. And if he would fare more hardly than the\nScottish divine, and fall under the ban of church censure, which is not\nunlikely, it would be because the evidence for the fact is still\ninchoate and resistible by the force of established opinion. But it is\nquite within the range of possible things that before the close of the\npresent century two things may happen: first, that the evidence for a\nhigh antiquity of the human race may accumulate to such an extent as to\ncarry with it involuntarily the consent of mankind; and second, that the\nsacred writings may be found to adjust themselves as easily to this new\nfinding in the sphere of induction, as they have already done, in the\ngeneral mind of the Church, to the doctrine of the great age of the\nearth. The two statements are indeed very much akin in several respects.\nThey both traverse the accepted meaning of the sacred writings at the\ntime of their announcement. Both are considered, when first promulged,\nas irreconcilable with the plain teaching and consequent inspiration of\nthe Scriptures. Both rest solely, as to their evidence, in the sphere of\ninductive science, and are determinable wholly by the finding of facts\naccumulated and compared by the processes of inductive reasoning. And\nboth, if thus established, are destined to be accepted by the general\nmind of the age, without actual harm to the real interests of\ncivilization and religion. No _fact_, which is a fact and not an\nillusion, can do harm to any of the vital interests of mankind. No truth\ncan stand in hopeless antagonism to any other truth. To suppose\notherwise would be to resolve the moral government of God into a\nhopeless enigma, or enthrone a perpetual and hostile dualism, resigning\nthe universe to the rival and contending sway of Ormuzd and Ahriman.\n\nBefore proceeding to the merits of Sir Charles Lyell's discussion, we\nwish to glance at some preliminary matters touching the great debate now\npending between science and theology. We wish to review the posture and\ntemper of the parties; and particularly to refer to the tone and spirit\nof the religious press and the pulpit, respecting the alleged\ndiscoveries and claims of science, and their bearing upon the religious\nopinion of the time.\n\nMoreover, in passing, the present writer begs permission to say that he\nspeaks from the orthodox side of this question; he hails from the\northodox camp; he wears the clerical vesture of the Scottish worthies;\nand is affiliated theologically with Knox and Chalmers, with Edwards and\nAlexander, with the New York _Observer_ and the Princeton _Review_. This\nmuch we beg to say, that what follows in these pages may be fully\nunderstood.\n\nNo one who has been attending to the subject with any degree of interest\ncan have failed to observe that science, in her investigations upon the\ngrand and momentous themes which have absorbed her attention in these\nlatter years, has exhibited, and does still exhibit, a steady and\nwell-defined purpose, and has pursued it with a singularly calm, sober,\nunimpassioned, yet resolute temper. Its posture is firm, steady,\nself-poised, conscious of rectitude, and anticipative of veritable and\nvaluable results. Its spirit, though eager, is quiet; though\nenthusiastic, is cautious; though ardent, is sceptical; though flushed\nwith success, is trained to the discipline of disappointment. Its object\nis to interrogate nature. It stands at the shrine and awaits the\nresponse of the oracle. It would fain interpret and make intelligible\nthe wondrous hieroglyphics of this universe, and specially the mystic\ncharacters traced by the long-revolving ages upon the stony tablets of\nthis planet Earth. It has in the first instance no creed to support, no\ndogmas to verify, no meaning to foist upon nature; its sole and single\nquery is, What does nature teach? What _is_ fact? What _is_ truth? What\n_has_ occurred in the past annals of this planet? What _is_ the actual\nand true history of its bygone ages, and of the dwellers therein? These\nare its questions, addressed to nature by such methods as experience has\ntaught will reach her ear, and it does not hesitate to take nature's\nanswer. It does not shrink, and quake, and grow pale lest the response\nshould overturn some ancient notion. It does not dread to hear the\nresponse, lest morals or religion should be thereby imperilled. It\nboldly and resolutely takes the teaching of nature, whatever it may be.\nIts conviction is that truth never can be anything else than truth; that\nfact can never be anything else than fact; and that no two truths or two\nfacts in God's universe can be in hopeless and irreconcilable\ncontradiction.\n\nIn this spirit the genuine sons of science have exhibited, what has\nseemed to some, a heartless indifference whether their discoveries or\ntheories harmonized with the Scriptures or not, or affected the received\nopinions of Christendom on subjects pertaining to religion or morals.\nThey have been sublimely unconcerned as to results in any such\ndirection. They have investigated, examined, compared, collated, with\nlong-continued and patient toil, to gather from the buried past the\nactual story of its departed cycles; they have not been troubled lest\nthey should impinge on the creeds of the religious world, or compel\nimportant modifications in the lectures of learned Professors. This was\nno care of theirs. They discovered facts, they did not make them.\n\nNow with all due respect for the opinions and feelings of religious\npeople, we hesitate not to affirm that this spirit is the only true one\nin scientific men. Conceding, as we must, the supremacy of facts in\ntheir own sphere, and granting that, as mundane and human affairs now\nstand, the evidence of the senses, purged from fraud and illusion, must\nbe held to be conclusive, we cheerfully award to scientific men the\nlargest liberty to pursue their inquiries in matters of fact, utterly\nregardless of the havoc which may be thereby wrought among the\ntraditional, beliefs of men. In no other way can science be true to\nherself. She is the child of induction. She can acknowledge no authority\nbut what has been enthroned by inductive reasoning; and were she to\nadjust her conclusions, and garble her facts, to suit the faiths,\nbeliefs, prejudices, or traditions of men, she would thereby falsify her\ninmost life, and stultify herself before the world. And in this\nconnection we may premise that we regard as worthy of all commendation\nthe straightforward and unembarrassed manner in which Sir Charles Lyell\npursues his inquiries into the geological evidences of the antiquity of\nman. He could not have been unaware that he was striking a ponderous\nblow at one of the main traditions of Christendom; nay, that if\nsuccessful in establishing his conclusions, he must revolutionize, to a\nlarge extent, the religious thinking of the civilization amid which he\nmoves; and yet he moves steadily and quietly forward, calm as Marius\namid the ruins of Carthage, not stopping to consider what Biblical men\nwill do with his facts; never more than touching upon their religious\nbearings; intent only on ascertaining what the facts are, and what they\nteach. This, we say, is the spirit and temper of the true\nphilosopher--this betokens the genuine son of science. As well might we\ndemand of Watt, or Fulton, or Davy, or Brewster, or Faraday, in pursuing\ntheir inquiries into the nature and laws of steam, electricity,\ngalvanism, or light, to be careful that their discoveries impinge not on\nthe teachings of religion or the creed of orthodoxy, as to demand of\nLyell to investigate the antiquity of man in humble deference to the\nwell-established belief of the whole Christian world that he has no such\nantiquity. Not a bitter thing is said in the whole book against any\ntraditional belief; the Scriptures are scarcely more than alluded to; he\nseems scarcely conscious that he is attempting to establish conclusions\nat variance with the cherished creeds of vast multitudes of men. To some\nthis may seem the callousness of infidelity; to us it seems the sublime\ncomposure of science. To him, the fact in the case is everything; and he\nis content to leave it to work its own results.\n\nWhat now, on the other hand, have been the spirit and temper of the\nreligious press and the pulpit touching the progress of science, and\nespecially its encroachments upon the ancient landmarks of traditional\nbelief? We are sorry to be compelled to say that, with some honorable\nexceptions, the spirit manifested by religious journals and clergymen\ngenerally, has not been worthy of unqualified admiration. In many\ninstances they have shown a dogged determination to hear nothing on the\nsubject. Assuming, with absolute confidence, not only that the\nScriptures are what the Church claims them to be, but that their\ninterpretation of them is infallible, they have affected to ignore all\nthe findings of science, and to treat them, in their bearing on Biblical\ninterpretation, as profane intermeddling with divine things. They seem\nto imagine that their safety consists in not seeing danger, like the\nostrich hiding its head in the sand, and supposing that thereby its\nwhole body is protected. In other instances, while professing a\nwillingness to hear--to seek truth--to not be afraid of the light--to\nboast of science even as the handmaid of religion--they have shown a\ndisposition to decry the alleged discoveries of science, to ridicule its\nsupposed facts, to make light of a whole concatenation of evidence, to\nprate of the uncertainties and vacillations of science, to sneer at\n'sciolists,' or 'mere men of science,' to warn against the 'babblings of\nscience' and 'philosophy falsely so called,' and meantime they have\nbetrayed a nervous sensitiveness with regard to certain alleged\ndiscoveries and facts coming to the popular ear. They affect to sneer at\nthe 'wise week' of the meeting of the British Association for the\nAdvancement of Science, and to turn the proceedings of that body into\nridicule, by caricaturing the importance attached to some minor organ of\nthe human or animal frame, in the determination of specific identity or\ndifference. While absolutely ignorant of the true state of the case as\nit stands in the scientific world, they thunder from the pulpit in the\nears of their people--a position where they are safe from\nreply--crudities and monstrosities of science at which the humblest\nmember of the aforesaid Association would smile. In other instances,\nwith a most unfortunate or misguided zeal, they would fain compel\nChristian faith to override and traverse all those great laws of\nevidence which regulate human belief in other matters. They do not\ndispute the facts of science when clearly established--they will concede\nto them an existence as facts in their own sphere--but they hold the\nScriptures, as being inspired and infallible, to be transcendent and\nparamount, and not to be affected by any possible combination of facts.\nThat is to say, if the Scriptures teach the unity of the race, or the\nuniversality of the deluge, or the modern origin of man--and if they\nunderstand them to teach these things, they do teach them for them--they\nhold that no amount of evidence which science may adduce can be of any\navail, even though it might amount to absolute certainty, did not the\nScriptures stand in the way. You may believe the facts of science, if\nyou choose, but the Scriptures must be believed to the contrary\nnotwithstanding. If science does not agree with the Scriptures, so much\nthe worse for science--that is its own affair. This is the sentiment,\ndistinctly uttered not long since by a learned American Professor.\nConsistently with this view, they maintain that the Scriptures are to be\nheld as an _authority_ in scientific matters; that science must order\nits conclusions in accordance with them; and that any facts are to be\ndistrusted which conflict with the declarations of the Bible. They would\nthus place the Scriptures and nature in a posture of antagonism; and\nrequire Christian faith to trample upon and triumph over the evidence\nof the senses, as it is required to triumph over the world, the flesh,\nand the devil. What must be thought of an otherwise educated body of men\nwho would willingly reduce the faith of the Christian world to such a\nposture as that?\n\nFurthermore, in the general spirit and temper of the religious press\nwith reference to science and scientific men, there is much to criticize\nand condemn. It is often snappish, petulant, ill-humored, unfair, and\nsometimes malicious in the extreme. Such opprobrious terms as\ninfidelity, irreligion, rationalizing tendencies, naturalism, contempt\nfor the Scriptures, etc., are freely used. Scientific men are called\ninfidel pretenders, and are charged with a secret conspiracy to\noverthrow the faith of the Christian world. A respectable religious\nweekly paper in this country, in noticing Sir Charles Lyell's work,\nwhile carefully withholding from its readers the slightest notion of the\narray of evidence adduced in the book, is prompt to inform them that the\nlearned author shows his want of respect for the Word of God. Another,\nin noticing the account of the last hours of Mr. Buckle, is almost ready\nto exult in the fact that in the wreck and prostration of his great\npowers he whined out piteously: 'I am going mad!' and intimates that his\nmental sufferings are to be attributed to the judicial visitation of\nGod, inflicted as a punishment for the employment of those powers in the\nservice of infidelity. An able, though generally absurd quarterly\njournal, in reviewing Hugh Miller's 'Testimony of the Rocks,' finds in\nsome of his gorgeous speculations premonitions of that mental aberration\nwhich ended his life, and does not hesitate to attribute the final\ncatastrophe to the overworking of his powers in the service of\npretentious and unsanctified science. Noble and true-hearted son of the\nChurch though he was, and though laboring with herculean strength to set\nthe Bible and science in harmony, he has not escaped the envenomed\nshafts of a portion of the religious press. By some he has been openly\nbranded as a traitor in the camp.\n\nNow this unseemly heat and this unbecoming spirit and temper may be\ncloaked under a zeal for religion. It may be said that we are to\n'contend earnestly for the faith.' We answer, verily, but never with the\nweapons of malice and wickedness. This mode of treating science, if\npersisted in, must end only in chagrin and defeat to the parties\nemploying it, for the simple reason that it does violence to reason,\nnature, and all the laws of man's being. Science cannot be turned aside\nin her strenuous and ever-successful progress by any such impediments\nthrown in her way. The clear, calm, cogent facts and inferences of the\nphilosopher cannot be met successfully by the half-suppressed shriek of\nthe mere Biblicist. And it must be at once perceived that any such\ntreatment of science, any such half-concealed fear of the progress of\nscience, any such unfair and spiteful bearing toward scientific men,\nargues a secret distrust of the system or doctrine which is assumed to\nbe held and professedly defended. These petulant and much disturbed\neditors and divines must be really afraid that the ground is being\nundermined beneath their feet. If a man _really believes_ the\ninspiration and infallibility of the Scriptures, he may feel perfectly\nat ease as to any facts present or past in the wide universe. But if he\nis not so sure of them, and wishes, for some personal or interested\nmotive, to believe them, he will be easily disturbed by anything which\nseems to militate against them. If the Scriptures are true, they can\nnever be shown to be false--if they are not true, we ought not to wish\nto believe them.\n\nThe spirit and temper above indicated are wholly out of harmony with the\ngeneral spirit of Protestant Christianity. It has ever been the boast of\nProtestantism that it seeks the light, that it seeks discussion, that\nit asserts the right of private judgment, that it courts investigation,\nand is willing to expose all its claims to the broad light of day. It\nclaims to be an everlasting protest against priestly tyranny, and\nmonkish authority, and abject spiritual servitude in the laity. Strange,\nif in this new phase of its history it should fail to be true to itself!\n\nAfter the Christian world came generally to accept the statement of\nChalmers that the writings of Moses do not fix the antiquity of the\nworld, and before science had begun to moot seriously the questions of\nthe unity of the race, the universality of the Noahian deluge, and the\nantiquity of man, it was the custom of clergymen generally to reecho the\ntrue Protestant strain. They claimed science. They expected much of her.\nThey wished full and free discussion in order that still stronger\nramparts might be erected around the citadel of their faith. Why should\nthe tone be changed now? In the year 1840, the Rev. Albert Barnes, of\nPhiladelphia, who has long occupied a highly respectable and influential\nposition among the clerical body in this country, in an address on the\n'Progress and Tendencies of Science,' delivered before the literary\nsocieties of one of the colleges of Pennsylvania, gave utterance to the\nfollowing noble sentiments:\n\n     'It has cost much to overcome this'--that is, the panic fears of\n     Christian people at the amazing progress and discoveries of\n     science--'and to restore confidence to the Christian world that the\n     researches of science will never permanently clash with the\n     doctrines of revelation. But the Christian world has come to that;\n     and science is to receive no more obstruction henceforth from any\n     alarm that its discoveries will contravene the revealed truth of\n     God. No future Galileo is to be imprisoned because he can look\n     farther into the works of nature than other men; and the point\n     which we have gained now, is that no obstruction is to be thrown in\n     the way of science by any dread that any scientific truth will\n     infringe on any theological system. The great truth has gone forth\n     at last, not to be recalled, that the astronomer may point his\n     glass to the heavens as long and as patiently as he pleases,\n     without apprehending opposition from the Christian world; the\n     chemist may subject all objects to the action of the crucible and\n     the blowpipe, 'with none to molest him or make him afraid;' the\n     geologist may penetrate to any part of the earth--may dig as deep\n     as he pleases, and no one may be alarmed.'\n\nThis exhibits true Christian courage and confidence, and has the genuine\nProtestant ring. It is based, however, on the supposition that no\npossible conflict can arise between science and his understanding of the\nScriptures, and it is doubtful whether the same equanimity could be\nmaintained even in the author's mind if the 'progress and tendencies of\nscience' should take an unexpected direction. Thus, in the same address,\nhe says:\n\n     'One fact is remarkable. The geologist proves that the world has\n     stood many thousands of years, and we cannot deny it. He points to\n     fossil remains, and tells us of orders of animals that lived many\n     years before the Mosaic period of the creation of man. The Bible\n     tells us that MAN was created about six thousand years\n     ago. Now, the material fact is, that amid all the fossil remains of\n     the geologist, and all the records of past times, there is no proof\n     that _man_ has lived longer than that period; but there is abundant\n     proof to the contrary. Amid all on which the geologist relies to\n     demonstrate the existence of animals prior to the Mosaic account of\n     the creation, he has not presented us with _one human bone_, or\n     with one indication of the existence of man.'\n\nThis is one of the facts, among others, upon which 'the friends of\nscience and revelation have equal cause to congratulate themselves and\neach other.' But what if the fact should change? What if not only one,\nbut many fossil human bones should be found? How is a divine, who has\nalready said that the _Bible teaches_ the modern origin of man, to\navoid panic fears? Science is cumulative in its evidences, and it is\nsomewhat hazardous to undertake to say, at any point, that the _ultima\nthule_ of discovery has been reached.\n\nWe reiterate now, in the conclusion of these preliminary matters, the\nsentiment of Mr. Barnes that science must be free and untrammelled. No\nmatter what discoveries may be made, what traditions overturned, what\nfaiths unsettled, science must have a free rein and an open course. It\nmust be so; unless we return to mediaeval darkness and despotism.\nScience, to be science at all, must establish its conclusions by its own\nmethods, and its methods must be intact and supreme, no matter what\nfacts they force upon the belief of mankind. It cannot accept any\nextraneous authority. It cannot admit any foregone conclusions. It\ncannot accept the statements, for instance, of the first chapter of\nGenesis as astronomical, meteorological, geological, or ethnological\n_facts_, as the able but absurd Review before referred to would insist.\nIt must verify its own facts. It cannot heed the caveat of any number or\nbody of clergymen, or orthodox weekly newspapers, who might come forward\nand say, respecting the unity of the race, or the antiquity of man:\n'Gentlemen, that question is settled. It is put beyond the purview of\nyour science. An absolute and infallible authority has determined it. To\nmoot it is profane.' Any such attempt would be both preposterous and\nuseless. The age will defend the freedom of science; and let all\nreasonable and right-thinking men take comfort in the conviction that in\nthe long run the conclusions reached will be right, in accordance with\nfact, in accordance with truth, and that no permanent interest of\nreligion or morals can suffer.\n\nBut we beg pardon for holding the reader so long by the button, while\nSir Charles Lyell and his book have been kept in the background. These\nthoughts have been upon our mind for many months, and we have felt\nimpelled to give utterance to them here.\n\nThe publication of this work we regard as an eventful matter in the\nhistory of modern thought. The time could not have been far distant when\nwhat we may call the geological history of man on this planet, must have\ncome before the popular mind; and it is certainly a matter of\ncongratulation that one of the most venerable, indefatigable, cautious,\nand successful investigators of modern times has undertaken the task of\ngiving to the public a full and labored _resume_ of the evidence which\nhas accumulated on the subject. Not unfrequently are the bigotry and\nprejudice of well-meaning religious people intensified by the imprudent\nzeal of the Hotspurs of science. True science can always afford to bide\nits time, and make haste slowly.\n\nRespecting the work itself, we begin by saying that the theme proposed\nis a perfectly legitimate one for science. It is entirely pertinent to\nscience to undertake to search for the hidden traces of man's former\nhistory, if there be any. It is no dreamland or cloudland which it\nproposes to explore. It is no Quixotic adventure which it has gotten up\nto astonish and alarm the vulgar. If our human ancestors have lived\nfifty or one hundred thousand years longer on this planet than was\ngenerally supposed, it is quite likely they have left some traces behind\nthem. And if so, it is perfectly legitimate for science to gather,\ncollate, and interpret those traces. And from what we know of her past\nachievements, we may assure ourselves that if man has had such a\npre-historic existence, science will most undoubtedly prove it. She has\nproved beyond all sane contradiction the great age of the earth. She has\nproved in like manner the vast extent of the universe in space. She has\nproved the existence of manifold forms of animal life on this planet for\ncountless ages before the incoming of man, according to the popular\nchronology. She has proved, approximately, the order and succession of\nanimal life as it arose, and the forms it assumed as the long cycles of\nages rolled on. All these were legitimate themes for science; and all of\nthem were opposed to the popular belief at the time--as much so as is\nthe antiquity of man now. And further, we say that the mere suspicion\nthat any such thing may be--the mere surmise of any such fact--the\nmerest inkling which scientific men may get of a secret yet hidden\nbeneath the veil, and waiting to be revealed--is a sufficient\njustification of those _tentative_ efforts of science which often result\nin the attainment of some grand discovery. Let no timid religionist\ncharge upon scientific men that they are conspiring with malice prepense\nto undermine the popular creeds and overthrow the Bible. This is sheer\nnonsense. They follow where nature beckons them. If man has had a high\nantiquity on this earth, science will find it out and prove it beyond a\ndoubt. If he has not had such antiquity, science will discover that too,\nand prove it. All we have to do is to let science have her way.\n\nAnother remark which we make here, is respecting the power which a\n_single fact_ may have in this investigation. It is not often that great\nquestions in history, or social polity, or jurisprudence are determined\nby a single fact. The great results of history, economics, and law are\neffected by the converging power of many facts. So also in science. Its\ngreat results are determined by the accumulated power of multitudinous\nfacts. Its final categories are fixed by abundant certainties and\nmanifold inductions. And yet it may sometimes occur that a single fact\nmay be of such a nature that there is no escaping the conclusion which\nit forces upon the mind. It may concentrate in itself all the elements\nof certainty usually obtained from many sources. It may be determinative\nin its very nature, and admit of scepticism only at the expense of\nrationality. A single human grave, with its entombed skeleton,\ndiscovered in some uninhabited waste, where it was never known the foot\nof man had trod, would prove conclusively that human footsteps had once\ntrod there. The discovery of a single weapon of the quality and temper\nof the Damascus blade amid the ruins of a buried city, would prove as\nfully as would the discovery of a thousand that the people of that age\nof the world understood the methods of working steel. One canoe found\nmoored to the bank of the Delaware, the Schuylkill, or the Susquehanna,\nwhen the white man began to penetrate this continent, would have been\nsufficient to prove that the aborigines understood, to that extent, the\nart of navigation. So in science, one fossil of a different species from\nany found heretofore in a certain deposit is sufficient to add another\nto the forms of life represented by that deposit. One fossil found lower\nin the geological scale than life was supposed to have begun on this\nplanet, is sufficient to prove that it had a still earlier beginning. So\nwith regard to contemporary forms of life, one fact may be sufficient to\nwarrant or compel a conclusion. Hugh Miller cites the instance of fossil\ndung being found as proving to the anti-geologists that these fossils\nwere once real living creatures, and not mere freaks of nature. The\ninstance might not be thought conclusive, for if the Author of nature\nsaw fit to amuse himself by making the semblances of huge iguanodons,\nelephants, and hippopotami, in the solid rocks, it might readily be\nsupposed that He would extend His amusement to the making of fossil\ndung.[2] But now, if in the fossil entrails of the cave hyena the bones\nof a hare should be found, it would prove conclusively to any but an\nanti-geologist, that the hare lived contemporaneously with the hyena.\n\nThese remarks are not thrown in by way of apology for the paucity of\nfacts adduced by Sir Charles Lyell to prove the antiquity of man, but\nmerely to illustrate the force which it is possible, in certain\ncircumstances, for a single fact to have. Thus, for instance, the Scotch\nfir is not now, nor ever has been in historic times, a native of the\nDanish isles, yet it has been indigenous there in the human period, for\nSteenstrup has taken out with his own hands a flint implement from\nbeneath one the buried trunks of that species in the Danish peat bogs.\nAgain, if an implement of human workmanship is found in close proximity\nto the leg of a bear, or the horn of a reindeer, of extinct species, in\nan ancient cavern, and all covered by a floor of stalagmite, we see not\nhow the conclusion is to be avoided that they were introduced into the\ncave before the stalagmite was formed; and in that case the inference\nthat they were contemporaneous, or nearly so, may well be left to take\ncare of itself. The attempt has been made to treat with levity the whole\nsubject of the antiquity of man because of the numerical meagreness of\nthe facts adduced in support of it. But as to this, it need only be\nobserved that as a new theme for investigation, its facts must\nnecessarily be meagre, as must be the facts of any science in its\ninchoate condition, and that they are steadily growing in volume, so\nthat it is not safe to venture a final verdict against it on that score.\nThe facts in support of the globular form of the earth, or the\nCopernican theory of the heavens, or the great age of the earth, were at\none time meagre--they are not so now. Sir Charles Lyell is a pioneer\nexplorer in a new and mysterious realm: the time may come when, amid the\nabundance of the treasure gathered from it, the scanty hoard which he\nopens to his reader may seem meagre enough.\n\nNevertheless, Sir Charles Lyell is fully a believer in the doctrine of\nthe high antiquity of man. His book is not merely a debating-club\ndiscussion of the pros and cons, the probabilities for and against the\ndoctrine, but rather the earnest pleading of the advocate fully\npersuaded that the truth is on his side. Not that it displays any\nforensic heat;--it is calm, cautious, dispassionate; but it has the air\nof one governed by conviction, and he often assumes the entire truth of\nhis conclusions with the quiet _nonchalance_ of a man seemingly\nunconscious that what he regards as matters of established certainty\nwill be viewed by the great majority of his fellow beings as startling\nnovelties.\n\nThe main stream of the geological evidence of the antiquity of man tends\nto one point, viz., _that man coexisted with the extinct animals_. There\nare collateral branches of proof, but this is the main channel. The\nremains of man and of man's works and the remains of extinct races of\nanimals lie side by side, and claim from the geologist the same meed of\nantiquity. This is the burden of the book before us. We offer the reader\na brief outline of this evidence. In doing so, we will follow the order\nof Sir Charles Lyell's work, and merely state the leading facts which\ngeological investigations have brought to light.\n\nIn the Danish islands there are deposits of peat from ten to thirty feet\nthick, formed in the hollows or depressions of the northern drift or\nbowlder formation. These beds of peat have been examined to the bottom,\nand they reveal the history of vegetation in those localities, and the\ncontemporaneous history of human progress. Beginning at the top, the\nexplorer finds the first layers to contain principally the trunks of the\nbeech tree, along with implements and tools of wood and iron. Below\nthese is a deposit of oak trunks, with implements mainly of bronze.\nFarther down still he finds the trunks of the _Pinus sylvestris_, or\nScotch fir, together with implements of stone. This clearly indicates\nthat in the lapse of centuries the pine was supplanted by the oak, and\nthe oak by the beech, and that man advanced contemporaneously from the\nknowledge and use of stone implements to those of bronze and iron. Now\nthe known fact is that in the time of the Romans, as now, the Danish\nisles were covered by magnificent beech forests, and that eighteen\ncenturies have done little or nothing toward changing the character of\nthe vegetation. How many centuries must have elapsed to enable the oak\nto supplant the pine, and the beech to supplant the oak, can only be\nvaguely conjectured. Yet the evidence is clear that man lived in those\nold pine forests--leaving his implements of stone behind him, as he did\nhis tools of bronze and iron in the succeeding periods. Along the coast\nof Denmark, also, are found shell mounds mixed with flint knives,\nhatchets, etc., but never any tools of bronze or iron, showing that the\nrude hunters and fishers who fed on the oyster, cockle, and other\nmollusks, lived in the period of the Scotch fir, or, as it has been\ncalled, the 'age of stone.'\n\nIn many of the Swiss lakes are found ancient piles driven into the\nbottom, on which were once erected huts or villages, the lacustrine\nabodes of man. This use of them is proved by the abundance of flint\nimplements and fragments of rude pottery, together with bones of\nanimals, which have been dredged up from among the piles. The implements\nfound belong to the 'age of stone,' or the period of the Scotch fir in\nDenmark, and the bones of animals are all, with one exception, those of\nliving species.\n\nPassing over the fossil human remains and works of art of the 'recent'\nperiod, as found in the delta and alluvial plain of the Nile, in the\nancient mounds of the valley of the Ohio, in the mounds of Santos in\nBrazil, in the delta of the Mississippi, in which, at the depth of\nsixteen feet from the surface, under four buried forests, superimposed\none upon the other, was found, a few years ago, a human skeleton,\nestimated by Dr. B. Dowler to have been buried at least fifty thousand\nyears--in the coral reefs of Florida, in which fossil human remains were\nfound, estimated by Professor Agassiz to have an antiquity of ten\nthousand years--in the recent deposits of seas and lakes, in the central\ndistrict of Scotland, which bears clear traces of an upheaval since the\nhuman period, and in the raised beaches of Norway and Sweden--passing\nover these for want of space for minute detail, we go back to the\npost-pliocene period, and find the bones of man and works of art in\njuxtaposition with the fossil remains of extinct mammalia.\n\nIn the cavern of Bize, in the south of France, and in the caves of\nEngis, Engihoul, Chokier, and Goffontaine, near Liege, human bones and\nteeth, together with fragments of rude pottery, have been found\nenveloped in the same mud and breccia, and cemented by stalagmite, in\nwhich are found also the land shells of living species and the bones of\nmammalia, some of extinct, and others of recent species. The chemical\ncondition of all the bones was found to be the same. Quite a full\naccount is given of the researches of MM. Journal and Christol in the\nBize cavern, and of Dr. Schmerling in the Liege caverns, and every\neffort made, apparently, by the author, to weigh candidly and honestly\nthe evidence for and against the contemporaneous existence and\ndeposition of the human and mammalian remains. And while he admits that\nat one time he was strongly inclined to suspect that they were not\ncoeval[3], yet he has been compelled by subsequent evidence, especially\nin view of the fact that he has had convincing proofs in later years\nthat the remains of the mammoth and many other extinct species, very\ncommon in caves, occur also in undisturbed alluvium, imbedded in such a\nmanner with works of art as to leave no room for doubt that man and the\nextinct animals coexisted, to reconsider his former opinion, and to\nassign to the proofs derived from caves of the high antiquity of man a\nmuch more positive and emphatic character.\n\nIn chapter fifth we have a minute and interesting account of such fossil\nhuman skulls and skeletons as have been found in caves and ancient\ntumuli, and a careful endeavor made to estimate their approximate age.\nIn 1857, in a cave situated in that part of the valley of the Duessel,\nnear Duesseldorf, which is called the Neanderthal, a skull and skeleton\nwere found, buried beneath five feet of loam, which were pronounced by\nProfessor Huxley and others to be clearly human, though indicating small\ncerebral development and uncommon strength of corporeal frame. In the\nEngis caves, near Liege, portions of six or seven human skeletons were\nfound, imbedded in the same matrix with the remains of the elephant,\nrhinoceros, bear, hyena, and other extinct quadrupeds. In an ancient\ntumulus near Borrely, in Denmark, a human skull was discovered which was\nadjudged by its surroundings to belong to the 'stone period' of Denmark,\nor the era of the Scotch fir. The careful anatomical examination and\ncomparison to which these skulls have been subjected, have led to\nimportant discussions, not only as to their age, but also as to their\nrelation to existing races.\n\nNext comes an extended account of the flint implements and other works\nof art, found so abundantly in juxtaposition with the bones of extinct\nmammalia, in various localities--in a cave at Brixham, near Torquay, in\nDevonshire; in the alluvium of the Thames valley; in the gravel of the\nvalley of the Ouse, near Bedford; in a fresh-water deposit at Hoxne in\nSuffolk; in the valley of the Lach at Icklingham; in a cavern in\nSomersetshire; in the caves of Gomer in Glamorganshire, in South Wales;\nand especially in the gravel beds of Abbeville and Amiens, in France,\nand various localities of the valley of the Somme. As to these flint\nimplements, they are chiefly knives, hatchets, and instruments of that\nsort, and they have been found in such large numbers, and such diverse\nlocalities, and so uniformly in close proximity with the remains of the\nsame species of extinct mammalia, that the evidence derived from them\nis, to say the least, of a very weighty character, and in the opinion of\nSir Charles Lyell clearly establishes the fact that _Elephas\nprimigenius_, _Elephas antiquus_, _Rhinoceros tichorrhinus_, _Ursus\nspeloeus_, and other extinct species of the post-pliocene alluvium,\n_coexisted with man_.\n\nAttempts have been made to throw doubt upon these implements, first upon\ntheir nature, and next upon their genuineness; but we think no one who\nweighs the evidence candidly and carefully, can award to these doubts\nthe merit of respectability. That they are works of art and not native\nforms, is, we think, as fully established as human observation can\nestablish anything; and though frauds have been recently detected, it\nwould be no more absurd to attribute the whole phenomena of fossil\nremains to fraudulent manufacture, than to refer to the same source the\nwhole series of flint implements. In many cases the flint tools were\ntaken out of their position by the hands of scientific men themselves,\nand in others the excavations were made under their immediate\nsupervision. M. Gandry, in giving an account of his researches at St.\nAcheul, in 1859, to the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, says: 'The\ngreat point was not to leave the workmen for a single instant.'\n\nBut the most remarkable, not to say startling revelations of the whole\nbook, are those pertaining to the discovery of an ancient place of\nsepulture at Auvignac, in the south of France. Here we seem to be\nbrought, as it were, face to face with the denizens of the departed\nages, and to have them start up from their ancient tombs to tell the\nstory of their death and sepulture. We enter this old burial place with\nfeelings of more strange and solemn awe than we could have in threading\nthe catacombs of Rome. An obscure village at the foot of the Pyrenees\nreveals in its precincts a more astounding history than all the\nmonuments and mausoleums of the 'eternal' city.\n\nIn the year 1852, a laborer named Bonnemaison, employed in repairing\nroads, observed that rabbits, when hotly pursued by the sportsman, ran\ninto a hole which they had burrowed in a talus of small fragments of\nlimestone and earthy matter lodged in a depression on the face of a\nsteep escarpment of nummulitic limestone which forms the bank of a small\nbrook near the town of Auvignac. On reaching as far into the opening as\nthe length of his arm, he drew out to his surprise one of the long bones\nof the human skeleton; and his curiosity being excited, and having a\nsuspicion that the hole communicated with a subterranean cavity, he\ncommenced digging a trench through the middle of the talus, and in a few\nhours found himself opposite a heavy slab of rock, placed vertically\nagainst the entrance. Having removed this, he discovered on the other\nside of it an arched cavity, seven or eight feet in its greatest height,\nten in width, and seven in horizontal depth. It was almost filled with\nbones, among which were two entire skulls, which he recognized at once\nas human. The people of Auvignac flocked in astonishment to the spot,\nand Dr. Amiel, the mayor, having first ascertained as a medical man and\nanatomist that the relics contained the bones of seventeen human\nskeletons of both sexes and all ages, ordered them all to be reinterred\nin the parish cemetery.\n\nIn 1860, M. Lartet, a distinguished French savan, examined thoroughly\nthe remaining contents of the cavern and its surroundings and\napproaches. He found, on removing the talus which filled up the\ndepression on the face of the rock, a level terrace leading to the mouth\nof the cave. On this terrace was a layer of charcoal and ashes, eight\ninches thick, containing fragments of broken, burnt, and gnawed bones of\n_extinct and recent mammalia_, in all some nineteen species, and some\nseventy or eighty individuals. Also in the same deposit were\nhearthstones, and works of art, flint knives, projectiles, sling-stones,\nand chips. Many of the bones of the extinct herbivora were streaked, as\nif the flesh had been scraped off them by a flint instrument, and others\nwere split open, as if for the purpose of extracting the marrow. Inside\nthe grotto were two or three feet of made earth mixed with human and a\nfew animal bones of extinct and recent species. None of them, however,\nburnt or gnawed; and numerous small flat plates of a white shelly\nsubstance made of some species of cockle, perforated in the middle as if\nfor the purpose of being strung into a bracelet; also some mementos and\nmemorials of the chase and the sepulture. Did no opposing traditions\nstand in the way, we are quite sure the evidence elicited from this\nexamination would at once fix its character as a burial place, of an\nantiquity coeval with the existence of the great extinct mammalia of the\npost-pliocene period. It, however, contains some features of special\ninterest. In the words of Sir Charles Lyell:\n\n     'The Auvignac cave adds no new species to the list of extinct\n     quadrupeds, which we have elsewhere, and by independent evidence,\n     ascertained to have once flourished contemporaneously with man. But\n     if the fossil memorials have been correctly interpreted--if we have\n     here before us at the northern base of the Pyrenees a sepulchral\n     vault with skeletons of human beings, consigned by friends and\n     relatives to their last resting place--if we have also at the\n     portal of the tomb the relics of funeral feasts, and within it\n     indications of viands destined for the use of the departed on their\n     way to the land of spirits; while among the funeral gifts are\n     weapons wherewith in other fields to chase the gigantic deer, the\n     cave lion, the cave bear, and woolly rhinoceros--we have at last\n     succeeded in tracing back the sacred rites of burial, and, more\n     interesting still, a belief in a future state, to times long\n     anterior to those of history and tradition. Rude and superstitious\n     as may have been the savage of that remote era, he still deserved,\n     by cherishing the hopes of a hereafter, the epithet of 'noble,'\n     which Dryden gave to what he seems to have pictured to himself as\n     the primitive condition of our race:\n\n                 'As Nature first made man,\n       When wild in woods the noble savage ran.'\n\nThe remainder of the book, so far as it relates to the evidences of\nman's antiquity, is mainly occupied with the consideration of the\nglacial period, in its relation to the indications of man's first\nappearance in Europe. It bears evidence throughout of the hand of a\nmaster. The gigantic phenomena and wonderful agencies of that marvellous\nperiod in geological history--its vast icefields and glaciers, with\ntheir movements, drifts, and denudations--its coast ice and glacial\nlakes and rivers--the risings and sinkings of level of islands and\ncontinents, are all considered and discussed in a thoroughly intelligent\nand scholarly manner. And here, also, amid the debris of this\nfar-distant and inhospitable era, has man left the traces of his\nexistence, as indubitably, according to Sir Charles Lyell, as the great\nicebergs themselves. Not only is it proven that man coexisted with the\nextinct animals, but also that he coexisted with the extinct glaciers.\nWe have not space, however, to follow out in detail this evidence.\n\nThe last five chapters of the book are devoted to the discussion of\ncertain subjects of vital interest and great moment just now in the\nscientific world--the theories of progression, development,\ntransmutation, and variation of species. It seems, however, to be the\nintention of the author to give us, not so much his own views as a\ngeneral resume or outline of the tendencies and conclusions of the\nscientific world upon these subjects. This he does with his usual\nfulness, candor, and impartiality; and the reader at the same time\ngathers from him that he is strongly inclined to accept the doctrine of\nthe origin of species by 'variation and natural selection,' and to\naccord vast periods of time for the workings of that law of development\nand transmutation which he believes to pervade all mundane affairs.\nConsiderable space is devoted to the consideration of man's place in\nnature, and especially to the discussions arising out of the comparison\nof the human and simian brain; and while the author fully admits the\nvast gulf placed between man and the animal creation below him--a gulf\nwhich science cannot bridge--by virtue of the moral and religious nature\nof man, yet he pointedly protests against confounding distinct orders of\nideas, and insists that man as a physical being is clearly of the same\norder as the gorilla and ape; and he does not shrink from accepting the\npossibility that they all may have sprung by successive stages or\n'leaps' from the same primordial form. His concluding words are, that\n'so far from having a materialistic tendency, the supposed introduction\ninto the earth at successive periods of life--sensation, instinct, the\nintelligence of the higher mammalia, bordering on reason--and lastly the\nimprovable reason of man himself, presents us with a picture of the\never-increasing dominion of mind over matter.'\n\nTo our mind one thing is certain. The whole scientific world is drifting\nslowly, but steadily and surely, to the verification and\nacceptance--with certain and in some cases important modifications--of\nthe development hypothesis of Maillet, Lamarck, La Place, Owen, and the\nauthor of the 'Vestiges[4] of Creation.' The movement reminds one of\nthe motion of one of the great Greenland glaciers, so slow, quiet,\nalmost imperceptible, yet inexorable as fate--heedless of all obstacles.\nAs in the case of all great, genuine revolutionary or formative ideas,\nit is curious to watch the incidents of its career--to note the alarm,\nindignation, scorn, and holy horror occasioned by its first\nannouncement--to observe these subsiding gradually into patient\nendurance and permissive sufferance, and these again giving place to a\ncertain curiosity and wakeful interest, culminating at last in downright\nadvocacy and championship.\n\nWe are inclined to think that great injustice has been done the\ndevelopment theory in the name of morals and religion. There has been no\nend to the railing against it on the part of clergymen, Biblical\ninterpreters, theological Professors, and orthodox editors. It was held\nto put infinite dishonor upon the Creator, not only to suppose that He\nshould take many millions of years to make a world, but that He should\nemploy the same lengthened period to make man, instead of speaking him\ninto existence by a word. It was held to put infinite dishonor upon the\nScriptures to suppose that they should be understood in any but the most\nliteral sense. And it was held to put infinite dishonor upon man to\nsuppose that he was kith and kin with the monkey--bone of the bone and\nflesh of the flesh of the unreasoning quadrupeds, over which in his\ngod-like royalty he was to sway his imperial sceptre--and this, too, by\na class of teachers who could never have enough of thundering in the\nears of men their degradation, their lost, debased, insensate, and\ndamnable condition, worse than that of beasts or devils.\n\nNow, with all deference, we beg to say that this development theory does\nnot strike us as so fraught with dishonor, either to the powers in\nheaven or the beings upon earth. It has for many years impressed us with\nits grandeur as an intellectual conception. We doubt whether anything so\ngrand has dawned upon the mind of modern civilization since the days of\nSir Isaac Newton. And we cannot see what dishonor it can work to either\nGod or man--especially if it be proved to be true. We regard it, so far\nas there is truth in it, as one of those great germinant seed-thoughts,\nwhich at long intervals are dropped into the soil of the human mind;\nand though the mind of the age, in its first impulses of joy, may play\nwild gambols with it, it is destined in the end to mould and control the\nthinking of the civilized world. But apart from its truth or falsity, in\nwhole or in part, regarded simply _as an intellection_, it strikes us as\none of the grandest of modern times. Spreading itself over almost\nillimitable space, grasping back through almost illimitable time,\nclaiming for itself the boundless multiplicity of type, and form, and\nlife, and law of the organic world, and unfolding to the wondering gaze\nthe vast prophetic possibilities of the future, it possesses all the\nattributes of grandeur, magnificence, sublimity, and mystery. If it is a\nphantasm, it is more gorgeous than the most splendid creations of\npoetry. If it is a mirage, it is more beautiful than any that ever\nbewildered the vision of enchanted traveller. If it is an _ignis\nfatuus_, it is more potent than any ever raised by the spell of the\nsorcerer. But whether phantasm, mirage, _ignis fatuus_, or sober but\ngrand reality, will assuredly be found out by science before another\nhalf century. And the ultimate finding of science, whatever it may be,\nmust and will be believed.\n\nIt is, of course, not to be expected that the evidence thus adduced by\nSir Charles Lyell in behalf of the antiquity of man, will be accepted as\nconclusive by the religious and thinking world in general without a\nthorough sifting and an earnest struggle. It is too novel and\nrevolutionary in its tendencies. And indeed it ought to be subjected to\nthe severest ordeal of fact and reason. It is in this way alone that the\ngolden grains of truth are separated from the dross of crude conjecture\nand hasty generalization. We are not prepared ourselves to say that the\nevidence itself is final and conclusive. We have sketched it for the\npurpose of giving the distinguished author a full hearing, and affording\nthe reader an opportunity to judge for himself. We await the logical\nsequences of time, knowing full well that the laws which regulate the\nprogress of science are as stable and infallible as the laws which\ncontrol the motions of the solar and planetary systems. One thing,\nhowever, we may be excused for saying: All the attempts we have seen to\nparry the force of this evidence, and to account for the acknowledged\nphenomena and facts within the schedule of the received chronology,\nstrike us as singularly and painfully feeble. One suggestion is that the\nbodies of the extinct mammalia may have been preserved in ice until the\nrecent period, and their bones deposited contemporaneously with those of\nmodern species and man. Another is that the geologists may be vastly\nmistaken as to the date of the extinction of species, and that in fact\nthe mastodon, mammoth, and other species found in juxtaposition with\nhuman remains and works of art, have probably survived until a very\nrecent period. Without entering into detail on these points, we would\nventure the prediction that when weighed in the balance they will be\nfound utterly wanting. One type of discussion will survive, if it\nsurvive at all, as a most curious fossil of the layers of modern\nthought. It is that represented by the book referred to in a note on a\nformer page, by Mr. Davies. Believing that all mineral fossils were\nnever living animals at all, but the types simply of animals that were\nto be, stamped instantaneously upon the rocks as prophetic symbols of a\nwork of creation to be afterward accomplished, he is prepared to hear\nwithout surprise that man should some day be found as a fossil. We refer\nto it as a most curious mental product. If it is not unanswerable, we\npresume it will at least remain unanswered.\n\nWhat now, in conclusion, is to be the effect of this new development of\nscience on the received and traditionary thinking of the time? What\nreadjustments will be necessary in case the doctrine of the antiquity of\nman comes by and by to take its place, in the creed of science,\nalongside of the doctrine of the great age of the earth? Can it be made\nto harmonize with what is now known as orthodox and evangelical\nChristianity?\n\nThat it cannot be made to harmonize with that sort of orthodoxy which\nasserts that 'the Bible teaches' that man began to exist upon the earth\nabout six thousand years ago, we need hardly aver. Eminent theologians\nmay say, 'if science does not agree with the Scriptures, so much the\nworse for science,' but we opine that the minds which will be able to\nstand upon this platform in the face of overwhelming evidence will be\nfew and far between. But it must be remembered that the Scriptures have\nadjusted themselves, in the popular and orthodox mind, to several things\nwhich were once considered opposed to their teachings. The Copernican\ntheory of the solar system was once regarded and treated as a palpable\nand dangerous heresy; yet now-a-days the boldest literalist would not\nventure to insist that the Bible teaches a system opposed to that.\nWithin living memory, it is well known that the doctrine of the recent\ncreation of the earth was regarded as indubitably a part of the teaching\nof the first chapter of Genesis, yet it is now fully conceded in high\northodox quarters that the opposite doctrine does no violence to the\nletter or spirit of the Mosaic writings. Here the adjustment has been of\nthe interpretation to the fact. It is up to this time largely believed\nthat the Bible teaches the doctrine of a general deluge, yet Hugh Miller\ncould advocate, with all the elegance of his superb intellect, and all\nthe power of his unanswerable science, the opposite doctrine of a\npartial or limited deluge, without being outlawed for heresy in the Free\nChurch of Scotland. It is now held almost universally that the doctrine\nof the unity of the race is essential to Christianity; and we, for\nourselves, cannot see that it is otherwise than essential to a properly\norganic Christianity, and yet we begin to see a blinking in certain\nquarters toward the opposite view;--and we may mention that the curious\nbook of Mr. Davies before mentioned, which is written in the special\ninterest of the most literal orthodoxy, advocating the doctrine of\nimmediate creation in six literal days, and other equally indigestible\nmatters, insists on the doctrine of _diversity of origin_ in the human\nrace, because it is taught in the Scriptures! And he does not fail to\nfind proof texts. He rightly avers that several important assumptions\nare needed in order to extract the doctrine of unity from the Mosaic\nrecord.\n\nWe have not adduced these instances of the variations of orthodoxy for\nthe purpose of intimating that the Bible is a nose of wax, which can be\ntwisted into any shape without injury--that it is a book which can be\nmade to mean anything or nothing, as the circumstances of the case may\nrequire--but that it has a vital elasticity and power of adjustment to\nall veritable findings of the human mind in every sphere; as indeed it\nmust have, if it is in any important respect such a communication to\nmankind as it is claimed to be. Whatever may be said of the\ninfallibility of the Scriptures, it is certain that interpretation is\nnot infallible--a distinction that is not always kept in mind by those\nzealous defenders of the faith who are ready to make the inspiration of\nthe Scriptures stand or fall with a given interpretation of a particular\npassage.\n\nBut can the doctrine of man's antiquity be made to harmonize with the\nessentials of Christianity and the inspiration of the Scriptures? If\nChristianity be a religion for man, as the present writer believes, we\nanswer emphatically in the affirmative. Not the smallest feature that is\nessential to make Christianity a religion for man, if it be such, will\nbe imperilled by this or any other well-established doctrine of\nscience. But precisely how much modification of existing opinion, how\nmuch sepulture of traditionary relics, how much clearing away of rubbish\nwill be indispensable, it is now not easy to say. It is certain that it\nmust be conceded that we have as yet attained to no infallible\nchronology. And it is equally certain that a larger amount of allegory\nmust be infused into the first chapters of Genesis than would have been\ndigestible by the theologians of the last generation, if we would ever\nhave theology and science stand upon the same plane. The question in the\nchild's catechism, '_Who was the first man?_' will by and by be easier\nasked than answered. If, moreover, the narrative in Genesis refers to\nsome imaginary being supposed to have existed upon the earth about six\nthousand years ago, it seems clear that this being cannot be regarded as\nthe 'federal head' of the human race, from whom 'all mankind have\ndescended by ordinary generation.' And we strongly suspect that a very\nlarge amount of theological machinery will need to be readjusted; and\namid many pangs and with much tribulation will not a few canons of\northodoxy pass away to the region of fossil forms.\n\nIn conclusion, we take leave of this work of Sir Charles Lyell with the\nconviction that however obnoxious it may be to orthodox editors and\nsuperannuated doctors of divinity, it is destined to stimulate greatly\nscientific inquiry and active thought. It is impossible that when such a\nmine has been sprung, and promises to yield such tangible results, it\nshould suddenly cease to work, because the note of alarm is raised by\naffrighted theologians. We predict for science in this department a rich\nand rapid progress of discovery. And we are profoundly gratified that\nthe subject has been broken to the popular mind in such a cautious and\nunexceptionable manner as to the tone and spirit of the work--the author\nholding with philosophic steadfastness to the subject matter in hand,\nand, in the true scientific spirit, eschewing all side issues, and\nexhibiting throughout a candor, impartiality, and honesty, worthy the\nwell-earned fame of this Nestor of geologists.\n\n\n\n\nAENONE:\n\nA TALE OF SLAVE LIFE IN ROME.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nThe thoughts of AEnone followed her into sleep, and colored her dreams\nwith pleasant memories of the past; and when the morning sun, pouring\nits beams through the window, awakened her, there was a momentary\nstruggle before she could throw off the fancies of the night and realize\nthat she was no longer in her cottage home. But distinct perception soon\nreturned as she glanced around her and recognized the paintings which\nadorned her chamber, and the marble goddess still holding forth a\nwelcoming hand, as though in greeting for the return of another day.\n\nThrowing open the window, she sat down for a moment to enjoy the soft\nbreeze, which, laden with perfume, came gambolling fresh from the Alban\nHills. The window at which she placed herself looked out upon a central\ncourtyard, formed by the intersection of the main body of the palace at\nright angles with the two wings. This court was paved from one side to\nthe other with marble flags of different shades, excepting in the\nmiddle, where played the fountain--a circular basin of water, upon a\nrock, in the centre of which two bronze satyrs struggled for a tortoise,\nfrom whose mouth the supplying stream poured forth. From the end of each\nwing of the palace the line of the sides was continued by a straight\nstone wall of considerable height, leading across the whole breadth of\nthe Caelian Hill to the slope of its farther side, and enclosing an area\nthickly planted with such flowers, shrubbery, and trees as the taste of\nthe period considered most essential to a well-appointed garden.\n\nFor the moment the central court was almost deserted, the only\nappearance of life being a little Nubian slave, who sat upon the edge of\nthe fountain, and lazily played with a tame stork. But all at once AEnone\nheard mingled voices, and distinguished among them the tones of her\nhusband--deeper than the others, and marked with that quicker and more\ndecided accent acquired by a long course of undisputed authority. At\nfirst the sounds seemed stationary, as though the speakers were tarrying\nin one place for discussion; but in a moment they approached nearer, and\nthe disputants stood in full sight upon a balcony which ran around the\ninterior wall of the palace and overhung the sides of the court.\n\nForemost and tallest of the group stood Sergius Vanno, recognizable at\nonce by his athletic and graceful figure, reflective face, commanding\neye, bright with intelligence, and his agreeable, refined, and\nattractive presence, as the leading spirit of the group. At his side\nleaned the poet Emilius, whose weak and slender figure and mild, girlish\nexpression would hardly appear to sustain the reputation he enjoyed of\ndevoting half his time to the invention and elaboration of new forms of\nprofligacy, and thereby carrying his exploits into realms of vice\nhitherto undiscovered even in that age of unbridled indulgence. Behind\nthese stood three others--a captain of the praetorian guard, a tribune of\nthe law, and a comedian of the school of Plautus--each probably carrying\nthe palm of excellence in his especial calling, and all of them\ndoubtless endowed with superior capacities as boon companions in a\nnight-long revel. They had evidently but just left the banqueting hall,\nand bore indications of having passed a somewhat unquiet night, though\nin different degrees; for while the captain and comedian still staggered\nconfusedly and displayed haggard faces and disordered dresses, the\nsuperior tact, constitutional strength, or recuperative powers of the\nothers enabled them to maintain such a demeanor of proper sobriety, that\nbut for a slight flush and the companionship in which they were placed,\ntheir late excesses might have passed unnoticed.\n\n'It was the choice of all the slaves, both male and female, I tell you,'\nsaid the comedian, evidently resuming an unfinished dispute. 'The choice\nof all the slaves, Sergius.'\n\n'Hear you now this man!' exclaimed Sergius, turning toward his friend\nEmilius with a quiet smile. 'Thrice already have I told him the truth of\nthe matter, and still he persists; well knowing that, if now he can\nscarcely sustain himself from falling over into the area below, he\ncertainly could not, three hours ago, have been able to tell what play\nhe made, or whether he made any play at all. Nay, Bassus, it was only of\nthe male slaves that I spoke.'\n\n'Yet listen to me,' insisted the comedian, placing his hand upon the\nother's shoulder and leaning heavily upon him, 'You do not deny that we\ngamed?'\n\n'Of a surety I do not.'\n\n'Nor that I won money of you?'\n\n'Ten sestertia. I acknowledge it.'\n\n'Nay, twenty sestertia, was it not?'\n\n'Twenty sestertia be it, then. What matters the amount, when I paid you\nupon the moment, and you now have the sum, whatever it may be, in your\nown purse?'\n\n'True, true,' rejoined the other, nodding his head with an air of sage\ngravity; 'whatever it was, of a certainty I now have it. And then,\nSergius, you offered against the ten--no, the twenty sestertia--to play\nthe choice of all your new slaves.'\n\n'Of my new male slaves, certainly.'\n\n'No, of the slaves both male and female. I will tell you how it is that\nI so especially recollect. It was because I had heard from our lawgiver\nhere about the beautiful Samian girl you have borne home among your\nshare of the spoils. You did not think, perhaps, that I knew of her; but\nwhen I offered to throw the dice, I held her in my mind. And then, when\nI had won, and told you that I would select her, you said--'\n\n'Exactly what I had said to you before, that you could take your choice\nfrom the male slaves,' interrupted the other impatiently. 'And I have\nbrought you directly hither to make your selection, for fear that when\nyou became sober you would forget the matter altogether, and thereby\ncheat yourself out of a fairly won prize. Am I not right, comrades? Was\nnot the play as I have stated it?'\n\n'Neither more nor less,' the poet answered; and the tribune and the\npraetorian captain spoke to the same effect. The comedian still looked\nunconvinced, and, for the moment, gazed inquiringly from one to the\nother, in the hope that some newer recollection would come to the mind\nof either of them and lead to a recantation. But in that desire he was\ndisappointed, and at last he reluctantly gave up the contest, not daring\nto protract it longer for fear of provoking a quarrel, and thereby being\nthrust out of the society to which he was aware his social talents,\ncounteracting his low birth and calling, were his sole passport. And\nafter all, though he had too carelessly made his wager, he had won\ntwenty sestertia and a male slave, and that was something.\n\n'Well, be it so,' he assented, with a sigh. 'A male slave, since you say\nit. I had supposed I had spoken more particularly, but it seems that my\npoor brain was careless and at fault. Only bring the slaves hither\nquickly, that I may choose and go home, for I must play Castorex this\nmorning, and this head of mine seems likely to split.'\n\n'Let it split, then,' retorted Sergius with a laugh. 'It may save our\ncracking it some day with a goblet. Ho, there, Drumo!'\n\nHe was not obliged to call a second time, for, at the first ring of his\nvoice, the obedient armor bearer emerged from one of the lower entrances\ninto the court. He also, as well as his master, had been convivially\ncelebrating his return, and now bore the evidences of his frolic in a\nsad combination of inflamed features, tangled hair, and disordered\nclothing.\n\n'What ho, master?' he cried, stretching his huge limbs in a yawn and\nlooking up. 'Am I wanted?'\n\n'You have been drinking,' said Sergius; 'go to the fountain basin there\nand cleanse yourself. If there were fish in it, I would feel half\ninclined to cast you in to feed them. After that, come back to me.'\n\nThe giant grinned, knowing that his master placed too high a value upon\nhim ever to make a dinner of him for the carp, though he might now and\nthen inflict a stripe or two in anger upon his broad shoulders. Then\nkneeling down at the fountain, he quickly splashed the water into his\nface and eyes, ran one finger from his forehead to the crown of his head\nin order to part his disordered locks, pulled away a loose straw from\nbehind his neck, gave his tumbled tunic one jerk to straighten it, and,\nwith the air of a person who had made an elaborate toilet, and could\nafford to be well satisfied with the result, presented himself for\ninspection.\n\n'So! Were my new slaves sent in last night?'\n\nThe armor bearer nodded.\n\n'The whole allotment?'\n\n'I suppose so, master. Fifty there should have been, the lictor said,\nwhen he brought them, but one had died, and they had thrown him into the\nTiber to the fishes. Ho, ho, master, we shall all go one day to feed the\nfishes or the dogs or the worms, both you and I alike.'\n\n'Silence, you hound!' said Sergius, more by way of habit than because he\nreally minded a familiarity to which he had gradually grown accustomed.\n\n'The others came a little before midnight, and I locked them up below,'\nthe Gaul added, pointing to a low range of buildings at the foot of the\ngarden. 'They are a well-looking lot, master, but among them all you\nwill not find one to take my place; so, for this time, I am safe, and\ncan yet say and do what I please. Ho, ho! And here is the list of them\nwhich the messenger brought.'\n\n'Never mind the list. It is doubtless all correct,' said Sergius, waving\nthe papyrus aside. 'Go, now, and bring the slaves hither.'\n\nThe man nodded, and taking a large key from a nail over his head,\ndisappeared down the garden walk, and in a few moments returned, driving\nbefore him the whole body of captives which had fallen to the share of\nhis master. As he had reported, they were of good quality, the best of\nthe prisoners of war having naturally been reserved for the commander of\nthe expedition. The men were mostly stout and athletic, while the women\nwere of healthy and properly agreeable appearance. Of the whole number\nthere were none who seemed to be at all sickly or ill favored; while the\nonly one who exhibited any signs of deformity was a dwarf, whose\nwithered and twisted figure imparted to him that peculiar grotesque and\nape-like appearance which, at that period, was certain to commend him to\nthe taste of wealthy purchasers, and render him of more value than a man\nof correct proportions. Moreover, as a general thing, the captives\nseemed more cheerful than they had been the day before, having had the\nadvantage of several hours' rest and of better food than had fallen to\ntheir lot at any time during the journey. There were a few who\nmanifested sorrow at having been separated from relatives or friends\nwith whom they had succeeded in travelling to the very gates of the\ncity; and some others, as yet unbroken to misfortune, maintained a\nrebellious and intractable demeanor. But the majority had already made\nup their minds that slavery was henceforth their inevitable fate, and\nthat their highest future happiness must be looked for in its\nalleviation rather than in its abolition; and they now appeared to take\npleasure in the thought that their fortune had led them to a wealthy\nhousehold, where they would probably experience kind treatment and have\neasy tasks allotted to them.\n\nNow, having reached the paved court, the captives rested and awaited the\ninspection of their owner--some sitting upon the marble border of the\nfountain, some standing by in groups, and through a sort of sympathy\nholding each others' hands, as though that would give protection. A few\ngazed moodily upon the ground; and one or two, oppressed with sorrow or\nnervous apprehension, quietly wept. But the greater portion, impressed\nwith a dim consciousness that their future lot might depend upon their\npresent conduct and appearance, endeavored to assume an air of pleased\nsatisfaction, and thereby possibly win the favorable notice of the group\nwhich stood surveying them from the balcony, or at the least the\nfriendly compassion of the older slaves of the household, who began to\npour forth from the different doors upon the ground floor of the palace,\nand join unbidden in the inspection. Most of these, in the early days of\ntheir captivity, had stood up in the centre of similar gaping and\ncurious crowds, and now in their turn they sated their curiosity upon\nthe new comers. A few, remembering their own sorrows of those former\ntimes, seemed compassionate; others manifested careless indifference;\nsome wondered whether enough of the present reinforcement would be\nretained to materially lighten their own labors; and others, who had\nbeen known to fail in attention to their peculiar departments of\nindustry, trembled lest their places might now be supplied by the new\ncomers, and themselves be again driven off to market. Whatever their\nthoughts and feelings, however, no one ventured to approach too near or\nspeak aloud, excepting the armor bearer, who, as the privileged slave of\nthe household as well as the marshal of the occasion, moved hither and\nthither among the captives, encouraging some with rude jokes, shoving\nothers back or forward into suitable positions, and generally\nendeavoring to set forth the merits of the whole mass in as favorable a\nlight as possible.\n\n'Now stand forward where the noble imperator and his friends can see\nyou,' was his command to a well-featured, strong-limbed Rhodian. 'Do you\nthink to better your lot by slinking out of sight among the women, and\nso perhaps be sent off unnoticed to the market, and there be purchased\nfor hard labor in the quarry pits? Who knows but that if my master sees\nyou, he may make a gladiator of you; and then you can fight before\nemperors and consuls.'\n\n'What care I for your master?' retorted the man. 'Let him give me back\nmy wife and my child, whom I yesterday had, and who now are gone.'\n\nThe armor bearer shrugged his shoulders.\n\n'Is that all?' he said. 'Wives are plenty in this city of Rome. When I\nfirst came from Gaul, I too had a wife, and, like you, lost her. What\nthen? I suppose that she is happy, wherever she may be; and I--I have\nnot allowed myself to be lonely since. But neither did I let myself\nslink behind, when I stood in the market; but I pressed forward and\nstruck upon my chest, and called to the highborn and the rich to look\nupon me, and see how a man could be made, and what he could be good for.\nAnd here am I now, a slave, indeed--that cannot be helped--but for all\nthat, a ruler over the other slaves, and my master's favorite and\ncompanion. By the immortal gods! there is more manliness in yonder\ndwarf, with his open face, than in you, with your whimpering and your\ntears. I will call him forward to teach you a lesson how to act.'\n\nAt the first beck the dwarf pressed forward with a smile, alternately\nstretching up to make the most of his diminutive proportions, and then\nbowing low to crave the good will of the spectators. His appearance\nbrought him instant commendation; and more particularly did the\npraetorian captain break forth into expressions of appreciation.\n\n'A proper dwarf! a most excellent dwarf! Smaller and more ugly by a\nquarter than one which I have known to be sold for forty sestertia! And\nsee, Bassus, how he bows and rubs his hands and shows his teeth at\nyourself. He has perhaps been the buffoon in a Grecian theatre, and in\nyou now recognizes a brother in the art. Take him, therefore, for your\nchoice. At the very least, he will be of value to carry your bag of\nplays before you, and he may even help you act.'\n\nThe comedian forced a sickly smile upon his features, not daring to\nquarrel with his companion, yet not insensible to the sneering tone with\nwhich he was addressed. He had, at the first, been struck with the\ndwarf, and half inclined to choose him. But now the mocking speech\ndeterred him.\n\n'You are disposed to be merry,' he said; 'nor do you reason well. It is\nnot an ape that an actor wants to carry his plays. There are enough such\nto listen to them. I will leave the dwarf, therefore, for you to\npurchase. Perhaps, after all, there may be a place found for him\nsomewhere in your own household. I will make another selection for\nmyself.'\n\nAnd descending from the piazza, he moved in among the captives for the\npurpose of entering upon a more careful inspection. Eager as he was at\nall times to make the best of a bargain, he was the more especially\nanxious now; for the contemptuous tones of his companions rankled in his\nheart, and he felt that the more he evinced a capacity to benefit\nhimself, the more he would be likely to disappoint them. Passing\ndeliberately about the slaves, therefore, he scrutinized each face and\nform before him with the most exact attention; carefully lifting the\neyelid of one, and examining the teeth of another--now pressing his\nknuckles into an expanded chest, then twisting a muscular arm--causing\nsome to stoop, and others to bend back--and generally practising all\nthose arts and expedients which a professional slave dealer would employ\nto guard himself against imposition. Nor was it until the lapse of many\nminutes that he settled upon his prize.\n\n'I will take this man,' he said, dragging the Rhodian forth by the\nshoulder. 'He shall be my slave.'\n\n'It is well; take him,' responded Sergius, in his most courtly tone. And\nfor the moment or two, during which his companions yet tarried, he\nmaintained a demeanor so studied and controlled that it would have\nrequired a keen glance to detect in his face his bitter sense of\ndisappointment at the selection which the comedian had made.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nAs Sergius turned and entered the house, those who had seen him saluted\nas the favorite of the emperor and the idol of the crowd, and thence had\nbelieved unbounded happiness must be his never-varying lot, would have\nbeen astonished to know how many things there were which rankled\npainfully in his heart, and, for the moment, made him discontented and\nfretful.\n\nThoroughly jealous in respect to his military fame, he was suspicious\nthat the cheers of the crowd upon his ovation had been elicited more by\nthe perfection of the pageantry than by a proper appreciation of his own\nmerits; while it was certain that the Senate, though meeting him with\nthe customary congratulations, had delivered them with more form than\nenthusiasm. And though the emperor had given audience, he had bestowed\nno new honors upon him. To these disappointments was added the unhappy,\nself-accusing consciousness of having failed in duty to his own dignity,\nby having passed the night in wild revelry and among companions, many of\nwhom were beneath him in every quality except their talent for ribald\njesting and buffoonery. Moreover, though reputed wealthy, he was at\npresent pressed for money, and had added to his embarrassments by losing\nat the gaming table during the past night more than he could well afford\nto part with; while, to add to all other vexations, the comedian Bassus\nhad not only increased the loss by selecting the most valuable slave,\nbut had performed the action in a cool and calculating manner, which was\nparticularly exasperating.\n\n'The low buffoon!' Sergius muttered to himself. 'Who would have thought\nthat, half drunken as he was, he would have had the wit to select a\nslave worth double the sum which had been staked against him, and one\nwhom I had obtained with such trouble, and for my own purposes? Can it\nbe that he pretended his intoxication the more easily to outwit me? I\nhad no fear, but believed that he would be sure to select some slim\nyouth who could be taught to play the flute before him or act as\ncupbearer. What demon put it into his head so suddenly to look for bone\nand muscle rather than for girlish graces?'\n\nThis last suspicion of having been made the victim of artful\ndissimulation added fuel to his vexation, more especially as, turning\nhis head and glancing into the courtyard, he saw the comedian slipping\nthrough a side passage, and the Rhodian obediently following at his\nheels. This filled up the measure of Sergius's wrath. To his excited\nfancy the actor bore upon his face an insultingly satisfied smirk of\ntriumph, while the Rhodian appeared larger and stronger than ever. With\nan exclamation of unavailing anger, Sergius pushed open the door, and\nstood in the presence of his wife.\n\nIt was into the dining hall that he had plunged. Upon a small table was\nplaced the wine and bread and fruits which formed the customary morning\nmeal among the richer Romans; and beside the table stood AEnone, in an\nattitude in which hope and fear and surprise and disappointment were\nequally blended.\n\nClad in the manner which she knew had always best pleased his fancy,\nwearing the adornments which, as his gifts, he would most naturally\nprefer to see upon her, with her curling locks parted as in former days\nhe had liked her to dress them, even striving to impart to her features\nthe peculiar radiant expression which, in other times, had most won his\nheart--she had impatiently awaited his approach, with a vague fear\nwhispering poisonous surmises to her soul, but yet with a joyful and\nhopeful assurance of good predominating over all. As soon as these\nfriends of his had departed--she had said to herself--he would no longer\ndelay coming to her. He would meet her with extended arms and the same\njoyous welcome as of old. He would utter kind and pleasant words\nexpressive of his happiness, and would fold her to his heart. There\nwould she nestle and forget her foolish fears and suspicions of the past\nnight, and would only remember that she was loved. As, however, she now\nsaw the frown upon his face, her heart and courage failed her; and in\nproportion as she had previously fortified her mind with hopeful\nconfidence, a terrible reaction of apprehension overcame her. Could it\nbe that the angry look was for her, and that it could be justified by\nany word that she had ever spoken or any duty that she had neglected?\nWith one hand lightly resting upon the table, her right foot thrown\nforward in impulsive readiness to spring into his extended arms, but her\nwhole form drooping and shrinking with dismay, her face pale, and the\nsmile which she had called upon it now faintly and painfully flickering\nin a deathlike manner about her whitened lips, as it glided from her\ncontrol and began to give place to an utter and undisguised fear, she\nstood awaiting his first word or action.\n\n'Ha, AEnone!'\n\n'My lord--'\n\nThen remembering what was due to her upon their first meeting, he\nsmoothed the frown from off his face, held out his arms, and tenderly\nembraced her, uttering kind and loving words. It was the same gesture\nwith which he had parted from her when, six months before, the state had\ncalled upon him to arouse from the ease and tranquility of his wedded\nlife and do new service upon the field. Those were the same gentle and\naffectionate words which he had been wont to utter. And yet to her\nquickened apprehension, urged on by some secret instinct, it seemed as\nthough the soul of the tender greeting was gone, leaving but the mere\nform behind. Could it be that during those few months of absence he had\nlearned to think less dearly of her? At the thought, the last faint\ngleams of the flickering smile died away from her face; while he,\nunobservant of her distress, and still goaded by the remembrance of his\nlosses, released her from his embrace and threw himself heavily down\nupon the nearest lounge.\n\n'I am thirsty,' he said. 'Give me some drink.'\n\nShe poured some wine into a goblet, and timidly presented it to his\nlips. The liquid, cooled with snow from the mountains, was refreshing to\nhis palate, and he drank it to the last drop. As he parted with the\ngoblet--rather tossing it away than setting it down--he noticed how she\nstood before him with whitened face and frightened features, and with\nthe attitude of a shrinking slave rather than of a wife joyous to be of\nservice. His heart smote him for his negligent greeting, and he rose up\nfrom the lounge and placed his arm about her.\n\n'Not with you, AEnone, am I vexed,' he said, partly comprehending the\ncause of her emotion. And drawing her nearer, he commenced toying with\nher waving locks, telling her how for months he had been longing to meet\nher, and how her looks more than ever delighted him, and otherwise\nuttering such pleasant and reassuring words as soonest came into his\nmind. As she began to perceive that it was not for any fault of hers\nthat he had displayed anger, her face gradually lost its expression of\ndread. But still she could not fail to notice that the words which he\nspoke were not such as are commonly prompted by a true and\nunpremeditated affection; but were rather the labored and soulless\nresult of a mere good-natured desire to make atonement for a neglect,\nand were uttered in all the careless spirit with which one tries to\nsoothe an improperly aggrieved child; and the old smile but feebly\nplayed upon her features, struggle with it as earnestly as she would.\n\n'Nay, not at your sweet face is my anger excited, AEnone,' he said; 'but\nat that scurvy dog, Bassus. He should himself be a slave and the\ncompanion of slaves, were his true station meted out to him.'\n\n'He with whom you passed the night?' suggested AEnone.\n\n'Ay, he was one of us,' Sergius answered, taking a position nearer the\ntable, and commencing to pick off a crumb of bread as the incentive to a\nmore extended repast. 'He was with us, as there always will be some rude\nand unmannerly intruder in every company; but there were also others,\nthe associates of Emilius. There was Sotus, the Egyptian, a learned\nastronomer, and Cyope, the renowned Greek dramatist, and Spoletius, who\nis now writing a history of the empire, and, if what he says is true,\nhas already brought his work down to the time of the Emperor Nero--'\n\n'And will carry it on until he reaches the present day! And will then,\nin their proper place, tell about your achievements, my lord!' exclaimed\nAEnone, a flush of expectation glowing upon her face, as she thought that\nhere were her conjectures of the preceding evening about to be realized.\n\n'Ay!' responded Sergius; 'I presume that he will speak of me and of what\nyou dignify as my achievements, foolishly fond child; and therefore it\nwas meet that I should not neglect the opportunity of being in his\npresence, in order that he might speak well of me rather than the\nreverse. Otherwise, you well know that I would have preferred to let\nrevelling have the go-by, and to have come at once to gather you to my\nheart. But we men, whom the world calls celebrated, must be watchful,\nand learn to resign pleasure to duty, and guard our fame, or else it may\ngo out like a wasted lamp, and leave it in the darkness of oblivion. We\ncannot spare our time to give free scope to our love, as though we were\npoor and unknown.'\n\nAEnone reproached herself for her suspicions. Surely she had done wrong\nin distrusting him for the coldness of his greeting. He may have meant\nnothing but love and kindness, and have been weighed down by cares and\nanxieties which she could not comprehend. Had he not said that something\nhad made him angry? He, the great imperator, to have been ruffled by the\nconduct of a low comedian, whose company his interest obliged him to\ntolerate! She would yet be patient and wait.\n\n'And not only Spoletius, the historian, but also others, poets and\nphilosophers, whose good will it is proper to secure, and whose\nconversation would be improving to the gods themselves,' continued\nSergius, almost blushing as he remembered how little philosophy had been\nspoken during the past night, excepting that shallow doctrine which\ninculcates full enjoyment of the passing pleasure of the world, lest\ndeath might come and too suddenly end them; and how little poetry had\nbeen recited, except as roared forth in the form of bacchanalian\nchoruses. 'And even this Bassus it were worth my while to condescend to,\nlest the notion might seize him to satirize me upon the public stage.\nAnd it was to conciliate him that I lost to him twenty sestertia and a\nwell-favored slave. May it not be that I paid too high a price for his\nfriendship, and hence have a right to be angry?'\n\n'But let my lord reflect that he has many slaves--more than he well can\nfind use for; and that, therefore, one less may not be of great\nconsequence to him.'\n\n'Nay, but such a slave!' responded Sergius; 'tall, almost, as my armor\nbearer, and strong as an elephant! A man who was worth to me all those\nothers, thrice over, for the use to which I could have put him. The rest\nwill doubtless be of good account in their way. Some of them will go and\ndig in my quarries, and a few will be exposed in the market, and will\nbring their proper price. But this Rhodian--listen! You know that in a\nfew weeks the new amphitheatre of our emperor will be opened with grand\nspectacles lasting many days. At my audience with him last evening he\nspoke thereupon, and of the wild beasts he had sent for to give dignity\nto the occasion; but of this anon. You know that for months all Rome has\nbeen preparing for that time?'\n\nAEnone nodded assent. Even had she desired, she could not have remained\nignorant that the great colossus of all amphitheatres was approaching\ncompletion, since, from her window, she could look down the Appian Way\nand watch every stone being laid, while, in all societies, the magnitude\nand magnificence of the approaching games were the theme of universal\nconversation.\n\n'Well,' continued Sergius, 'months ago--I hardly remember how many--I\nwagered with the proconsul Sardesus that I would furnish for the games\nthe superior gladiator of the two. Fifteen purses of a hundred sestertia\neach; a large sum, but the larger the better, since I had my armor\nbearer in my mind, and felt certain to win. But since then I have become\nattached to this Drumo. The dog has twice saved my life, and hence has\nbecome too precious to be risked; for though he would most likely win\nthe day, yet a chance thrust might destroy him at the end. I therefore\nlooked around for a substitute, and found him--this Rhodian slave. Day\nafter day I marked him in the opposite ranks, fighting against us, and I\ngave orders to capture him alive. Twice we thought we had secured him,\nand as often did he break away, killing many of our men. But at last the\ncommander of one of my cohorts obtained possession of his wife and five\nchildren, and sent him word that each day, until he delivered himself\nup, one of them should be put to death.'\n\n'Surely that thing was not done?' exclaimed AEnone, horror struck.\n\n'As I live, it was not ordered by me, nor did I learn of the scheme\nuntil it was too late to arrest it,' responded Sergius; 'else would I\nhave forbidden it. But what would you expect? War has its practices, and\nmercy is not exactly one of them. And cruelties will happen, do what we\nmay. Whatever transpired, therefore, was the work of the commander of my\nfirst cohort, to whom I had given directions to take the man alive, and\nwho knew that it must be done, and without troubling me about the\nprocess. Perhaps you do not care to hear the rest?'\n\n'Go on,' said AEnone, shuddering with a sickening apprehension of what\nwas to come.\n\n'Well, the first day his oldest child was slain, and the body sent to\nhim; and the next day the second one slain, and in like manner sent to\nhim; and so on until but his wife and one child were left. Then he came\nin and gave himself up.'\n\n'And this brave man--fighting for his country--you have made a slave\nof!' exclaimed AEnone, impetuously. 'He has been stripped of his family\none by one, and now you would place him in the arena, to be the victim\nof wild beasts, or at the best, of other slaves!'\n\n'What else would you wish? The man is of a warlike nature; and it were\nbetter for him to bravely contend for his life in the presence of the\nemperor himself, than ignominiously to wear it out in the base labor of\nthe quarries. And I will tell you what I meant to have done. I know\nwhere are his wife and remaining child, with whom he yesterday entered\nRome; and if in the amphitheatre he had won the victory for me, I would\nhave restored them to him and given him his freedom besides. But all\nthat is past now. In the heat of the moment I forgot him, and suffered\nthis drunken dog, Bassus, to take his choice; and he has had too good an\neye for what is valuable not to select the Rhodian. Strange, indeed,\nthat I should have been so careless. But throughout all, I never dreamed\nthat his taste would lead him to do more than choose some slight-built\nboy, who could assist him in his trade. Once, indeed, I feared for the\nmoment that he would select amiss, and take a rarely precious dwarf,\nwhom, both for his appearance and for his knowledge of armor, I had\nreserved as a gift for your father; and when that danger was past, I\nbreathed freer, not calculating upon any further mischance.'\n\nAEnone remained silent. Ready as she was at all times to give her utmost\nsympathy to her husband for the slightest annoyance which he might\nexperience, it seemed to her now that his complaining was puerile and\nunjust, so utterly had the sense of his disappointment been swallowed\nup, in her thoughts, by the real and tragic woe of the Rhodian captive.\nFinding day after day his dead children laid at his very door--then\nseparated rudely from all who were left--and in the end brought chained\ninto the arena, and obliged to fight to the death for the pleasure of\nhis conquerors, and perhaps against his own countrymen: why should such\nthings be? AEnone was no nerveless creature to faint at the sight of\nblood. The education of all Romans of that day was adapted to a far\ndifferent result, and she could look with enjoyment upon the contests of\nwild beasts, or even view without disapprobation the struggles of\ngladiators trained to their work as to a profession, and, of their own\nfree will and with full knowledge, taking its risks upon themselves. And\nyet, for all that, she could not but feel that every hour there were\nbeing enacted around her, and as a part of the daily workings of the\nsocial system, abuses of power, which, like the present, nothing could\njustify; and she wondered whether it would last forever, or whether, on\nthe contrary, the outraged gods would not some day arise and pour down\nupon this imperial Rome the vengeance due to the oppressed.\n\nSergius partially read her thoughts, and set himself to work to reverse\ntheir current and turn it into a more cheerful channel. Drawing his seat\ncloser to her, he began to speak to her of more pleasant topics, telling\nof the enlivening incidents of his campaign, rehearsing the exploits of\nthose about him, and dwelling upon the few occasions in which, by some\nunusual departure from martial customs, mercy had been shown to the\nweak and helpless, and captives who were not fit for slaves had not been\ncrucified. The gift of fascination was one of his distinguishing traits;\nand when he chose, he could charm, with his winning speech, the most\nobdurate and unloving. Therefore, as he now softly whispered these\nnarrations into AEnone's ears, mingling gentle words of endearment with\nthem, it was not long before she began to yield to the pleasant\ninfluence, and was almost ready to believe that she had judged rashly,\nand that everything upon earth was not so very wrong. Why, after all,\nshould she presume to criticize matters which did not arouse the\ndiscontent of the wisest of men? And if the gods felt really outraged,\nwhy did they let their thunders sleep so long? At the least, it was not\nthe duty of herself, a weak girl, to strive to right the world. Her only\ndomain must be her lord's heart--her only rule of life, his will.\n\nLeaning upon his shoulder, and looking up into his face as she listened,\nshe thought upon the old times, when she had first met him, and how he\nhad then, as now, so successfully exerted his powers of charming, that\nit had seemed as though no mere earthly love could be good enough reward\nfor him. Could it be that in her distrust she had been the victim of a\nmomentary delusion, and that he would always exert himself hereafter, as\nnow, to please her? Might it not be, after all, that this great\nhappiness, with its tender whisperings and caresses, would ever continue\nunbroken, as in past times?\n\n'But, aha!' he suddenly exclaimed, in the tone of one newly awakened to\nthe existence of a fact whose comparative unimportance had led to its\nforgetfulness by him. 'Let not my own losses make me indifferent to your\npleasure, love, for I have not been so. For you, and you alone, I have\nreserved a gift fit for the palace of the Caesars.'\n\n'A gift, my lord? And for me?'\n\n'Yes; but ask me no questions now. You shall see it to-morrow. A few\nhours only of mystery and waiting must yet elapse before I will bring it\nto you. Until then you can enjoy a woman's pleasure and nurse your\ngreedy curiosity--hopeless of solving the enigma until I myself choose\nto give the clew.'\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG AUTHOR'S DREAM.\n\n  '_One more Unfortunate._'\n\n  Alone in a garret where cobwebs hang thick\n  Over walls that display the bare mortar and brick,\n  Whose windows look down on the roofs of back sheds,\n  From a height that would dizzy the coolest of heads,\n  A young author sits by a rickety stand,\n  In a broken-backed chair, with a pen in his hand,\n  And patiently toils ere the sunlight shall fade\n  To black the last quire of a ream of 'white laid.'\n  The shadows have deepened that hang on the wall;\n  But the Finis is written, the pen is let fall;\n  And, glad of a respite from labors complete,\n  His hands and his head press the last written sheet.\n  Sleep comes not alone; for the goddess of dreams\n  Is accustomed to visit this blacker of reams.\n  Like the man that sits under a monster balloon,\n  And soars o'er the earth halfway up to the moon,\n  Now stepping at once into Fancy's fair car,\n  He sails from the dusky old garret afar;\n  And, leaving the world with its practical crowds,\n  Such visions as these meet his gaze in the clouds:\n\n  THE DREAM.\n\n  Forty large editions\n  Of the 'thrilling tale;'\n  Forty thousand dollars,\n  Net proceeds of sale.\n  Forty smiling critics\n  Lavishing their praise;\n  Forty famous florists\n  Bidding for the bays.\n\n  Forty thousand maidens\n  Sitting up at night,\n  Poring o'er the volume\n  With intense delight.\n\n  Forty thousand letters\n  From the country sent,\n  Blurred by frequent teardrops,\n  Filled with sentiment.\n\n  Forty scheming mothers\n  Anxious for a match;\n  Forty blushing daughters,\n  Each a glorious catch.\n\n  Forty generations\n  Reverence his name;\n  Forty future ages\n  Fortify his fame.\n\n\n  THE REALITY.\n\n  Forty dunning letters\n  Coming every day;\n  Forty cents for washing,\n  Which he cannot pay.\n\n  Forty jokes malicious\n  Cracked by forty wags;\n  Forty pert young misses\n  Sneering at his rags.\n\n  Forty old companions\n  Wondering at his mood;\n  Forty friends officious\n  Preaching fortitude.\n\n  Forty days of sadness;\n  Forty nights of sorrow;\n  Forty dark forebodings\n  Hanging o'er the morrow.\n\n  Forty hempen inches\n  Borrowed from a friend;\n  Rafter at the upper,\n  Neck at lower, end.\n\n  Forty earthy spadefuls\n  On the green hillside;\n  Forty lines of 'local,'\n  Telling now he died.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT LAKES TO ST. PAUL.\n\n\nToward the close of July, 1860, our party gathered at Canaudaigua, that\nbeautiful piece of Swiss overland scenery, transported to Western New\nYork. Its Indian name, signifying 'the chosen place,' was not inapt for\nour meeting ground.\n\nBy the 31st of July we were at Cleveland, Ohio, over the Buffalo and\nLake Shore Railway and New York Central. It was a beautiful day's ride,\nthe most of the way skirting the lake, whose broad expanse gleamed in\nthe sunshine, and bore many a sail and propeller to the great havens of\nits commerce. The railway borders fine towns and farms, formed by the\ndense settlement of the oak openings and groves of the Western Reserve\nof Ohio, which was purchased from the Holland Land Company, by a company\nfrom Connecticut, of whom General Cleveland, who names the present city,\nwas the agent.\n\nCleveland city, with about forty thousand population, lies on Lake Erie,\nat the mouth of the Cuyahoga River, which forms its harbor. It is well\nbuilt, chiefly of the light graystone of the vicinity, upon a declivity\nshaded with trees, among which the buckeye hickory abounds, has many\nfine dwellings, and presents a fair front to the lake view.\n\nOn the evening of the 31st July we embarked on the North Star for\nSuperior City. She is of first class, eleven hundred and six tons, and\nbore an immense freight from the East to the remote peninsula, in\nexchange for its precious minerals. The entire sail from Cleveland to\nSuperior is nine hundred and sixty-four miles.\n\nAs these boats are the only means of commerce and intercourse for the\ndwellers on the upper lakes above Detroit, very frequent are their stops\nand calls, taking and leaving much freight, consuming much time on their\nway. However, our voyage was speedy: we arrived at our distant terminus,\nSuperior City, very early on the morning of the 5th of August, making\nthe running time about seventy-five hours.\n\nLeaving Ohio, one of the earliest settled States of the Western Valley,\nand organized sixty years since, our course from Cleveland stretched\nnorthwesterly across the wide lake, passing the island scene of Perry's\nsplendid triumph, and thence northerly, by its river, to Detroit, a sail\nof one hundred and twenty miles, arriving early on the 1st of August.\n\nThe city lies extended along its beautiful river, at one extremity\nguarded by its old fort, and at the other are the extensive\ncopper-smelting furnaces, where the ore from the Superior mines, brought\nby the steamers, flows in liquid copper. It is comparatively an ancient\ntown, settled as early as 1701 as a French frontier post; and some of\nits land titles, always protected at each national change, with some of\nits old families, derive their origin from these early French pioneers.\n\nOur afternoon sail was up Detroit River and the St. Clair, threading our\nway among its many verdant islands and rich shores graced with numerous\npretty villages. At 9 p.m. we reached Port Huron and its Canadian\nopposite neighbor, Sarnia. At this point is the southern outlet of Lake\nHuron, distant seventy-three miles from Detroit. Sarnia is also the\nwestern depot of the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada, while Windsor,\nfacing Detroit, terminates the Canadian Great Western. From Sarnia,\npassing old Fort Gratiot, over to Port Huron, the railway ferry boat,\npropelled by the current only, transfers its passengers to the cars of\nthe Grand Trunk line, on Michigan soil, and by a short branch\nintersects the Michigan Central Railroad, a few miles west of Detroit.\nFor over twelve hundred miles this iron road, fitly named the Grand\nTrunk, transports our Western products. Entering Lake Huron, with its\ninnumerable islands and almost wilderness shores, our sail through it,\nof two hundred and seventy-five miles in all, brought us early, on the\n2d of August, off Saginaw and Thunder Bays, its western arms, with\nPresque Isle, the Great Manitoulin Island, bearing north by east; and by\nnoon, we reached Point de Tour, at the outlet of St. Mary's River, three\nhundred miles from Detroit, lying opposite to Drummond's Island.\n\nPoint de Tour has but a solitary dwelling, from whose roof rises the\nlight tower. Its inmates are said to have preferred this solitude to the\ncrowded refinement of a New England city. Shortly after, and still\ncoasting the western side, we stopped at Church's Landing, where an\nenterprising New Englander has built his log houses in the forest, amid\nthe Indians, and drives an active commerce in _raspberry jam_. His trade\nhas prospered, and he had just completed a new and handsome dwelling.\nFourteen miles farther brought us to Saut Sainte Marie, or the rapids of\nthe eastern outlet of Lake Superior.\n\nLake Huron is at an average height of five hundred and seventy-five feet\nabove the sea level, and one hundred feet in depth below Lake Superior,\nwith a length in direct line of two hundred and seventy-five miles, from\nPort Huron to Saut Sainte Marie. Georgian Bay, to the east of the Great\nManitoulin Island, is its broad eastern expansion; while, on the west,\nthe Straits of Mackinaw open into the vast expanse of Lake Michigan,\nextending a length of four hundred and forty-six miles to Chicago. The\nborders of Lake Huron are sparsely peopled. The primitive forest bends\nover the lake's clear waters, and surrounds the log cabin or infant\nsettlement with the wigwam and canoe of the Indian half breeds, who are\nstill fishing and hunting round the graves of their ancestors-once the\nfiercest of all the warrior races that scarce forty years ago as\nsovereigns roamed its wilds.\n\nThe majestic solitudes of these lakes first received the white man in\n1679, when the discoverers La Salle and Hennepin, in the vessel of sixty\ntons, which they had built with their Indians at Cayuga Creek, sailed up\nNiagara River, Lakes Erie, St. Clair, and Huron, to Mackinaw, and thence\nthrough Lake Michigan to the mouth of Green Bay. Entering Lake Erie on\nthe 7th of August, 1691, they arrived at Green Bay on the 2d of\nSeptember following, encountering many storms and cautiously seeking\ntheir untried way. After gathering a rich cargo of furs, the vessel, in\ncharge of the pilot and five men, started to return, and was heard of no\nmore. She doubtless perished with her crew in a gale on Lake Huron. She\ncarried seven cannon, was well manned and armed, adorned with carved\ngriffin and eagle heads, and bore the banner and religion of France amid\nall the border tribes.\n\nSurely the voyage of Columbus, discovering Hispaniola, while sailing\nbefore and obeying the trade winds, did not surpass in real adventure\nthis simple expedition of those half-warrior pioneer voyageurs, Fathers\nHennepin and La Salle. The memory of their visit is yet immortal in the\nlocal names given by them and still cherished; while the influence of\nFrance still lingers at Detroit and many other prominent points in this\nwide region, once the empire of Louis XIV.\n\nWe reached the Saut Sainte Marie about 4 P. M. of the 2d of August. Here\nthe River St. Mary, or the eastern outlet of Lake Superior, after a wide\ncourse of fifty miles, gathers the multitude of its waters into a narrow\nchannel of less than a mile in width and length, of swift and impassable\nrapids.\n\nThe grand Ship Canal, with its stone banks of about eighty feet width\nand three locks, transports the largest tonnage around these rapids.\nThis great work was completed in 1857 by the contractors, Erastus\nCorning, of New York, Fairbanks, and others, for a contract price of\nseven hundred and fifty thousand acres of land, chiefly mineral, in the\nState of Michigan. During our steamer's canal passage of about two\nhours, we were interested by the picturesque scenery, untenanted save by\nthe wigwam and the bark canoe. As usual, upon the arrival of the\nsteamer, the long canoe, steadily held by a single boy and paddle, in a\ncurrent swift as the Niagara, shoots out into the Saut, while the\nIndian, standing erect in the canoe, poising his harpoon and scrap net,\nstrikes or swoops in the large and delicious white fish, assured of a\ncapacious basketful and more, before the steamer leaves the canal.\n\nAnd thus we floated onward to the bosom of great Superior.\n\nOur course was along the St. Mary outlet, northwesterly toward White\nFish Point, on the main south shore, projecting far out into the lake.\nWe were hence carried miles away from sight of the famed-pictured rocks\nor of any land. Tending southerly and still westward, we steamed on over\nthe dark waters, during a serene night, until daylight showed us the\nbeautiful town of Marquette. Scarce seven years old, the fruit of the\niron mining in its vicinity, it spreads its neat white cottages around\nthe crescent of its bay and river on an amphitheatre of hills. The rail\ntrain destined to Bai de Noc, on Green Bay, and finished to Marquette\nMines, in all some eighteen miles, was starting upon our arrival.\nMarquette, though so young, a mere group of cottages, fronting a\nwilderness, from its rich mines of the best iron, has become at once a\nscene of industry and large outlay of capital; while the beauty of its\nposition and its unrivalled climate, surpassing all others on Lake\nSuperior, have already made it the most attractive summer resort, as\nwell for the pleasure traveller as the pulmonary invalid. Its climate,\nwithout the sea air, has a cool, silken softness, reminding one of\nNewport, Rhode Island. It is more equable and certain; the summer\naverage is 66 deg., and the winter 41 deg.; while the lake wind and evaporation\nsecure it from the rapid changes of the sea shores.\n\nMarquette is the lake port and entrepot of the short range of iron\nmountains which adjoin their sisters, known as the Porcupine Mountains,\nin whose depths lies the famous copper ore, not unmixed with silver and\nother precious deposits. This great mountain fortress extends from\nMarquette to Montreal River, beyond Ontonagon, the western boundary of\nthe State of Michigan, in a line of about twelve to eighteen miles south\nof the lake, and often approaches two thousand feet in height, lifting\nits forest sides in constant view for more than two hundred miles.\nLeaving Marquette and the iron range at 7 A.M., on the 3d of\nAugust, we sailed for Portage, the first harbor in the copper mountains,\narriving about noon.\n\nPortage is a shallow bay or mouth of the river of the same name, on the\neast shore of Keewaiwonah Promontory, or, as it is commonly called,\nKeweenaw Point. The mines and town of Portage lie at the mountains,\nabout sixteen miles inland. A few huts were the only signs of settlement\nat the bay. Tugs landed the freight and passengers, and we soon left the\nwooded bank for the broad expanse of the lake, turning the head of the\npromontory, and at 5 P.M. reaching Copper Harbor on its\nnorthwest shore. Here we lay till morning. The village is small, at the\nbase of a lower range of mineral mountains, spurs of the main chain.\n\nThe Clarke Copper Mine is within two miles of the wharf. This mine, like\nmany others, has had many owners. It had just gone through the\nexperiments of a French company, which expended its capital, as\nalleged, in building fine roads, bridges, and residences for its agents,\nwhile the mining had scarcely reached one hundred and twenty feet deep,\nand then employed only six Frenchmen as its miners, whose ore product\nwas little over three per cent. of copper. In other hands, perhaps, it\nmay now yield a better reward.\n\nWe were much amused with the description given by these Frenchmen of the\nmishaps of their ill-directed enterprise. Persistent as Chinese,\nresembling many others of the French nation in their ignorance of our\ncountry, language, or customs, they had passed through many droll\nblunders, which rendered their narrative highly entertaining.\n\nCopper Harbor, although so small, only then claiming about seventy legal\nvoters in the entire township, including the mines, was promised the\nunusual treat of a political address that evening, as duly placarded,\nfrom a gentleman, who was then candidate for Governor of Michigan, and\ncame in our boat. The apathy and indifference of the free and\nenlightened electors of Copper Harbor were remarkable. A small, dingy\nroom, adjoining the only store, was the destined arena; and therein,\ndimly lighted by some tallow candles, long sat the candidate--alone: a\nrejected Timon, whose reflections were never published. The only\ninterest taken in the meeting (that came under my notice) was an anxious\ninquiry by the owner of the building for his rent and expense of\ncandles, etc., payment of which was alleged to have been refused by the\ncandidate.\n\nSingularly happy Copper Harbor! your contented equanimity is unruffled\nby all the stormy strife of politicians.\n\nIts lake front is graced by a fort, now and long since a water-cure\nestablishment. All these Western forts, erected many years ago, seem not\nintended for offence, but rather as stockades or blockhouses of shelter\nfrom the Indians. They are arranged as extensive tenements within,\npierced for musketry, and only in some cases with terraces for cannon.\nThese frontier forts, long the dwelling of the hunter or his family in\nthe wilderness, were guarded by the company of troops who protected the\nsettlers and maintained the sovereignty of our flag and nation over\nthese remote wilds. They are always placed in the most eligible and\ncommanding positions, and seem as if by design to have secured the\nsettlement of these points, which in all cases have become the thronged\ncities or favorite towns of the ever-growing West. Thus, in Europe, the\nancient Roman fortified camps on their frontiers founded Cologne,\nChester, Vienna, Milan, Verona, and other cities, once their military\noutposts against barbarism.\n\nAbout 7 A. M. of the 4th August, we left Copper Harbor on our\ncourse, and soon reached Eagle River. This is another copper-mining\nsettlement, straggling along its poor harbor, somewhat larger than\nCopper Harbor, and more picturesque. Landing a few of our company, we\nsailed to Ontonagon, the largest of these copper-mine towns (perhaps two\nthousand in population), and situated upon a sand reach at the mouth of\nits river, which leads to the Great Minnesota Mine, eighteen miles\ndistant.\n\nEarly in the clear morning of the 5th of August, we were moving up\nAllouez Bay. Sounding slowly over its bar, and passing Minnesota Point\nand Island, between the mouths of the Rivers St. Louis and Nemadji, we\narrived at Superior City, our destined haven.\n\n_Superior City_, by its pretentious name, great distance, and our\nexpectations, had risen to much importance in our imagination, but the\nactual scene presented a wide contrast. A large town--or metropolis--on\na poor harbor, without interior resources or communications, had been\nhastily projected. It is called the head of ocean navigation, and the\nterminus of many proposed but as yet imaginary railroads. While the\ntitles to all the land are still in litigation, the wilderness shades\nits streets, and, saving the rare arrival of the Indian mail carrier on\nsnow shoes, during six months of intense cold, they are isolated from\nall humanity. Its grand prospectus, some five years before, had drawn\nthere about three thousand people; and soon afterward, starved and\ndisappointed, nearly all, save perhaps five hundred, had deserted. About\ntwo miles of streets, planked from the mud, with frame dwellings, had\nbeen constructed, and they had already attained the first municipal\nblessing--_taxes-_-to the total of $45,000, payable by this feeble\nremnant of a settlement, mainly of abandoned dwellings. Should the\nrailroads so frequently surveyed and designed to terminate here be\nreally built, Superior City may see, to some extent, in future years,\nsomewhat of that prosperity which its projectors, blinded by their\nhopes, had thought already realized.\n\nFew positions are more picturesque. In front, the shores of Portland and\nMinnesota rise in beautiful grandeur, and the bay and harbor, although\nimperfect, are richly wooded and very graceful; while, all the way\nthither, from La Pointe, the lake's waters, lying among the mountains,\nshadowed by their heavy foliage, remind one much of the scenery of the\nLower Danube. This _ghost of a city_ had not much left of interest, and\nwe passed our day in arranging for the journey across the country\nsouthward to St. Paul.\n\nAnd here we found ourselves really _pioneers_. No road or transport was\nalleged to exist. We persevered. Indians and trappers beset us with\ntheir projects of tracking and portage by the St. Croix and other\nrivers, requiring a camp life with strange companions of nearly a month\nto accomplish the distance of only one hundred and sixty-three miles,\nequivalent to that of Albany from New York. A military road direct\nthrough the wilderness had been often surveyed, and once cut through, of\nabout eighty feet width, to near Sunrise City, fifty miles from St.\nPaul; at which point the dense forest spreads into oak openings and\nbeautiful prairies. This single cutting, long overgrown in lofty pines,\nwith the frequent surveys and contracts, from the year 1852 to 1857, had\ncost the United States Government, for this distance of about one\nhundred and twelve miles, $150,000; and no actual road had ever yet been\nmade. Fortunately for our enterprise, we met a gentleman who had just\ngroped through safely on horseback. We were reassured, and engaged the\nonly available wagon and team--a small, frail affair, devoid of cover,\nseats, or springs; and, with ample provisions, perched upon our luggage,\nwe rolled out of Superior City that evening, and, passing its\nsignificantly large cemetery, we at once entered the forest. These woods\nare chiefly of pine, cedar, tamarack, or hemlock, gigantic in size, a\ndreary solitude, unvisited by any bird or game, save an occasional hawk\nor owl. They are but the southern outposts of that forest army which\nbegirds Hudson's Bay, and spreads its gloomy barrier of the same trees\naround the dominions of the Ice King, while it is the only forest to be\nmet with in all the Mississippi Valley.\n\nThe width of about eighty feet--that theoretical road for which the\nUnited States had paid so often and so well--was seen between the\nmightiest sentinel trees; but in the midst had sprung up a fresh growth,\noften nearly one hundred feet high, surrounded by huge stumps, and heavy\nundergrowth of the renewing forest, varied with hopeless mudholes and\nswamps, and only at intervals of about twenty miles was there any\nhabitation.\n\nSuch was the _great military road_. Perhaps its progress equalled the\nactual wants of this region; for population had not yet crowded any of\nthe forest borders. It was then by the adjoining townships, under State\nlaws, feebly commencing to be really made as a road; and frequently we\nhalted at the camps of these hardy sons of toil. Our first twenty-one\nmiles to Twin Lakes, at the best speed, with good horses, occupied eight\nhours, three of which, in the middle of the night, were passed under\ndeluging rain accompanied by thunder and lightning of the most appalling\ngrandeur, thumping in the shelterless wagon over stumps and bogholes\nthrough the dreary woods.\n\nTwin Lakes--or the isthmus between two small lakes, in the depths of the\nforest--is a solitary log house and stable. Its proprietor and our\nlandlord for the night's shelter was, I believe, named John Smith. With\nhis family he had lived there, keeping this _hotel_ for some years,\nowning _several lots_ in the paper _City of Twin Lakes_, rich in the\nanticipated tide of gain to flow from the crowded thoroughfare of the\ngreat military road.\n\nHappy man! we were the first party _on wheels_ that had yet essayed the\nroad. Perhaps his posterity, by patience, may win their reward.\n\nOur rain deluge, with sheeted lightning and pealing thunder, was\nceaseless throughout the night. Its echoes amid the forest solitudes\nwere awful; and our fitful sleep was varied by the rain dripping between\nthe logs of our shelter.\n\nHowever, morning came at last, bright, clear, and calm; and early we\nresumed our wagon and way-picking among the familiar logs and stumps,\ncontesting as for life with legions of mosquitoes, sandflies, etc. And\nthus we made thirty miles farther (halting at a camp for dinner) to the\n_City of Chengwatana_, which is so named on the large and beautiful map\nthereof, prepared in New York. It is laid out in Broadways, Fifth\nAvenues, Lydig Avenue, and, I believe, Daly Square, so named from J.\nDaly, of New York, with parks, colleges, etc., etc., adequate for a\nmillion of inhabitants. This fine imaginary picture proved unavailing to\nsell the land. It still remains a swamp bordering Snake River, in the\nbosom of the wilderness; and its entire population was only one German\nand his family--really indefinite in number of children--and two log\nhouses, between which he vibrated at pleasure.\n\nOur arrival was in another violent rain, lasting far into the night; but\nwe considered ourselves, by this time, road and water proof. On the\nriver shore, by the red glare of the fire light a wigwam and some\nIndians were visible; and frequently we heard their rifle shots. To our\nsurprise, in the morning, instead of deer, they brought in a large\nbasket of lake trout, each pierced through the head with a bullet when\napproaching the fire light.\n\nMorning found us early on our hard way to the famed _City of Fortuna_,\nwhose picture displayed a similar origin and imagination, and its\nreality was even more doleful.\n\nFortuna City, on Kettle River, in the woods, contained three log cabins,\nand no inhabitants. A boy came hither, perhaps from Superior, the day\nbefore, to meet our party. After repelling some furious charges of the\nmosquito cavalry, who displayed their vigor after long starving, we gave\nup the contest, and attempted sleep.\n\nTo our log cabin had come that day several engineers, who formed a\nsurveying party for another railroad project, passing through this\nforest from St. Paul, whence they had started a month before with an\nample wagon train. The Indians had murdered the drivers and captured the\nwagons with their entire property; and in their destitution they sought\nthis only shelter. We took them forward with us into St. Paul, and were\ngreatly indebted for their intelligent society and kind attentions.\n\nFortuna City had one peculiar interest to us; it was the _last halt_ and\nlodging in the forest. Our next day's ride--if such it may be\ncalled--brought us to the oak openings at Folsom's, a clearing on the\nsouthern skirt of this wilderness, and shortly after to Sunrise City.\n\nOur forest journey to-day was varied by the utter collapse of the wagon\nin a vain charge upon an obstinate stump; and perforce we walked for\nmiles, till reaching a camp of the road workers on the farther bank of\nGrindstone River, we joyfully forded and found shelter from the noontide\nheat and mosquitoes; while the German sutler, who alone remained, busied\nhimself in his primitive _al fresco_ cookery, which we enjoyed, and\nthen, exchanging to another wagon, hastened on to our destination.\n\nThe oak openings--those grand parklike expanses and rolls of land, with\nstately groups of giant oaks--far surpassing all culture of man, set out\nby the Creator on such a noble forest background, never looked more\nmajestic and beautiful. They were vocal with singing birds, and filled\nwith life; at their foot thronged the grouse or prairie chicken, darting\nthrough the high flowering grasses (richer than all garden flowers) in\nsuch numbers that but a few feet from our wheels we shot them in great\nabundance.\n\n_Sunrise City_--a village but of yesterday (public lands, for sale by\nproclamation, adjoining)--is beautifully placed on Sunrise River, and\nmight have then contained about five hundred inhabitants, whose neat\nwhite cottages and pleasant streets, bordering a romantic river and\nbridge, made a picture not unlike the scenery of Warwickshire, England.\n\nWe reached here--fifty miles still north of St. Paul--to pass the first\nnight of our ride in a comfortable dwelling.\n\nMany a fine farm, just cleared and broken, attracted us here, and hence\nalong the prairie road into St. Paul, where we arrived at the close of\nthe following day, which proved to be, as we kept no calendar, Thursday,\nthe 9th of August.\n\nOur drive this last day led past numerous linked lakes, with their\nborders of the tall Minnesota rice grass in flower, the home of the\ncanvas back, pelican, and swan. Passing through the village of Little\nCanada, we rode on to Minnehaha Prairie along its gentle, verdant slope,\nand lapse of shining waters of Twelve Lakes, graced with the names of\nComo, Garda, etc., and adorned with many a pretty boat and sail. A few\nmiles further brought us to the upper terrace of beautiful St. Paul.\n\nAs pioneers of this wilderness route, we met with marked attention from\nall, and passed some agreeable days at St. Paul, Fort Snelling,\nMinneapolis, St. Anthony, and their numerous points of interest. Our\nhomeward route was by the Mississippi River to Prairie du Chien, where\nold Fort Crawford, then a mere tenement, commands the confluence of the\nWisconsin River with the Father of Waters. This sail of three hundred\nmiles consumed forty-eight hours.\n\nThe river banks recede and advance in lake-like expanses along its\nwinding course, and their richly wooded heights, crowned with red\nsandstone, resemble the ruined Rhine castles. The sail through Lake\nPepin, and between the States of Minnesota, Iowa, and Wisconsin, was\nvaried by frequent and thriving towns and villages.\n\nFrom Prairie du Chien--a picture of straggling despair--by the Milwaukie\nand Prairie du Chien Railroad, and the Northwestern Railroad, two\nhundred and twenty-two miles, we reached Chicago, and passed through a\ncrowd of beautiful towns, in a State scarce a generation since reclaimed\nfrom the Indians. Familiar railroads transported us from Chicago to\nDetroit, Niagara, Albany, and New York.\n\nOur whole distance of travel in three weeks was thirty-four hundred and\nforty-one miles. It was brief, but spiced with adventure, and over a\nfield of vast interest, present and future.\n\nOur beautiful country, made one and indivisible by the great and good\nAuthor of its existence, through its mighty natural features, has,\namong its chief grandeurs, this water system of the great northern\nlakes, the frontier of the ever-progressive and patriotic West and\nNorth. In dimensions, sublimity, and beauty, by the consent of all, it\nis without parallel on earth.\n\nA volume of the purest fresh water is gathered in Lake Superior, without\nvisible, adequate supply, to a depth of one thousand feet, with a length\nof near five hundred miles, and average breadth of one hundred and sixty\nmiles, on a bottom lifted six hundred feet above sea level.\n\nThis incalculable mass of water moves its limpid wave through the Saut\nSainte Marie into its twin seas, Lakes Michigan and Huron, then by St.\nClair and Detroit Rivers is poured through Lake Erie, ever gradually\ndescending, till, at great Niagara, 'The Thunder of the Waters,' it\ntosses in fury along its rapids, leaps the cataract in glory, at a rate\nof one hundred millions of tons of water the hour, and then sweeps away\ninto Lake Ontario, to form that northern Mississippi, the River St.\nLawrence, which, for over one thousand miles, holds on its ever\nincreasing and widening current, in majesty to the broad Atlantic. By\nthe canals at the Falls and Saut Sainte Marie, direct and continuous\nship and steam navigation for sea-going vessels from the Atlantic to\nSuperior City, the extreme Northwest, or Chicago on the Southwest, over\nthree thousand miles through the heart of the continent, is open, while\nthe American coast line along these great waters, exceeds thirty-two\nhundred miles. Complete in itself, the source of life, health, fine\nclimate, fertility, wealth, and countless blessings to all its shores\nand valleys, it is divided by lofty barriers from all the other chief\nwater systems of the United States. The Mississippi rises in the\nhighlands of Minnesota at Lake Itasca, more than one hundred miles west\nof Lake Superior, and gathers in its course all the rivers of its\nvalley. Still loftier mountains separate the sources of the Hudson and\nConnecticut, and the other rivers of the Atlantic slope.\n\nBlessed with soil and climate unsurpassed, and a Government the nearest\nto perfection, this region, watered by a mighty inland ocean, is already\nthe chief granary of the world, as well as its great mineral store,\nalthough its railway system is not yet extended to its utmost limits;\nand beyond Michigan it is scarce thirty years since the Americans gained\na settlement in its borders.\n\nThe greatness of ancient Europe, Asia, and Africa gathered along the\nshores and harbors of the Mediterranean; all beyond was barbarism, bound\nto the sovereigns of the Midland Sea only by terror of arms. Even to\nthis day, the laws and literature of those master nations are yet\ndominant in all the learning and social polity of Europe. This great\nnorthern water system is geographically the Mediterranean of the North\nAmerican continent, and Minnesota, the actual centre, is its _omphalos_.\n\nThe geographical centre of North America in the heart of Minnesota is\nalso the pinnacle of its watershed--the central source of the majestic\nrivers whose vast basins determine the physical contour, climates,\nproducts, commerce, industry, and political destiny of two-fifths of the\nwhole continent.\n\nWith such a theatre for development, the future of this great area, in\nnear grasp, surpasses conception. Egypt, with it endless renown,\ndwindles into insignificance in comparison. The paramount supremacy of\nany nation depends wholly on its utility to the rest of mankind.\n\nThe warrior nation yields in turn to a stronger foe, while all alike are\nwilling tributaries to the natural arbiter of commerce and source of\nfood supply. Wars, by the laws of Providence, attend the convulsions of\nnational change and growth; but all alike ever welcome the white-winged\ndoves of commerce as the ministers and messengers of national glory and\nprosperity.\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH AND AMERICAN TAXATION.\n\n\nThere have been few more striking circumstances connected with the\ntranscendent changes which have taken place in this country during the\npast three years than the steady verification, amid every change, of\nthose great principles of political economy which, during the past half\ncentury, have been the practical guides of European legislation. In\nfact, under the pressure of war we are slowly coming to realize our\nfellowship with the communities of the Old World in the laws of social\nchange. Step by step the nation is now passing through all the changes\nin its internal and domestic condition that took place in Great Britain\nin the wars with Napoleon. Struck with the novelty and apparent\nanomalies of our condition, we have been inclined to feel that it was\nwithout parallels in history. But in that period of English history\nwhich beheld a suspension of specie payment protracted twenty years, an\nenormous expansion of the currency--the appreciation of gold--a rise in\nprices unparalleled in any country--a wild spirit of speculation--and,\nwith all, an appearance of astonishing prosperity in the midst of a most\nexhausting war, we see the reflection of our own condition, and find the\nlessons by which we should be governed. We have now, for the first time,\nbecome a people conscious of taxation. It is clear that the burdens of\nthe future must be still greater than anything we have yet borne in the\npast. The questions as to the best modes of taxation have already begun\nto call forth the anxious deliberation of the nation. The question is\nasked by some if we have not already reached that limit where taxation\nceases to be a contribution from the surplus of society, and beyond\nwhich it will become a draught on the vital, productive energies of the\ncountry. It cannot be unprofitable, at such a time, to examine the\nhistory of English taxation in the great periods of similar trial\nthrough which that nation has passed.\n\nThe great rebellion marks the era of the adoption of a regular system of\ntaxation in Great Britain. 'From a period of immemorial antiquity,' says\nMacaulay, 'it had been the practice of every English Government to\ncontract debts; what the Revolution introduced was the practice of\nhonestly paying them.'\n\nThe change is significant of the triumph of the people. It was found, on\nthe breaking out of the rebellion, that not even an army of Puritans\ncould be sustained without money. The plan of weekly assessments was at\nfirst adopted. It was unequal and frequently oppressive. In 1643 it was\nproposed, in the republican Parliament, to place a tax on the\nmanufacture of beer and cider. The proposition was not at first\nfavorably received. That solemn body had no objection to checking the\nabominations of beer drinking, but it hesitated to inaugurate a species\nof taxation which seemed to infringe upon some of the most cherished\nrights of Englishmen. After much discussion the bill was carried, though\nwith the express declaration that it was compelled by the necessities of\nthe state, and should not be renewed. The tax was soon found too\nconvenient to be dispensed with. In spite of the good resolutions of\nParliament, the act was again and again renewed. As the necessities of\nthe state increased, the list of articles was enlarged, and the rate of\nduty gradually augmented. Thus the excise was introduced to the English\npeople, and thus, almost before they had ceased to look upon it as an\nintruder, it had acquired a foothold in the budget, from which it has\nnever since been possible to shake it. The burden of the excise at this\nperiod, however, was not oppressive. During the Commonwealth and the\nreign of Charles II. a tax, which has since produced to the state an\nannual income of $90,000,000, did not probably average more than\nL500,000. It gives us a singular picture of the simplicity of that\nperiod that even this small sum made up one third of the whole royal\nrevenue for the year. The other two thirds were drawn in about equal\nproportions from the customs and crown lands.\n\nWe now approach one of the most important eras in the financial history\nof England. The nation was yet unaccustomed to taxation, and was weighed\ndown by no national debt. In the Revolution of 1688, and the events that\ngrew immediately out of it, we find, however, the origin of nearly every\nspecies of tax now in use in Great Britain. In the same agitated period\nwe find also the beginning of the national debt. Louis XIV. espoused the\ncause of James, and England entered upon a war with France. In a\nconflict with the greatest monarchy of Europe, the Government soon found\nitself forced to adopt a scale of national expenditure which the\npreceding generation would not have conceived possible. At once, as in a\nnight, a harvest of strange taxes sprang up on every hand. The list of\nexcisable articles was increased. The tax on houses and windows, that\nhad been so unpopular in the preceding reign, was again introduced, and\na new appraisement was made of all the real estate in the kingdom. A\ndegenerate age might take exceptions to some of the other taxes now\ninstituted. An act was passed placing a tax upon bachelors and widowers,\nfixing, at the same time, 'certain rules and duties on marriages,\nbirths, and burials, for the term of five years, for the carrying on the\nwar against France with vigor.' Men were not even permitted to enjoy the\nsubtile luxury derived from having a title attached to the name without\ntaxation. Persons of the present day, wishing to know the relative value\nof the titles, will be interested in the following law, passed at this\ntime:\n\n  Every person bearing the title of\n  esquire, or reputed, or owning, or\n  writing himself such, shall pay      L5\n\n  Every gentleman, or reputed gentleman,\n  or owning himself such,\n  shall pay                            L1\n\nThese, however, were by no means the most burdensome forms of taxation.\nA man would willingly pay for the distinction of writing himself an\nesquire, who would grumble with dissatisfaction at the duty on his salt.\nBut to meet the increasing expense of the state, and 'carrying on the\nwar with vigor in France and Ireland' (the propitiating clause with\nwhich nearly all the acts of taxation of the period close), the most\nminute articles, both of necessity and luxury, were required to bear a\nportion of the common burden. The nation bore its unaccustomed load with\nsingular patience. A license duty on hackney coaches, imposed in 1693,\ncalled forth, however, opposition from an unexpected quarter. The\noutraged wives of the hackmen assembled, and, to express their\nindignation at the tax, mobbed the offending members of Parliament on\ntheir way from the House. It should be mentioned, as showing the\nintrepidity of that body, or, more probably, the great necessities of\nthe state, that the tax remained unchanged. In spite of all these taxes,\nthe greatest difficulty was experienced in procuring funds to carry on\nthe war. A general lack of confidence in the stability of the Government\nprevented men from taking up readily the loans which the Government was\nforced to call for. Various expedients were adopted to attract the\ncupidity of capitalists. Among these the most successful was the custom\nof receiving loans upon tontines. This was a species of annuity. Twenty\nor thirty persons united in the purchase from Government of an annuity\nupon the joint lives of their whole number. At the death of each his\nshare went to those who remained, and was distributed equally among\nthem. The final survivor took the whole annuity. No inducements,\nhowever, were sufficient to overcome the popular distrust. The national\ndebt had already begun to accumulate. Exchequer bills sold on the street\nat forty per cent. discount; while, at the same time, a wild spirit of\nspeculation and adventure, such as is too apt to be produced by the\nunnatural excitements of a state of war, had seized upon the popular\nmind, and threatened, in its reaction, to bring the whole nation to\nruin.\n\nIt was at this time of excitement and danger that the National Bank was\nestablished. It was not at first favorably received. But the effect of\nits steadying influence soon began to be felt in the whole financial\ncondition of the state. It even checked for a time the frenzied spirit\nof stock jobbing, which was absorbing the strength of the nation, and\nwith which a few years later, when the whole country ran wild with the\nSouth Sea Bubble, it was so nearly involved in a mortal struggle. Under\nthe influence of the Bank, the business of the nation gradually acquired\nan evenness and stability which was unknown to any former age.\n\nBut while the establishment of this National Bank supplied the\nGovernment with a ready and economical method of procuring funds, it did\nnot do away with the necessity of taxes. A new form of taxation was now\nfurnished by the Dutch. This small and ingenious people, in the defence\nof their liberty, had been early forced into extraordinary expenditures,\nand were in advance of every other nation in the perfection of their\nsystem of taxation. The English Parliament had, in the preceding age,\nborrowed from them the excise. They now took from the same source the\nidea of stamp duties. This species of tax had been invented in a\ncompetition for a prize offered by the Dutch Government for the\ndiscovery of a new form of tax, which should press lightly on the\npeople, and, at the same time, produce a large revenue to the state.\nStamps were introduced in England in the year 1693. The nation was now\nin possession of the four most important methods of taxation: customs,\nexcise, licenses, and stamps. The first had existed in the island from a\nperiod of immemorial antiquity. The second was introduced by the Great\nRebellion. The third and fourth came in with the wars attendant upon the\naccession of William and Mary.\n\nOf these different forms it may be said, that the second is most\nobnoxious to the people, and the third most unequal. We should add,\nperhaps, to this list the land tax, which, founded on the new assessment\nmade by William, became from this time a regular source of revenue. In\nthis period, we see, was laid the foundation of the whole system of\ntaxation now in use in this country and in Great Britain. The hundred\nyears that followed produced no new species of tax. The five forms which\nwe have mentioned, however, were diligently cultivated. In the nine\nyears which immediately followed the accession of William and Mary,\nabout forty distinct acts of taxation were passed by Parliament. Still\nit was impossible for a nation counting less than six million\ninhabitants to pay the expenses of a vast and protracted war by\nimmediate taxation. In 1697 a debt existed of about one hundred million\ndollars. This is the foundation of that national debt which, with\ntrifling exceptions, has been constantly increasing for more than two\ncenturies, and which now occupies a position of influence not second to\nthat of the throne itself. The importance of the Bank increased with the\ngrowth of the debt, and the effects of their combined influence appeared\non every hand. They were the national pledges for the stability of the\nGovernment.\n\nEvery fresh rumor of preparation on the part of the exiled Stuarts to\nenter England, filled the people with alarm for the safety of the Bank.\nAnd when, in 1745, Charles Edward landed in Scotland, and made his\nromantic advance into the kingdom, an enormous run was begun on the\nBank. It was prevented from doing harm only by the patriotism of the\nLondon merchants. In this brief rebellion the people realized the\nimportant financial interest which each citizen had acquired in the\npermanency of the existing Government and the stability of the reigning\nhouse.\n\nAt first Parliament had proceeded in the imposition of its taxes on the\nprinciple that a tax, to be equitable and easy, should be distributed\nover a great variety of articles. It was argued that a man would pay a\nsmall duty on a large number of things with less inconvenience and\nconsciousness of burden than if the same tax was levied upon a few\nprominent articles. The pettiness of the tax would keep him in a kind of\ndeception as to the total amount he was paying, which not even the\nfrequency with which he was called upon to pay it would entirely remove.\nThis theory, together with a condition of state in which the wants of\nGovernment were constantly increasing, produced, in the time of William\nand Mary, a constant multiplication of petty taxes. In the early part of\nthe following reign many of these were consolidated in separate funds,\nwhich were designated to pay specific parts of the national debt.\n\nBut the number of articles subject to taxation was not reduced. The\nrestlessness of the people under the numerous exactions of the excise\nsoon, however, suggested the necessity of a change. Government now\npassed to one of those extremes which were only too common in an age\nwhen political economy had not yet risen into a science, and legislation\nwas only an art of shifts and expedients. In 1736 a tax of five dollars\nupon the gallon was imposed on all English-made spirits, with a\ncorresponding protective tariff on those of foreign manufacture. The\nresult of this extraordinary tax proved the folly of its originators. It\nfailed as a source of revenue, and, so far from removing these articles\nbeyond the reach of the poor, which had been one of the designs of the\nbill, it was estimated that the business of smuggling was so stimulated\nby the enormous bounty offered upon its labors, that the amount of\nspirits consumed in the kingdom during the existence of this tax was not\nsensibly diminished. After a short trial the tax was removed.\n\nThe work of reducing the list of excisable articles was nevertheless\nbegun, and from this time it went slowly, and, except as interrupted by\nextraordinary demands upon the state, steadily forward. Stamps, however,\nwere governed by a different law. Its inoffensiveness, the economy of\nits mode of collection, together with its ready availability, caused\nthis species of tax to be brought into more and more extensive use. In\nfact, a constant increase of taxation in some form had become necessary\nin order to meet the increasing expenses of the state. After the close\nof the war in 1697, strong efforts were made to pay off the national\ndebt, the rising greatness of which filled all classes with alarm. No\ncorresponding efforts since have been rewarded with similar results. In\nthe brief period of peace that followed, the national debt was reduced\none fifth. Four expensive wars, following each other in rapid\nsuccession, overwhelmed the petty labors of the sinking fund, put an end\nto the work of diminution, and left the nation, at the beginning of the\nwar with her colonies in this country, oppressed with a debt of\n$600,000,000. It came out from this struggle with $500,000,000 added to\nthe burden of the state. This point of time may be fixed as the close of\nthe second epoch. A new class of changes now begin, which have had, if\npossible, a greater influence on the financial condition of England, as\nit exists at the present, than those we have already described.\n\nIn 1793, notwithstanding its enormous debt, the country boldly entered\nupon its great conflict with France. It is impossible to look without\nadmiration upon the obstinate energy displayed by the English nation\nduring this conflict, which lasted, with slight intermissions, for more\nthan twenty years, and by which the annual tax was quadrupled, and the\nnational debt increased beyond a chance of final extinction. In the\nastonishing revolution which it wrought in the financial condition of\nthe state, as well as in much of the social phenomena with which it was\naccompanied, this conflict strongly resembles that in which the States\nof the North are engaged against the South. The first effects of the war\nappeared in the tax system.\n\nGreat changes had taken place in Great Britain since the time of the\nintroduction of a regular system of taxation in 1688. Land was no longer\nthe most important source of income to the citizen. Profits from other\nsources had sprung up. Commerce had discovered the riches of the Eastern\ntrade, and manufactures, stimulated by new inventions, had begun to\nassume an importance and exert an influence which already threatened to\nrevolutionize the whole condition of society. Unconsciously to itself,\nthe nation had reached a point where any large increase in the demands\nof the state must produce a new species of taxation. The war with France\nsupplied the impulse required. In 1797, Government attempted to meet the\nextraordinary expenses of the year by tripling the tax on houses and\nwindows, etc. The experiment failed. It was found that these taxes,\nwhich had been the 'towers of strength' of a preceding generation, could\nno longer be relied on in the changed circumstances that had been\nbrought about by time.\n\nIt was in many respects one of the darkest periods in English history.\nThe Austrian armies, exhausted by repeated defeats, hoped only to be\nable to defend themselves if attacked. Spain and the Netherlands had\njoined themselves to France. Against the power of Napoleon England stood\nup alone. At this critical juncture, a mutiny broke out in the English\nnavy. The whole fleet in the channel refused to do duty. The fleet at\nthe Nore, catching the spirit of revolt, also raised the red flag. The\ndoctrines of the French Revolution were sedulously scattered throughout\nthe kingdom, and in several counties of Ireland actual uprisings had\ntaken place. Added to these were financial difficulties. The enormous\noutlays demanded for the prosecution of the war were very naturally\nweakening the public confidence in the final ability of the Government\nto pay the extravagant sums it was obliged to borrow. Under the\ninfluence of the distrust thus engendered stocks fell. Three per cents.,\nwhich had sold at 98, went down to 53. Many of the loans effected by the\nGovernment at this time and during the war were made with a discount of\nforty per cent. on the nominal value of the stock. Gold was scarce, and\nrapidly rising. The pressure on the Bank for redemption was greater than\nit had been since the rebellion of 1745, and threatened, unless\ncorrective measures were at once adopted, to bring that institution to\nactual bankruptcy.\n\nThe undaunted courage and resolution of the Government, in the midst of\nthis accumulation of difficulties, saved the country. The writ of habeas\ncorpus was suspended. By an admirable mingling of firmness and\nconciliation the mutiny was quelled in the navy without serious\nconsequences resulting to the state. To meet the financial difficulties,\nan act was passed by Parliament permitting the Bank to suspend specie\npayment--thus delivering the country, for a period of more than twenty\nyears, over to a wholly inconvertible paper currency. From these strong\nmeasures the enemies of the country anticipated the most disastrous\nresults. They were, however, doomed to disappointment. Even Napoleon at\nlength grew weary of prophesying the bankruptcy of a nation which every\nyear, from this time, gave more and more effective proofs of the\nstability of its finances. It was the singular fortune of Great Britain\nto have at the head of its finances, at this juncture, a man, who in a\ndifferent sphere, exhibited a spirit scarcely less bold, indomitable,\nand comprehensive than that of the First Consul himself. This man was\nMr. Pitt. The finances of Great Britain, even at the present day, bear\nwitness to the extraordinary changes instituted by this statesman. The\ntax on houses, windows, etc., had failed. In 1798, Mr. Pitt, with a\ncharacteristic fertility of invention, brought forward a bill laying a\ntax on incomes. By this bill, which is the foundation of all those that\nhave since followed, no tax was imposed on incomes that were less than\n$300; on incomes above this sum a small tax was laid, which gradually\nincreased until it became one tenth of all incomes over $1,000. The\nincome tax was designed by Mr. Pitt to be simply a war tax. According to\nhis plan the interest upon the national debt, which he kept funded as\nfar as possible, was to be provided for solely from the indirect taxes,\nleaving the direct tax to meet the extraordinary expenses of the war.\nThe most original feature of the financial system instituted by this\nstatesman, however, was the sinking fund. To prevent the rapid\naccumulation of the national debt, Mr. Pitt, even before the breaking\nout of the war with France, had obtained from Parliament permission to\nset aside six million dollars, with an addition, afterward made, of one\nper cent. of all the loans made by Government, as a fund to be expended\nin the purchase of Government stock. The rapid growth of this fund from\nthe constant compounding of interest would, he declared, be sufficient,\nultimately, to consume the entire debt of the state. The result seemed\nto justify his prediction. Constantly in the market, the sinking fund\nsaved the state, by its timely purchases many times during the war, from\nthe disastrous depreciation to which the public stock was liable at\nevery unfavorable turn of the conflict. In 1815, so enormous had been\nthe financial transactions of the state that this fund amounted to about\n$75,000,000.\n\nIn 1802 the income tax was discontinued; and, in the following year, was\nrenewed under the name of the property tax. The expenses of the state\ncontinued to rise, and it became necessary that this tax should be\nlargely increased. During the last ten years of the war the property tax\nrequired ten per cent. of all the incomes of the kingdom--with a few\nexceptions--to be paid into the national treasury every year. Never\nbefore had such a burden been laid on Englishmen. All classes groaned\nunder the exactions of a tax every penny of which they were made\nconscious of by direct collection. In comparison with the property tax\nall other burdens seemed easy. It is now clear, however, that the nation\ncould never have passed successfully through the great struggle in which\nit was engaged without the assistance of the tax upon incomes. It stood\nnext in order of productiveness to the excise. In the year 1815 the\nproperty tax produced seventy-five millions of dollars. Still the people\nremembered with pleasure that the word of Parliament had been given that\nit should not continue longer than the return of peace. The time was\neagerly looked forward to when that promise should be redeemed. Early in\n1816 the question of the continuance of the tax came up before\nParliament. A strong party, impressed with the importance of diminishing\nthe national debt, advocated its continuance. Every night, for two\nmonths, the subject was anxiously discussed. The motion for its\nabolition was at last carried. The vast crowd which had assembled\nwithout the Parliament House to await the result, caught the sound of\ncheering in the chamber, and, receiving it as a signal of success, rent\nthe air with shouts of joy. The enthusiasm spread with the news. Bells\nwere rung as for a great victory, and bonfires in all parts of the\nkingdom proclaimed the joy of the nation at its release from what was\nregarded the moat oppressive burden of the war. Twenty-five years later\nthe income tax was again revived.\n\nThe national debt at the close of the war with France amounted to a\nlittle more than $424,000,000,000. Of this, $300,000,000,000 had been\nadded by the war. During the last years of the contest the annual\nexpenditures of the state were $585,000,000. The population of the\nisland was at this time 13,400,000, from which $360,000,000 was annually\ncollected in taxes. It is important to notice the condition of the\npeople during this epoch. For nearly twenty years the country had been\nunder the uncontrolled influence of a paper currency. It had been a\nperiod of remarkable prosperity, coupled with unparalleled changes. And\nhere we find many points of resemblance with the present condition of\nour own country. The rapidly expanding currency, the enormous demands of\nthe war, and the spirit of speculation engendered by the sharp\nalternations of hope and fear, and the extraordinary fluctuations of the\nmarkets had stimulated in every branch of business a preternatural\nactivity. Manufactures, which the beginning of the war had found just\nrising into prominence, rapidly developed in an age of financial\nprofusion. No such progress had ever been made in a corresponding\nperiod. Exports were doubled. The shipping rose from one to two and a\nhalf million tons. The whole nation exhibited the singular spectacle of\na country constantly advancing in wealth and prosperity in the midst of\none of the most exhaustive wars that the world has ever seen.\n\nTo this, however, there was apparently, at least, one exception. Prices\nrose steadily from the beginning of the war. This was true not merely of\nunimportant articles, or those which, by the exercise of a more severe\neconomy, could be in part dispensed with. The cost of the necessaries of\nlife doubled. Wheat rose from forty-nine shillings per quarter in 1797\nto one hundred and forty shillings in 1813; while the beef which was\nsold in Smithfield market, at the beginning of the war, at three\nshillings per stone, constantly advanced in price, until the same\nquantity in 1814 could only be bought for six shillings. Malt, coal,\nwages--everything rose proportionately. Few questions have been the\nsubject of more discussion than the cause of this remarkable rise of\nprices. Two diverse explanations have been given, each put forth by men\nwhose habits of thought and opportunities for observation qualify them\nto speak on the subject with authority. One large party attribute the\nrise of prices that took place at this period, entirely to the influence\nof the suspension of specie payment by the Bank, which, as they say,\nflooded the country with an inflated and depreciated paper currency, and\nthus necessitated a corresponding rise in the price of the articles\ngiven in exchange for it. So strongly does this reasoning commend itself\nto the minds of those familiar with the first principles of political\neconomy, that it has been very generally accepted. And it is worthy of\nnotice that these are almost the only arguments which can be heard in\nexplanation of the similar rise of prices now going on in this country.\nA more subtile but very important class of influences were brought to\nnotice by another party, under the able leadership of Mr. Tooke. By\nthese the rise of prices is, to a large degree, attributed to the\nexcited spirit of speculation produced by the war, which, as they show,\ntwice during this period brought the country to the brink of ruin. In\nfavor of this explanation it may be further said that the fall of prices\nbegan immediately on the close of the war, and at no time was greater\nthan in 1817, two years before the resumption of specie payment by the\nBank. In 1819 the Bank of England resumed the payment of specie. Gold,\nwhich had been at one time at a premium of twenty-five per cent., now\nfell rapidly, and in 1821 was again at par.\n\nIt is difficult to say which has exerted the largest influence on the\nfinances of Great Britain--the Revolution of 1688, or the wars with\nFrance in the beginning of this century. The first gave to England its\nsystem of taxation, but the last developed the capabilities of that\nsystem, and adapted it to the wants of a growing and commercial people.\n\nThe nation came out of its long conflict with taxes pressing upon nearly\nevery important branch of industry. In the sixteen years that followed\nthe war with France, taxes to the amount of nearly $200,000,000, were\ntaken off from the country. These changes gave opportunities for many\nimportant reforms. While the national debt was slowly reduced, the tax\nsystem underwent great changes. Many taxes which had checked the growth\nof important branches of business were entirely removed. Efforts were\nmade to reduce the excise, which was always an unpopular form of\ntaxation. In carrying forward these changes, it was found that one\nreally productive tax might be made to take the place of a large number\nof small duties which pressed with peculiar severity upon the people.\nGovernment now turned longingly to that 'splendid source of revenue,' as\nit was aptly called, which it had so reluctantly relinquished in 1816.\nIn 1842, Sir Robert Peel suddenly brought forward a plan for a new tax\nupon incomes. It was at once adopted. This income tax differed, however,\nin many important particulars, from the one which the Government had\nbeen compelled to make use of in the wars with France. By it incomes\nunder $750 were exempt. A discrimination of very great importance was\nalso made, which has been the occasion since for much refined\ndiscussion, and is founded in sound reason, but which has hitherto been\nwholly overlooked in the legislation in this country. A discrimination\nwas made between salaries and the incomes divided from realized capital.\nTaxable incomes, partaking of the nature of a salary, and upon which a\ntax would have the character of a duty on capital, were required by the\nprovisions of this new act to pay only one half as much as those incomes\nwhich arose from, and would be therefore added to, wealth already\nacquired.\n\nThe income, or property tax, as it is now called, completes the system\nof taxation which is now relied upon to supply the varying but always\nenormous wants of Great Britain. Through these various sources during\nthe past year the English Government has collected an income of three\nhundred and fifty million dollars--about the same it obtained through\nthe same channels from a population of thirteen million inhabitants in\nthe closing years of the war with Napoleon. With the same system of\ntaxation, our own Government has, during the past year, obtained an\nincome of one hundred and eleven million dollars. If we examine\nparticularly the sources of the English revenue at these two epochs, and\ncompare them with the corresponding branches of taxation with us, we\nfind that in the year closing in 1815, the receipts from customs\namounted to about fifty-six million dollars--a sum, it will be noticed,\nconsiderably less than that drawn from the same source in this country\nfor the past year, but only about half the amount derived from customs\nin Great Britain in the year ending September, 1863. From the property\ntax was obtained about seventy-five million dollars--the modified form\nof this tax now in use in Great Britain produces about fifty million\ndollars per annum. Either of these sums is probably much larger than it\nwould be advisable to attempt to produce by a direct tax in this\ncountry. Stamps, in 1815, yielded an income of thirty million dollars.\nDuring the past year this simple and productive source of revenue\nproduced in Great Britain forty-five million dollars. It seems probable\nthat this species of tax might be extended in this country much farther\nthan it now is, without oppression to the people, and with a handsome\nincrease of the revenue.\n\nBut the excise has ever been the most productive fountain of revenue in\nGreat Britain. The income from this tax in that country, during the year\nending September, 1863, was eighty-four million dollars. In the year\n1815, when, on account of the smaller population, the other sources of\nrevenue were less productive than at the present day, the excise yielded\nan income of not less than a hundred and thirty-five million dollars. It\nis worthy of notice that, of this income, the tax upon the various forms\nof spirituous liquors supplied a large element. English spirits, which,\nin the experiment of 1736, it had been found could not carry a tax of\nfive dollars per gallon, it was now found easily bore the more moderate\nbut still large tax of ten shillings sixpence sterling. Aside from this\ntax was the duty on beer, cider, and malt, the last of which alone\nyielded an income of thirteen million dollars annually.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe have lingered on these details, which to many will be dry and\nuninteresting, because they supply a kind of guide to the changes which\nmust ultimately take place in the tax laws of this country, and because,\nfurther, they furnish an answer to all those objections which\nperiodically disturb the minds of the timid and doubtfully patriotic in\nour midst. But these lessons we must leave the reader to extract for\nhimself. We close simply with saying that, while excessive and\nundiscriminating taxation is always a curse, yet taxation, properly\nimposed, although severe and long continued, may be far from\ndisadvantageous. We have seen the English people slowly arising, through\ntwo centuries, from a nation comparatively free from taxation and\nwithout a national debt, to one bearing an annual tax of three hundred\nand fifty million dollars, and holding absorbed in its midst a national\ndebt of nearly four thousand million dollars. We have seen it during\nthis period constantly advancing in prosperity and greatness--the\nnational debt adding stability to the Government, and taxation giving\ncaution and stability to the transactions of private life.\n\n\n\n\nAPHORISMS.\n\nNO. I.\n\n\nOne of the most sublime of all facts beneath that of the Divine Being,\nappears in the existence of an immortal soul. There it stands--once for\nall, once forever. The earth might be wasted away, at the rate of a\nsingle grain in a century, without passing the very infancy of our\nspirit's life. How insignificant, in the comparison, a world like our\nown, in all its temporal aspects. What the future duration of the earth\nmay be, we have no means of knowing; but if less than endless, it is of\nlittle moment in the presence of the least capacious human soul.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LOVE LUCIFER.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nI find myself writing upon matters connected, at least, with, religion,\nwith the thought of saying something useful--of presenting a valuable\nexperience, if not a valuable congeries of new ideas. Most readers\ndeeply interested in religion are, by this time, demanding that I show\nmy colors--present my creed; otherwise they will shut themselves up from\nmy influence. As I write, church bells are ringing. I know that many of\nthose who now assemble to hang with a deathly solemnity upon the lips of\npreachers--while death, hell, heaven, eternity, atonement are the\nthemes--will say: 'He treats lightly the most serious matters: he treads\nwith dancing pumps on holy ground.' Now I claim to be, above all things,\nan earnest, solemn person. Yet do I verily believe that there is a\nhumorous side to all subjects, that is not ignored by even the loftiest\nbeings; and that, in a restricted sense, it may be said of all\nwell-balanced persons, as a philosopher has said of children: 'Because\nthey are in innocence, therefore they are in peace; and because they are\nin peace, therefore all things are with them full of mirth.' It must be\nadmitted, however, that if the 'orthodox' creed is wholly correct, we\nfind in the Puritans and their existing imitators the only consistent\nChristians. In view of the inevitable damnation of a majority of the\nrace, they set their faces against all mirth; would eat no pleasant\nbread, and wear no beautiful raiment. I followed them to the letter,\ntill, the 'naked eye' not being wholly blinded, nor the ear deafened by\ntheologic din, I saw that nature, in all her guises and voices, was\nfirmly opposed to all such gloomy dogmas.\n\nIn a word, then, as to creed, I find no satisfactory platform save that\nof the broadest eclecticism. The motto of the old Greek, 'Know that good\nis in all,' is mine. I am aware that the danger accruing from this style\nof creed is, that one often gets, in the effort at impartiality, into\nthe meshes of pantheism; and then your list of gods many and lords many\ncomprises all the chief divinities, from Brahm and Buddh to Thor; you\npriding yourself the while upon the consideration shown for 'local\nprejudices' by your not putting Christ at the end of the list. But,\nafter life-long investigation, I am not ashamed to say, in the words,\nthough not in the spirit of Emperor Julian, 'Galilean, thou hast\nconquered;' with Augustine, 'Let my soul calm itself in Thee; I say, let\nthe great sea of my soul, that swelleth with waves, calm itself in\nThee;' with De Stael, 'Inconcevable enigme de la vie; que la passion, ni\nla douleur, ni le genie ne peuvent decouvrir, vous revelerez-vous a la\npriere;' with practical Napoleon, 'I know men, and Jesus Christ was not\na man;' with a Chevalier Bunsen and a Beecher, 'Jesus Christ is my God,\nwithout any ifs or buts.' I can assent more decidedly than does\nTeuflesdroeck, in the 'Everlasting Nay,' to the doctrine of regeneration.\nI narrow the whole matter down to these plain facts: Of all religions,\nChristianity is best calculated to elevate man's nature; and of all\nChristians, they reach the highest spiritual condition who regard Christ\nas utterly divine.\n\nOn this other matter that enters so largely into my narrative--the\nconjugality of disembodied spirits--I cannot forbear some further\ndiscourse before proceeding historically. The absurd idea is still\nprevalent that there is no sex in heaven. Those who retain this notion,\ndespite the revelations of science concerning the universality of sex\nthroughout creation, cannot reason very candidly. When we find in the\nearth positives but no negatives, light but no heat, strength but no\nbeauty, action but no passivity, wisdom but no love, intellection but no\nintuition, reflection but no perception, science but no religion, then,\nat last, may we expect to see in the heavens men but no women.\n\nTake the conjugal element from human creatures, and you have Hamlet\nwithout the ghost. Excepting, perhaps, the religious, it is the most\npowerful, prominent, exacting part of our nature. In 'man's unregenerate\nstate,' at least, the love story is the most interesting book, marriage\nthe most interesting ceremony, true lovers' dalliance the most\ninteresting sight. For the beloved, one relinquishes all else--performs\nthe greatest prodigies. Marriage is the subject most thought of, most\ntalked about. Around it cluster all the other events of life. Rejoice,\nthen, O 'romantic' youth and maiden, now in the days of thy youth; for\nthis flitting romance--so soon interrupted by care and grief, by shop\nand kitchen and nursery, by butcher, baker, tailor, milliner, and\ncordwainer--is about the most genuine experience you will have in this\nworld. Therefore, say I, cultivate romance. Devour a goodly number of\nthe healthier novels. Weep and laugh over them--believing every word.\nAmadis de Gaul, even, is a better model than Gradgrind. Adore each the\nother sex--positively worship! Both are worshipful (in the 'abstract').\n\nWhat healthy-minded person loves not to behold the eye-sparkle of pure\nadmiration between young man and maid? 'They worship, truly, they know\nnot what.' In bowing down to their ideal, they bow to the _real_\nhuman--the purified man or woman of the better land. The recluse is ever\nthe true prophet and seer, in this as in still higher matters. Your\nmodest-eyed student, stealing glances of unfeigned admiration at\nordinary maidens, is not such a simpleton as some suppose. His seclusion\nhas cleared his vision. He sees on through the eons--sees things as they\nwill or may be--regards the objects of his adoration as he will in the\nangelhood. Why will so many decry this admiration?--when they see that,\nnot till the youth passes the purely romantic age--fourteen to sixteen\nor eighteen--and begins to have commonplace thoughts of the other sex,\ndoes mischief arise.\n\nThe idea of eternal conjugality should lighten all faces with hope, and\nshould have a most conservative influence in society. Those who are not\nvery well matched, and yet are conscious that the very highest earthly\nbliss comes of a right mating, are not content to pass through this life\nwithout enjoying this bliss, if they suppose that it appertains solely\nto earth. So, many of them break bounds and bonds. Let these but accept\nthe idea that conjugality is one of the chief features of the heavenly\nlife, and they can settle down steadily to the apparent duties of this\nsphere, content with 'peace on earth,' since now they feel sure of\nrapture in heaven--a rapture, too, mind you, of a kind with which they\nare somewhat acquainted. It is all very well to anticipate the fact\nwhich 'eye hath not seen,' etc. But men need the prospect of an eternal\njoy they know of, as much as they needed that awe-inspiring Jehovah\nshould outwork in love-inspiring Christ. In view of this, among other\njoys set before him, the extra-earnest worker, in public or private, can\nmore easily deprive himself of that amount of social intercourse with\nthe other sex which he craves. Such can suffice themselves with\noccasional glances of the complementary portion of mankind; and as they\nhurriedly pass seraphic faces in the street, they wave the hand of the\nspirit after them, saying: 'I prithee, O thou wonder, art human or no?'\n'O you sweet beautiful! 'the king's business requires haste. Providence\nhas set our lives so far apart we cannot hear each other speak.' But\nyou will be a woman, and I will be a man, forever. In paradise, I will\nread wonderful things in those and other such eyes, and wonder at you\nforever. _Vale! vale!_'\n\nThere is a poet claiming to be of the supernal life--especially of the\nsupernal conjugal--who has written 'epics' and 'lyrics,' of which I must\nhonestly say, as Emerson, I believe, once honestly said of some of the\nwritings of Swedenborg: 'I read them with an unction and an afflatus\nquite indescribable.' They lift one to the empyrean like nothing else I\nknow of outside the Bible. There is such a saintly purity; such a\nwondrous, rich, mellow joyousness; such bounding elasticity of spirit;\nsuch an evidently irresistible gush of song in the heart; such broad\ncatholicity of religion, that, to some, it seems impossible that they\ncould have been written anywhere but under the perpetual midsummer skies\nof paradise. It may show poor taste, but to me, in those regions of the\nupper ether wherein Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, and Shelley grow\nwing-weary, he soars on strong, free pinion. His 'imaginings,' if such\nthey are, of immortal life, as much surpass in plausibility and\nnaturalness those of Milton, Dante, and Virgil, as the acting of a\nfirst-class theatre surpasses that seen in the old monkish 'mysteries.'\nThis writer, T. L. Harris, has won much recognition in both hemispheres;\nwould win much more if he appeared simply as a poet, and did not claim a\nseer faculty, making many positive statements that cannot be verified.\nHe certainly comes up to Aristotle's standard, where he says: 'The\nobject of the poet is not to treat the True as it really happened, but\nas it should have happened.'\n\nAnd now the story. I left myself indulging in reveries concerning the\nexpected sight of my invisible charmer. The appointed hour came. I was\nquite excited. I knew that the land was already full of people who\nclaimed to see the sights of the other world as spirits see them, and\nfully expected to have my clairvoyant faculty opened. But I saw no\n'sudden Ianthe;' and to this day have never seen even a kobold, a\nwraith, or a doeppelganger! This was doubtless fortunate; for I was\nnearly driven into lunacy by the things I _heard_ before I reached the\nend of this 'youthful adventure.' I should have gone 'clean daft' if the\nbugaboo had been permitted to show me the sights they presently\npromised.\n\nSoon came again my collocutor with explanations.\n\n'You were in such a state of excitement that the united efforts of more\nthan forty of your spirit friends were utterly unavailing for the\nopening of your sight. We, too, became so excited that we lost all\ncontrol of ourselves, and could only weep to hear your mournful appeals\nfollowed by your surrender of all claims upon me.' ... 'Do not think\nthat I could ever hope to bask beneath the sunshine of your smile after\nhaving intentionally deceived you.'\n\nThen followed much similar feminine beguilement; the faculty for which\nseems to be rather increased by the Jordan bath.\n\nIt began to be a noticeable fact that their magnetic power over me was\nsuch that they could cast me down to the borders of despair, and raise\nme thence to rapture at will. Thus a few moments of such ordinary\nblandishments as the following were the only apparent means of raising\nmy usually slow-moving spirits from a very low to a very high pitch. I\nwas complaining of the waste of paper, in writing words of letters three\nor four inches high; did not think any law, even a law of nature,\njustified the imposition of such an expenditure upon a spouse in a\nseparate sphere. 'She' promised to tone down the expressions of\nattachment until she could talk as largely as she pleased; and to some\nfurther suggestions, replied:\n\n'Really, you are quite impertinent, considering the short time we have\nbeen married.' ...\n\nSlightly singular as it may seem to those who think that this narration\nis 'all gammon,' I had gone through the usual course of acquaintanceship\nwith this airy nothing; was first distant and reserved; then slightly\nthawed, though still horrified at the thought of having all my thoughts\nread; and finally, after I felt that the invisible eyes had read, in my\nmemory, every page of my history, was perfectly familiar and at ease in\nthe presence this finite searcher of hearts.\n\nI find, next in order, the following:\n\n'So you wish me to _prove_ that we were married, do you? Well, when you\nbecome a denizen of this higher, but none the less practical sphere, you\nmay read, if you please, where, with wonder and strange emotion, I read,\nin the heavenly records of marriages.' ... [It was dated about the time\nof my birth.] 'Your banter is not so agreeable as your tenderness.' ...\n'You are incorrigible. It will take me many a long age to bring you to a\ndue sense of my importance,' etc. 'Some of my friends are beside\nthemselves with mirth, at my vain attempts at taming a spirit so rude.'\nThen came another promise of opened vision. 'A truly solemn scene is at\nhand. Spend the interval in prayer.'\n\nBut again there was something wrong about the spiritual zinc or acid,\nand the electrical machinery would not work. The fair or foul deceiver\n(who knows?) came up very solemn after this failure.\n\n''Though all men forsake thee,' said Peter, 'yet will not I forsake\nthee.' So now, when the highest spirits of heaven have fled in terror\nand dismay, your poor darling will not forsake you. Well might I sit,\nlike Job's friends, seven days, ay, seventy times seven, in silent\ncontemplation of him who--woe is me!--fears that I am but another\nDelilah, commissioned by his enemies to betray him into their hands.\nWhat can I say? what do? Oh that I had never seen the glorious light of\nthe sun or the pure myriads of my happy home, rather than I should have\nbeheld that sight last night. How can I explain the fact that he, whom\nI, at least, believe to be heaven's most supreme (string of adjectives)\nfavorite, is sitting here with his unutterable but unrepining sorrow\nlooking forth from his ... eyes.'\n\nJust here I caught a glimpse of my divinity, and turning in wrath and\nscorn to my Titania, said, mockingly:\n\n\"While I thine _amiable_ cheeks do coy!\"\n\nTo this she replies: 'Do not heap additional reproaches upon me, by any\nsuch awfully ludicrous quotations.' ... 'So you think that your Delilah\nis striving to gain time by all these pious and otherwise interesting\nremarks?' ... 'Nay, do not with loathing cast me from you as an an\nunholy and hateful thing! for then, oh, what I should then do or be, I\ncannot, dare not even think.' ... 'Again you see my woman's heart cannot\nsuppress its emotions toward one who still hopes that he has been\ntalking with ----; and who says that, for him to be convinced of\nthis, is to be convinced that she who has been talking with him has not\nintentionally deceived him.'\n\nShe then wrought upon my feelings by portraying her sufferings, until,\nin my maudlin condition, I was casting about to find how I should help\nher; just as you sometimes see a drunken tramp striving to pull his\ndrunken pal out of a ditch.\n\n'So, most self-forgetful, you begin to think that you ought to help me\nbear my burden; as you have planned sitting there, with your little\nfriend encircling you in her so warm embrace. But why should I inform\nyou of such fact, as this last, until you are convinced that all you\nhave heard is not the wily utterance of seducing and hellish spirits?\nTry not to entertain such awful suspicions. As to the cause of these\nlamentable failures, I can only suppose that the Lord wishes to make us,\nwho wrongly prophesied, sensible of our inability to foretell future\nevents.'\n\nThen came some bungled Scriptures about my 'mission,' which roused my\nire. My taunts drew forth this response:\n\n'Why do you love to ridicule my tenderness, and speak so awfully to one\nwho has no other human source of perfect happiness?'\n\nThe day following, the solemn dodge was again resorted to. I began to\nfeel a sort of awe creeping over me. My affectionate friend thereupon\nwrote:\n\n'What a change a few minutes have wrought in you. Yes! yes! the morning\nlight is breaking. The fiery trial is complete. As I write there rests\nupon your now placid brow a glorious and marvellously beautiful crown.\nThe cup is drained. 'To him that sat in the valley and shadow of death\nlight has sprung up.' And now awe seizeth me: for there standeth, as yet\na long way off, one whose form is like to that of the Son of Man. In a\nvery little while, now, the great event must inevitably occur. He who\nstands upon the holy mount prepares to open your sight, and give you\nyour commission. How can we see him face to face and live! Let not a\npassing suspicion of further delay disturb you. Already you begin to\nfeel the influence of his approach. Well may you heave a sigh--as one\nwho experiences a sudden and unlooked-for relief. In less than ten\nminutes the Lord will appear to you. So make ready, in solemn meditation\nand prayer, for the most solemn event of your or any other man's life is\nat hand.'\n\n'If the vision tarry, wait for it,' is the only scripture that seems\napplicable to my visions: for still they came not. Yet some very serious\nand substantial experiences now fell to my lot, which shall be the theme\nof another chapter.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nAs manager of this exhibition, I would request the orchestra to play\nsomething gloomy and grand, during the remainder of the performance;\nsomething weird, mysterious; something in which you can hear the\nsoughing of the wind through the pines of the Hartz Mountains or the\nBlack Forest. A passage from a _Faust_ opera or _Der Freischutz___ might\nmeet the case; for it began to be intimated to me, now that I was\nsufficiently clairaudient to be able to dispense almost entirely with\nthe pencil, that his Satanic Majesty was no indifferent spectator of the\npreparation of the man who was about to interfere so signally with his\nplans and pursuits. Thereupon there began to steal over me for the first\ntime,\n\n  'A sense of something dreadful, something near.\n\nHowever it was managed, from this moment till the end of this phase of\nlife I am narrating, I had an almost constant sense of the presence of\n'genii of the pit,' of vast intelligence, cruel as ever Satan was\nimagined, relentless as fate, cold as Dante's ice hells could make them.\nAt first, some influence led me to review the traditional history and\nprospects of my supposed distinguished visitor, at some length. I\ndiscussed the state of his case with no little unction, though shaking\nin my boots, and in momentary expectation of being gobbled up, body and\nsoul, and whisked off in sulphurous smoke, with only a sulphur-burnt\nhole in the carpet to mark the spot where I saw the last of earth.\n\nPresently my inseparable companion broke in with:\n\n'He hears you! he hears you! and never may it be my lot again to look\nupon--' ... 'There he is again, glaring with inexpressible rage upon the\ncomparatively insignificant man who just now so plainly revealed to him\n'the true state of the case.' I am almost afraid to look upon that\nawful visage. 'The state of the case is it?' he exclaims. 'We will see\nwhat is the state.''--\n\nThere is a break here in the manuscript, which is resumed thus: 'You\nhave conquered! frantic with rage he has fled, never, I trust, to\nreturn.'\n\nHow will I remember what happened during that awful pause? It was spent,\nI suppose, in a hand-to-hand conflict with the Prince of Darkness; the\nagreeableness of which was not enhanced by my vivid recollection of the\n'bit of a discooshin' between Christian and Apollyon depicted in the old\nfamily Pilgrim's Progress. We are truly 'the stuff that dreams are made\nof.' What mattered it to me, on that bland summer afternoon, since I was\nof this opinion, whether it was Beelzebub himself or some departed\n'blazing tinman,' with a suit of his majesty's old clothes on, while\nhimself, all snug at home,\n\n  'Sat in his easy chair,\n  Drinking his sulphur tea.'\n\nThat was certainly one of the most awful moments of my life, in which I\nfelt the first dreadful rush of this invisible tiger. It seemed as if he\nswooped toward me to annihilate me in a moment; but was restrained by a\nhigher power. His coming was like the rush of a fifteen-inch shell past\none's head.\n\nAs soon as I saw that the first onset did not destroy me, I gathered\nstrength to face the monster; for a tongue combat seemed all that was\npermitted him. He put me through my theological paces at an awful\nrate--using the Socratic dialectic--growling out questions in the tones\nof a cathedral organ, that made me shiver. Oh that I could remember that\nfearful catechism! It would make a tract for which the Tom Paine\nAssociation would pay a high price. He drove me--partly, I suppose, by\nmagnetic force--step by step, from my cherished religious opinions. My\nreasons for believing in the cardinal doctrines of Christianity seemed\nto burn like straw before his fiery rhetoric, and to turn to dust\nbeneath the ponderous blows of his iron logic. He pushed me away from\nall I had esteemed reliable in the universe, till I seemed to stand on\nthe verge of creation. There I hung with the strength of terror. Then I\nfound poet Campbell true to nature, where he speaks of hope standing\nintact ''mid Nature's funeral pyre.' I insisted upon 'hoping,' in spite\nof all his fiery hail.\n\nAfter he had beaten down all my defences, he began to jeer at me with\nfierce sneers and goblin laughter that froze my blood. 'So _I_ was the\ncontemptible manikin who dared to entertain the idea of equality with\nhim--the Star of the Morning--one breath of whose nostrils would wither\nme into nonentity. So _I_ presumed to stand up and face him, who had, in\nhis time, scattered the hosts of heaven! If it were not for those\ncursed, white-livered _things_ (angels) that stood in the way, he would\nswoop down and destroy me in an instant.'\n\nHaving found and maintained foothold for several minutes on the rock of\nhope, I began to consider how weak things had of erst confounded the\nthings that were mighty, and soon the wirepullers behind the scenes\n(whoever they were) had me smiting him hip and thigh. I 'began in\nweakness, but ended in power.' At first a few muttered remonstrances,\nbut finally whole Ironsides broadsides, with the result above named. The\nwords of my antagonist, during this encounter, rang through my brain\nwith awful distinctness. For a day or two I had been communicating\npartly with the pencil, and partly by clairaudience, eked out by writing\nin the air with my forefinger. But this demon, or demon _pro tem._,\nneeded not to write his words: his 'trumpet gave no uncertain sound.'\n\nThe thoughtful reader will perceive what a strong point my magnetizers\ngained by this scene. After disappointing me so many times, they could\nnot, with all their power over me, have kept me from throwing the whole\nthing overboard, without resorting to some such _coup d'etat_. Being,\ndoubtless, on better terms with the infernal than with the supernal\nregions, these denizens of the Intermediate Limbo (we will suppose that\nmy strange guests were mostly of this sort of nondescripts) had perhaps\ninduced some _bona fide_ demon to act the part of the king of them all,\n'for this night only.' It certainly was an immense success. I, to be\nsure, had not received the expected commission: but had I not fought the\ngreat red dragon, and, like another St. George, pinned him to the earth,\nthrough supernatural aid? Here was a substantial success. I write this\nmerrily enough now; but was not often merry then--was indeed acting\ngreat, real tragedy.\n\nI was not long to enjoy this triumph. The word came: 'Again he comes!'\nThen I had another long, hard fight; but this time was not pushed so\nnear the wall. I was then told by my spiritual adviser and Circe of the\nunbounded admiration expressed for me by those who had listened to this\n'ever-memorable' disputation.\n\nThe attempt to craze me, or--putting the best face on it--to show me\n_how spiritists are generally crazed_, now began in downright earnest.\nAll that night, despite my entreaties to be permitted to sleep, I was\nkept awake, and busied with a variety of 'extremely important' business.\nI am naturally a solid, regular sleeper, and do not prosper upon\nNapoleon or Humboldt portions of repose; but now could only suit my\npersecutors by rising on one elbow in bed, and 'wrestling' for the\nsalvation of my next neighbor. They sedulously poured into my mind all\nmanner of apocrypha concerning this gentleman's shortcomings--about the\nnecessity of praying for and at him, and about the effects of my\nefforts, i. e., bringing a streak of celestial light upon him--until I\nwas almost ready to wish that he might be ----, rather than that I\nshould have any such unseasonable work to perform in his behalf. But\nthey kept me at it, straight through the night and a large portion of\nthe next day; and finally induced me to go, much against my will, to\nreveal to him some of my experiences, and to endeavor to force from him\nan acknowledgment that what I had heard about him was true.\n\nThe attempt to cause at least a temporary aberration of my intellect now\nbecomes very plain in the manuscript. Every idea is uttered in the most\nexciting manner. All statements and prognostications about my neighbor\nhaving proved false (he was amazed at my procedure), the invisible\nbusybodies boiled over thus:\n\n'He has lied! he has lied to you! and if you would preserve your reason,\ngo and read the papers to him. He had schooled himself to show no\nemotion, and you showed enough to excite his worst, most hideous fears.\nSo go, for Heaven's sake! He quailed once, and only once, before your\nnot sufficiently steady gaze. Woe! woe! woe! Now what shall be done?'\n... [Evidently trying to get up a teapot tempest.] 'Do not strive to\nunravel this mystery in that fiercely keen way, or this evil spirit will\nhave to give place to a more expert deceiver. God will certainly do\nsomething soon to set these matters straight, or I shall cease to be!'\n[She had said annihilation was possible!] 'Your father wishes to speak\nto you.'\n\nA fatherly spirit it was truly--was for driving me mad off hand, but\novershot the mark.\n\n'Son, this is awful! I can only say to you, be calm and cool, for you\nwill need to be both to get free from this snare of Satan, so well\nconceived. Better go to supper now (for appearance sake): after that,\npray for help. When you took away those books [after reading extracts to\nthe neighbor], the whole crew of devils,' etc., etc.\n\nThis exciting language 'brought me up with a round turn.' I saw at once\nthe object of the person who was talking with me. So I brought the\naffair to a full stop, as far as the use of my hand was concerned. I\nsimply added, on that leaf--speaking now for myself:\n\n'I will hear no further. This part of my discipline is finished.'\n\nBut I was forced to hear, whether I wrote or not. I had come to this\nwisdom too late. I fully believe that, as far as my ability to prevent\nthe catastrophe was concerned, I was then and there a possessed\nperson--_a slave of spirits_--as utterly bound to do the will of my\nmagnetizers as ever a 'subject' was. Though I cannot be persuaded that\nall these beings, from whom unseen I had heard so much, were 'only evil\ncontinually,' no 'harmonialist' can persuade me that those who now began\nto play with me, as a cat plays with a mouse, were other than evil. In\nall imaginable ways, they strove to show me how utterly I had lost\nself-command and self-control. (I am esteemed obstinate by nature.)\n\nWhat is very singular, I now lost sight of my 'prima donna.' It would\nseem natural that a Delilah would, at least, have come with a jeering\n'The Philistines be upon thee, Samson.' But no, not till this great\ntribulation was over did I hear from 'her.'\n\nThat evening and night were spent, mostly, in showing me that I was no\nlonger my own master. There was not, however, that continuous hell-blast\nupon me that so scorched my soul on the following afternoon. The cats\nwere tossing me in their velvet paws--only occasionally protruding a\nsharp claw as a reminder, until they could feel surer of their victim.\nThey would say to me: 'Now we will exalt you to heaven;' and up I went,\nhigher, higher, higher into the empyrean, until I heard the music of the\nspheres, and all things were ablaze with light and glory. Again they\nwould say: 'Now go down into hell;' and the scene changed as suddenly as\ndo those of a ten-cent panorama, when a midnight storm at sea or a\nvolcanic eruption is about to be rolled in view: I went down _ad\nimis_--'down to the bottom of the sea--the earth with her bars was\naround me forever.' Blank horror and anguish seized me. Hope fled to its\nimpregnable corner of my heart, till the calamity was overpast. A hushed\nagony was upon me, as before I had known its boundless bliss. And thus\nvariously I fared through all that second night of sleeplessness. They\nprobably sent me up and down this scale of sensation twenty times during\neight hours. This night I was not at all sleepy. A few more such would\nhave finished the business; and there would have been 'another awful\neffect of the spiritual delusion' to chronicle. The honest verdict of\nthe first century would have been: 'Another possessed of devils or\ndevil-crazed.' The wretches well knew that insomnia is an excellent\npreparation for insanity.\n\nToward morning a new scheme was invented. Some ostensible good friend\ninformed me, in a business-like way, that the work of the morrow for\nme--the new Saul of Tarsus--was to set out for a certain town in\nVermont, where I should find my Ananias; who 'would show me what things\nI should do.' So the faithful slave of the genii prepared to obey. I\npacked a carpet bag, and went early to the residence of a medical\nfriend, who had been dabbling in the same arcana. I gave him a sketch of\nwhat I had experienced; yet, for some reason, did not start for Vermont,\nbut remained with him all the morning. My invisible monitors sent me out\ninto the street several times, to find people who could not be found.\n(Anything to keep up their influence.)\n\nToward noon the fact came plainly to me that an effort was being made to\ndisturb, if not destroy, my reason. I began to find my ideas becoming\nincoherent in spite of hugest effort. I called my friend, and said to\nhim, through set teeth, but as coolly as possible:\n\n'I find myself to be thoroughly and utterly a magnetic subject, an\nabject subject of mischievous spirits. They are striving to derange my\nfaculties. I am exceedingly alarmed to find that they are trying, with\nmuch success, to render my ideas incoherent. It is only by a very great\neffort of will that I am enabled to speak these words distinctly to you.\nAs far as my private power of resistance is concerned, I am gone. Do\nexert your powerful magnetism; perhaps you can drive them off.'\n\nHe was much distressed, and exerted himself mightily (he was a professed\nelectrician), combining will power with that ancient agent, prayer, to\nexorcise the evil influence. But his efforts were useless, as the\nvagabonds well knew, before they brought me there on exhibition. They\nhad not spent the week in vain. I had sold myself to them as squarely as\nfools ever did in German legend.\n\nWhen dinner was announced, the doctor wished me to accompany him. I\nrefused, and he left me, to take a hasty meal. Finding, when he was\ngone, that I was growing worse, I went into the street, determined that\nif I was to be crazed, I would not sit there and let him watch the\noperation. I walked on, vowing that I would not turn toward home until\nmy faculties were restored; and execrating _my folly in permitting the\nenslavement_! On, on I rushed, my head all ablaze with 'od' that had no\nbusiness there, and praying as I never had prayed before. I took the\nGowanus road toward Greenwood. Perhaps it was some defunct rogue there\ninterred, who was leading me on to 'rave among the tombs.'\n\nArrived at a spot where a little tree-capped promontory overhangs the\nbeach, I turned aside, beneath the projection, and sat down on a\nlog--like Jonah under the gourd--and, gazing out on the rippling waves\nof the bay, desired that death or relief might come. I was determined to\nsit there until God or Satan made good his claim upon me. Suddenly\nrelief came. The fierce onset upon my intellect ceased. I was made\nwhole. I 'leaped and walked.' The means of my relief I never knew.\n\nBut my lesson was not complete. I had but just informed my medical\nfriend of my deliverance (he had scoured the neighborhood, and informed\nseveral of the cause of his fears), when there were mutterings and\ngrowlings of another approaching storm. The messengers of Satan sent to\nbaffle me gave me to understand that they had not abandoned their prey,\nbut were sure of it yet. They poured the wrath of hell upon my\ndefenceless head that afternoon. I have not, hitherto, attempted to\noffer much direct proof to the uninitiated that my experiences, in this\nconnection, were other than hallucination. That which now occurred is,\nas it seems to me, in the nature of such proof. Here was I thoroughly\nalarmed for my safety, and extremely anxious to get rid of my\ntormentors. Yet, not for a single moment now, could I close my mental\nears to their horrid clangor of threats and imprecations; for, throwing\noff all restraint, they flooded me with Billingsgate. They cursed and\ndamned me, and all persons, things, and ideas esteemed by me, in the\nmost approved style. Indeed, the swearing exceeded anything I ever heard\non the Mississippi and Alabama river boats, when forced, for lack of\nroom, to sleep on the floor of the saloon, almost under the feet of the\nchivalry, during their midnight gambling carousals.\n\nThe mode of speech is not easily described. Sometimes the words came\nslowly and distinctly. Again there would be merely thought-panorama\npresented. A complete statement or view of things can be flashed into\nthe mind in an instant. Therefore the language of spirits is of vastly\ngreater compass than that of men. These immortal blackguards could vomit\nmore oaths and other blasphemy in five minutes, than a mortal one could\nin an hour. If it is difficult to translate from one earth-language\ninto another, how much harder must it be to bring the ideas of an inner\nsphere into outward forms of expression!\n\nThey told me that it was their intention to open my clairvoyant faculty\nnow with a vengeance. For, having fairly accomplished it, they would\nworry me to death or madness by the continual sight and hearing of all\nthat hell could show or conjure up. I only wish that a few of those\nSadducees who philosophize all this sort of thing into moonshine, could\nbe, for a while, as sore beset as I was on that eventful day! It would\nneed but a few minutes' parley with these 'fierce Ephesian beasts' to\ninduce them to repeat the language of an older sceptic, who returned\nfrom the dead to the friend who had discussed immortality with him, and\nwho exclaimed, as he passed from sight:\n\n'Michael! Michael! _vera sunt illa!_'\n\nThe scheme of the diabolians seemed so feasible that I was greatly\nperplexed. They had shown themselves able to keep me awake the two\npreceding nights; and I knew that, if permitted, they could accomplish\ntheir purpose in that way alone. How much, then, would the perpetual\nsight of fiery flying dragons, horned satyrs, and other hideous\nhalf-human creatures, tearing around, with mouths agape to take me\nin--while other lost souls flitted about as flying serpents, bats, and\nowls--hasten the evil work. I thought over all the horrible forms\nportrayed in the Catholic purgatory pictures, and described by delirium\ntremens subjects, until I was a thousand times more anxious to have the\neyes of my spirit kept shut, than I ever had been to have them opened.\n\nI tried to exorcise the foe by reading the Bible; but this only\nincreased their jeering at the '---- fool,' whom they had worked hard to\nget, had got, and meant to keep, in spite of 'hell, book, and candle.'\nTruly 'their mouths were full of cursing and bitterness.'\n\nDid space permit, and were it not that the printing of oaths, which has\nbecome so fashionable even in respectable periodicals, is hurtful to\nmorals, I could fill pages with their jeers, taunts, blasphemies,\nthreats, and execrations.\n\nI left my private room, and went among the household, in hopes that,\namid busy outer scenes, the hold of the invisible tigers would be\nloosed. But then, while conversing on commonplace subjects, I realized\nmore fully than ever upon what a _fearful precipice_ the heedless\nspiritist is ever sporting. For, clearer, more distinct, came threats,\ncurses, goblin laughter; and 'Fool! dolt!' was the cry.\n\n'Simpleton, etc., think you that the company of women and children will\nsave you, when the mightiest spirits (angels they call themselves)\ncannot now rend you from our grasp? As soon as we choose, we will tear\nyour silly soul out of your carcase; and _then_ we will make a veritable\nLucifer of you. '_Lucifer_! LUCIFER! star of the morning! how\nart thou fallen, and become as one of us!' Ha! ha! ha! yes! yes! you\nmust go with us. We fancy you. For a callow priest, you have a deal of\nmusic in you. Would-be Samson, you must grind in our prison house and\nsport in our temple; the pillars whereof you can never cause to\ntremble.'\n\nThey said that I was a 'coward--dared not face a set of shadows,\nfigments of the brain, empty nothings.' I saw that 'vain was the help of\nman;' and, retiring to my room, had an awful season of worse than\n'temptation combats.'\n\nThen came the last scene in the tragic part of my unromantic experience.\nOne of the artful dodgers, having transformed himself into an angel of\nlight (in my hearing, not in my sight), informed me, at about eight\no'clock in the evening, that, though my destruction appeared imminent,\nthere was one way of escape left. My own prayers were useless: but if I\nwould get down on my knees, and repeat a confession and supplication at\nhis dictation, it might avail. Enslaved as I was, I of course complied;\nand then underwent a humiliation that, even in my horrified state, was\nvery bitter. I had always, in my most puritanical days, kicked at the\ndoctrine that we are all such abominable, hell-deserving,\n_self_-degraded creatures, responsible for our own ruin, that it is the\nwonder of creation that God would give our souls any least chance of\nheaven. I had always felt with Tennyson:\n\n  'Thou wilt not leave us in the dust;\n  Thou _madest_ man, and Thou art _just_.'\n\nBut now I was forced to change all this; and for once I uttered a\nperfectly orthodox prayer. Slow and distinct came the words, which I\nmust perforce repeat as slowly, though every one was a bitter pill. I\nwas made to say that I was entirely mistaken in supposing myself a\nChristian (in the 'evangelical' sense); that I had been a fool, a\nbraggart, a sort of impostor; that my life had been one series of shams\nand follies; that I had disgraced my religious profession, etc., etc.,\n_ad nauseam_, winding up with the abject declaration that I deserved to\ngo straight to 'the city of Dis, and the three-headed dog;' and that if\nI was spared, it would be 'a miracle of mercy.'\n\nThe higher powers must have thought that I had swallowed enough of this\nhell-broth; for, at this juncture, the dictation and compulsion suddenly\nceased. I stood upon my feet, no longer a slave. It seemed as if some\ngrand, calm Ithuriel had touched with his spear-point the venomous toad\nthat sat by my ear, or the wily serpent that 'held me (enchanted) with\nhis glittering eye.' From that moment to this, I have not been, for an\ninstant, seriously annoyed by invisible disturbers of the peace.\n\nA sweet quiet came over me; I went to bed and slept soundly. The next\nday I determined to complete the exorcism by walking a dozen miles into\nthe country, to visit a relation. The only trace of the fearful scenes\nthrough which I had passed, consisted in the fact that my head was still\nall ablaze with the foul, gross magnetic fluids of my ex-tormentors; and\nwas so hot that I found it agreeable to walk with my hat off. I was two\ndays getting rid of the heat.\n\nThough I had no more sulphur tea to drink, I was not yet weaned from the\ninvisible milk and water. I was at once informed, by 'respectable\nappearing' spirits, that my trials had appeared necessary, because I had\nthrown myself open to promiscuous communication with the other world--a\nthing peculiarly dangerous in my case; and that I could now see the\npropriety of never again surrendering my manhood, my individuality, and\nmy common sense to any brigand in or out of the body. I was also told\nthat it never had been intended to use me for any important mediumistic\npurpose, except so far as my experience might be useful. So I gradually\nlet the thing drop. Regarding the new light as scientific rather than\nreligious, I long since pigeon-holed it among my sciences. I\nsardonically tell total Sadducees that I have placed it among the\n_exact_ sciences.\n\nI am sorry that I am unable to enlighten the novel-reading reader\nfurther concerning the 'prima donna;' but that is a delicate subject\nunder existing circumstances. So presenting, herewith, the bright and\nsulphurous end of the Lucifer Match under the nose of a discerning\npublic, I will watch the upcurling and dilating of nostrils. As I pen\nthese last lines, the live body looking over my shoulder smiles\nscornfully.\n\n\n\n\nSKETCHES OF AMERICAN LIFE AND SCENERY.\n\nIII.--MOUNTAIN WAYS.\n\n\n'Lucy D----,' said Aunt Sarah Grundy, 'I really cannot conceive what you\nand Elsie find to entertain you in the desolate, out-of-the-way places\nwhere you are in the habit of wasting your summers. Why can you not be\ncontent with the ordinary highways, where people travel comfortably in\ngood boats and rail cars? Why must you leave tolerably convenient\nhotels, regular meals, and agreeable, proper people, to bury yourself in\nsome mountain fastness, where the inns are poor, the food plain, and the\npeople--well! such as are totally unfit associates for two well-bred\nyoung women?'\n\n'O auntie! auntie! we thought you called yourself a democrat!' said\nElsie.\n\n'Politically, my dear, but not socially,' was the reply.\n\n'And a Christian!' added Lucy D----.\n\n'I see,' continued Mrs. Grundy, 'that, by raising other issues, you hope\nto escape an explanation of the mystery to which I have referred.'\n\n'A mystery indeed!' replied Lucy D----. 'The mystery of nature, of\ncreation, of the communion of the creature with the infinitely bountiful\nCreator. Have you never wandered away from the beaten track, from\ntiresome dinners, with mercenary waiters and elaborate courses, from\nyawning, _blase_ men, and over-dressed, artificial, weakly women, and,\nresting upon some quiet hillside, suffered the glories of external\nnature to fill your soul as you drained the cup of beauty, until\nsunrises and sunsets, storm clouds and morning mists, broad bands of\nlight and darksome shadows, steep mountains and curving valleys,\nhurrying brooks and tidal oceans, dusky pine forests and tremulous\nbluebells, dreamily floated before the vision, soothing care and the\npetty wounds inflicted by the human denizens of this nether world? I\nlove my kind, I share their faults and follies, I pity their sorrows,\nand would do my utmost to succor or to soothe; but I do not understand\nthem as I do the woods: their faces I readily forget, but never the\nforms of mountain crag, of noble tree, or of first spring wild flower.\nAmong men I may be misunderstood, disliked perhaps, or, more generally,\nsimply ignored and overlooked; but among the hills I fear no harsh, no\nindifferent word: each treasure of beauty breathes to me of One who\nknows my every heart-beat, One whom I can love without fear of wound or\ndisenchantment. The mountain clefts have no unkind words, no\nfault-finding, no ridicule, no rash judgments for the sons of men. They\noffer clear springs, fresh fruits, and festal flowers, peace and rest\nand pure joy!'\n\n'Really, Lucy,' said Aunt Sarah, 'I am not sure your rhapsody has made\nthe mystery any plainer than before. May I not, in my turn, ask if your\nfeelings are quite Christian? Are you not afraid you entertain a species\nof repulsion toward your fellow men?'\n\n'Aunt Sarah, I nearly always feel more for them than they for me.\nPerhaps they hurt my vanity by overwhelming me with the sense of my own\ninsignificance. Be that as it may, their everlasting wrangling among\nthemselves is more than I can endure. When people begin to quarrel, even\nto disagree warmly, the blood rushes to my brain, and I long for a cool\nbreeze from some piny height, a mossy seat by some calm lake, that\nmirrors only the blue of heaven, the measured flow of falling waters,\nthe rustle of leaves, the hum of bees, or the song of birds.'\n\n'You are not strong, and have grown nervous, I fear,' said Aunt Sarah.\n'I can remember when you greatly enjoyed a good discussion, and never\nshrank from an encounter of opinions.'\n\n'I was young then,' replied Lucy; 'I am older now, and have less\nconfidence in my argumentative powers. I love truth as well, but doubt\nmy capacity to lift her veil, the willingness of mortals to seek her\nhumbly, or the certainty of their yielding to conviction, even were she\nbodily, in unclouded radiance, to stand before them. I hope I may always\nhave courage sufficient to support my honest convictions, but I must\nconfess the effort has become a painful one, and I instinctively fly all\nwrangling as I would the plague.'\n\n'Do you then desire to lead an isolated life?' asked Mrs. Grundy.\n\n'By no means,' replied Lucy. 'Duty and affection both bind me to active\nservice in the ranks of the world, and, to return to the subject of a\nretired country sojourn, the freedom from _gene_, the absence of hurry,\nthe _confidentiality_ of nature, lead us in a week to a better\ncomprehension and appreciation of the few persons surrounding us than\ncould be obtained in years of ordinary city acquaintance. Bricks and\nmortar and cut stones tend to the revelation of but few secrets, but the\nevening twilight, the crescent moon, the morning dawn, the forest shade,\nand the noonday repose are persuasive openers of hearts and weavers of\nsympathy. A walk with Elsie is far more to me than a solitary ramble.\nThen, too, the country population frequently exhibit an originality and\nindividuality of development more often missed than found in the\nassimilating atmosphere of cities.'\n\n'I should weary in a week of such a dull, sentimentalizing mode of\nexistence,' said Aunt Sarah, with a significant shrug of her prettily\ndrooping shoulders.\n\n'Sentimentalizing!' cried Lucy; 'nothing can be more healthfully real,\nmore conducive to strength and will to work, when the last red leaf has\nfallen, and the gray November clouds remind one that Paradise is not yet\ngained, and that a world of toil and strife and passion has a claim upon\neach mortal's earnest labor. Also, the comic side of life is by no means\nwanting among the hills, and many an innocent laugh is to be enjoyed\nwith, not at, one's fellow creatures. Humor I love dearly; satire is\nsimply hateful--filled with pain. I can always see the victim (if he\nonly knew!) writhing and blenching beneath the bitter glances and\nblasting words of fiendish tormentors.'\n\n'Yes, indeed,' said Elsie, 'many a merry evening have we spent laughing\nover the day's adventures. The singular coincidences and strange\nincongruities of American life are nowhere more strikingly exhibited\nthan among the hills and lakes bordering the great thoroughfares of\ntravel. Do you remember, Lucy, the transit of our friends, the foreign\nprofessor and the artist, from the Catskill Mountain House to the head\nof the Kauterskill Falls?'\n\n'Can I ever forget it?'\n\n'What transit was that, Lucy?' asked Mrs. Grundy.\n\n'You know, Aunt Sarah, that midway up the Clove, nestled against the\nside of the South Mountain, is Brockett's, and two miles up the ravine,\nat the head of the Kauterskill Falls, stands the Laurel House, where we\npassed a portion of last summer. Two miles farther east is the steep\nbrink of the Pine Orchard, crowned by the White colonnade of the\nMountain House. Early one morning, a much-esteemed friend, one of our\nbest artists, left Brockett's, and, climbing the ravine, passed our\nhouse on his way to the North Mountain, whence a sketch was desired. We\nhad had nearly four weeks of continued rain, the brooks were full, the\nfalls magnificent, the roads in some parts under water, and every\npathway a running stream. We were daily expecting the arrival from\nabroad of a gentleman whom I had never seen, but who was well known to,\nand highly regarded by, sundry members of our family. He had written to\nannounce his coming, but we had failed to receive his letter, and,\nconsequently, when he, on the afternoon of the day already mentioned,\narrived at the Mountain House, he found no one waiting to receive him,\nand no carriage to convey him to his final destination. No vehicle was\nto be obtained at the great caravansary, and he was vainly endeavoring\nto have at least a note despatched to our address, when the artist, who\nhad meantime finished his sketch and descended the North Mountain on his\nway home, entered the office. He was weary from a toilsome walk under\nheavy trappings, but hearing a fellow mortal in distress, and partially\nlearning the cause, his habitual kindness of heart induced him to say to\nthe stranger that he was about to walk over to the Laurel House, and\nwould lead the way, if he chose to follow. The professor, despairing of\nhis ability to make any more comfortable arrangement, accepted the\noffer, and prepared to follow his guide.\n\n'Our foreign visitor was a tall, athletic man, with a noble forehead and\npiercing black eyes. His attire was irreproachably neat, his\npatent-leather boots rather thin for so rough a walk, especially as he\nwas just then much out of health, and he carried a heavy basket of\nfruit, which he had kindly brought from a tropical clime to give\npleasure to his friends. He added to a generous and affectionate\ndisposition profound learning in languages, science, and philosophy, and\nwas a devoted patriot and lover of liberty. He had, however, landed in\nNew York during the terrible riots of last summer, and had hence imbibed\nno very exalted idea of the orderliness of our population. He was of\ncourse totally unaware of the frank confidence placed by man in his\nbrother man among our Northern mountains.\n\n'When the outside door was reached, the artist paused to gather together\nhis pointed staff, sketching box, and other _traps_. These implements\nwere evidently not familiar objects in the professor's experience, as he\nsupposed they might be part of the gear of a peddler, and hence\nconceived a certain distrust of his guide. The artist was tall and\nhandsome, with a vigorous frame, a long, waving beard, a slouched hat,\nand garments rather the worse for much exposure to the suns, winds, and\nrains of a summer spent in the open air. One who did not examine the\nclear eyes raying the essence of truth, and the high-cut features\nbearing the unmistakable impress of manly honor, might perhaps have\nerred with the stranger, and have supposed it possible that 'the man'\n(as the professor invariably called his guide when he related the\nadventure) might be a brigand intent upon luring travellers into byways\nfor sinister purposes. This idea was strengthened by the character of\nthe pathway chosen by the artist as the shortest route between the two\nhotels. It passed through a dense forest, and was ankle deep in water.\nFallen trunks lay across its sinuous track, and no sound save a\ntwittering bird or crackling branch broke the silence of the rugged,\nlonely way. The active guide strode on from stone to stone, returning\nshort answers to his companion, whose doubts began to take the form of\nquestions as to 'the man's' knowledge of the road, and the certainty of\nfinding the Laurel House at the end of this will-o'-the-wisp journey.\nWeariness from a long day's walk and work, and the dawning perception of\nthe stranger's suspicions, were not calculated to induce a very bland\nframe of mind or tone of manner, and the replies received confirmed the\nprofessor's determination to keep a watchful eye upon his leader. He\nfell behind a few paces, and prepared his only weapon, a strong\npenknife, in case the enemy should suddenly turn upon him, meantime\nconsoling himself that, should matters culminate in a hand-to-hand\nfight, he was rather the stouter and heavier man of the two. The thin\nboots had soon been saturated with water, the basket of fruit grew\nheavier and heavier, and the way seemed interminable. The guide, now\nfully awake to the absurdity of the situation, and perhaps as much\nprovoked as amused, strode rapidly on, and, at a fork in the pathway,\nmomentarily struck into a wrong route. He was forced to retrace a few\npaces, and the stranger's dismay was now complete--the way was surely\nlost, and a night in the damp wood the least evil to be anticipated.\n\n'A wide meadow was soon after reached, but no sign of human habitation\ngreeted the longing eyes of the expectant traveller. Another band of\nwoodland was entered, and a deserted charcoal hut for a moment cheered\nthe heart and then dashed the hopes of our weary friend. The woodland\ncrossed, an open field and a cheery farmhouse broke upon his view.\nSuffering the artist to hasten on, he eagerly bent his steps to the\nfarmhouse door, and there inquired concerning the way to the Laurel\nHouse. He was in fact rather surprised to learn that he was on the\ndirect route, and now not far away. Narrowly escaping the fangs of a\ncross dog, he hurried on, and overtook the now thoroughly amused artist\nbefore the latter reached the long-expected Laurel House. That goal won,\nthe two gentlemen entered the office, and, as the rest of the family\nwere out walking, the professor sent to me the note already prepared at\nthe Mountain House. Not knowing that he had himself brought it, I went\ninto the bar room, where the first person I saw was the artist. I gave\nhim as usual a cordial greeting, noticing his travel-stained appearance\nas bearing honorable evidence to a good day's work, and said I had come\nto order a carriage for a foreign friend just arrived at the other\nhotel. The artist asked a question or two, then said he presumed he had\nbrought over the very gentleman, and, with a quizzical expression,\noffered to introduce me. The professor meantime had been watching the\ninterview with some surprise. He recognized me from my resemblance to\nother members of my family known to him, and wondered to see 'the man'\nso high in my esteem. He afterward remarked that he had thought it\nstrange that when he invited 'the man' to a joint punch at the bar\ncounter, the stranger should have drawn forth a two shilling note, and\ninsisted upon paying the whole scot. Night was rapidly approaching, and\nthe artist hastened down the glen while the summer twilight might serve\nto illuminate the somewhat intricate way.\n\n'Bursts of laughter greeted the comical recital of the adventure as\ngood-naturedly given by the professor. The only drawback upon our mirth\nwas the fear lest wet feet and over fatigue might perhaps have increased\nhis malady.'\n\n'You see now,' said Aunt Sarah, with an ominous shake of the head, 'if\nyou will go to such forlorn, wild places, what may be expected to\nhappen. Had I been in your friend's place, I should never have forgiven\nyou for causing me such an uncomfortable, and, in one sense, dangerous\nwalk.'\n\n'Oh yes, you would,' cried Elsie; 'the remembrance would have added a\nzest to the monotony of your every-day life, you would never willingly\nhave resigned.'\n\n'I presume, then, Elsie, you also have had adventures?'\n\n'Have I not?' replied Elsie; 'from the young Southerner who informed me\nhe would like the mountains very much if the roads were not so terribly\nup and down, to the infuriated bull that took especial offence at my\nwhite umbrella, and came charging toward me, with flashing eyeballs,\nhorns tearing up the sod, and hoofs threatening a leap over a low stone\nwall, the only barrier dividing us.'\n\n'I suppose you call that pleasure, too!' said Aunt Sarah. 'Well, I must\nconfess I am more mystified than ever.'\n\n'I presume, Aunt Sarah, you could as little appreciate the attractions\nto be found in a walk of over twenty miles in ten hours?'\n\n'Very well for men, my dear Elsie, but I think such excursions scarcely\nfitting for ladies, especially for young and pretty ones. One of Lucy's\nwild-goose chases, I doubt not! However, I am quite ready to listen to\nyour experience.'\n\n'One morning, at nine o'clock, Lucy and I left the Laurel House,\nintending to visit the valley of the East Kill, a fine trout stream that\nrises near the North Mountain, and flows into the Schoharie. The first\nthree miles being well-known ground, we preferred to drive, but left the\nlittle carriage on the stony road to East Jewett, soon after that road\nbranches from the main Clove stage route. The day was magnificent, and\nthe view from the fir-garlanded sides of the Parker Mountain novel and\nbewitching. The North and South Mountains, Round Top, the jagged peaks\nbounding the Plattekill Clove, the narrow cleft of the Stony Clove, and\nthe terraced slope of Clum's Hill swept across the horizon bathed in a\nsoft September shimmer. A few birds were still piping, golden rods and\npurple asters lighted up the wayside, and luscious blackberries, large\nas Lawtons, hung in great clusters, from which no mortal hand had as yet\nplucked a single berry. There they grew all for us and the birds, and\nyou may be sure we enjoyed this feast so lavishly spread in the\nwilderness. The crown of the hill passed, we left the lovely view\nbehind, and began the descent into the valley of the East Kill. The\nforest growth was here dense and of various species, and the road,\nalthough solitary, apparently well worn. An ominous rustling among the\ntrees was the only sound we heard until we again reached the open\ncountry, where a market cart, driven by a woman, assured us of some near\nhabitation. A long, broken valley lies between the hills bordering the\nSchoharie, and the river range, and contains the settlements of East\nJewett, Big Hollow, and Windham Centre. Near the first-named place (a\nscattered collection of farmhouses), we struck the East Kill, and began\nto follow it up toward its source. It is a clear, rapid stream, and we\ndid not wonder the trout still loved to linger in its cool waters. On a\nrustic bridge we sat down and ate our simple lunch of gingerbread,\ncrackers, plums, and almonds. The sun was in the meridian, and\ncounselled return, but curiosity led us on to further explorations.\n\n'The winding road crossed and re-crossed the stream. It was bordered by\nlofty summits, and led through many a clearing and past many a\nfarmhouse. At one of these we met a man hiving swarms of bees. He lived\nbelow, and told us we were eight miles from Cairo, a town near the\neastern foot of the Catskills. The friendly mistress of the cottage\ninformed us that the pass at the summit was only three miles distant,\nand we hence concluded to return home by descending the eastern slope of\nthe mountains, crossing the lower portion of the intervening spur, and\nreascending by the Mountain House road. Mountain miles are proverbial\nfor their length, and so we found them, as we wandered on until\ncivilization and the last good piece of road was left behind at a large\nsteam sawmill. Our way now skirted the near hills, and passed through an\nupland bog of apparently interminable width. Fortunately, the last few\nweeks had been comparatively dry, and hence it was possible to make\none's way by springing from clump to clump of rank grass, or more\nfrequently from hurdle to hurdle, as long stretches of half-decayed\nbranches covered the partially hidden quagmire. The air had become\nclose, the sun hot; a dense, low growth of wood shut in the devious way;\ndesolation and neglect marked the environs, and we were by no means\nsure we were on the right road. Even Lucy began to doubt the prudence\nand final success of the expedition. A very suspicious circumstance was\nthe fact that this road, by which we expected to cross the mountain top,\nhad lately made very little of an ascent.\n\n'At length a fresh, cool breeze began to fan our cheeks, such a breeze\nas is never felt except upon mountain heights, and steep piles of rock\nrose upon our left. The road had shortly before become hard and dry,\nand, as it now commenced to descend, we could not doubt the summit of\nthe pass was reached. Fine trees, however, so closely hemmed us in that\nwe could see nothing beyond, and not until we were some distance down,\ndid we come to an opening whence the lower country was visible, with the\nBerkshire hills, the river, the city of Hudson directly opposite, and\nKiskatom Round Top lying to our right. We exchanged glances, for we knew\nsomething of the distance signified by this situation of landmarks.\nHowever, there was nothing to be done except to press on, which we did,\ndown a road at first enchanting, but finally detestable, where it had\nbeen neglected, and had become the rocky bed of a stream then dry. We\ncould fancy it in the spring, at the melting of the snows, with the wild\nwater dashing down the steep pathway, and the white foam gleaming and\nglittering, as a newly risen Undine, in the sight of the astonished,\nfar-off beholders.\n\n'Lovely vistas over the rolling lands beneath, and up to the mountains\nwe were leaving behind, charmed away fatigue, and made the way like\nfairyland. Near the first cottage we again sat down to rest and consider\nour route. We hoped to find some near wood road leading over the wide\nbase of the North Mountain into the Mountain House road; but never a\nwood road was to be seen. On and on we walked, descending lower and\nlower into the valley, and coming nearer and nearer to Kiskatom Round\nTop. At a turn in the way we asked a party of carpenters working on a\nhouse, if this was the right route to the Mountain House tollgate. Some\nlaughed, all stared, and one answered, 'Yes.' On and on we plodded along\na dusty highway, till we reached a house by a brook, with ducks and\ngeese, a garden filled with autumn flowers, and a pleasant old lady\nsitting near the door. She also opened her eyes at our question, and\nsaid the distance to the tollgate was eight miles. Eight miles to the\ngate, three thence up the steep mountain, and then again two to the\nLaurel House! This, added to the many miles we had already walked, and\nthe lateness of the hour, was indeed alarming. She added, we might\nobtain fuller information at a red farmhouse to be found some distance\non. Again we walked and walked, passing through a wild region, Kiskatom\nRound Top continually most provokingly near, the road evidently leading\ndue east, and sinking lower and lower toward the river. At the end of\ntwo or three miles we reached the red farmhouse, and were glad to rest\nin a neat sitting room, with a cheerful woman and two bright, handsome\nchildren. The harvest work being nearly done, the husband was absent on\na day's hunt, but the aged father was soon called in to give us the\ndesired information. The distance to the tollgate was only two miles,\nand while the boy made ready the team to take us over, the honest,\nintelligent farmer gave us a few sketches from his life history. His\ndaughter wished him to don his better coat, but he replied that he had\nnever been able to think that clothes could make or unmake a gentleman.\nHe also observed that early adversity had been the greatest boon he had\never received, as, had he never failed in his city trading projects, he\nnever would have come to the country, or have enjoyed his present health\nand happiness. He was a good patriot, and eagerly asked the latest news\nof the war. He had also pleasant reminiscences to relate of a Carolina\nSenator, who, with his family, had one summer beneath his roof sought\nhealth and strength under the shadow of the Catskills.\n\n'A lively lad and fleet team soon placed us at the gate, which the stage\nfrom the boat was just passing. The little rest and drive had greatly\ninvigorated us, and we bravely pushed on to the summit, outstripping the\nheavy coach, and reaching the top of the mountain just as the red rays\nof the setting sun were flushing the hills with crimson. The hour was\ntoo late to risk the dark path through the wood, and we continued upon\nthe main highway, making but one deviation down a stony road, and over\nSpruce Creek, until we reached the Laurel House, where the twilight was\nstill lingering, and where we found our friends a little anxious.'\n\n'I do not wonder,' said Aunt Sarah. 'Such vagaries are enough to keep a\nwhole household in a chronic state of anxiety. And I really cannot see\nwhat you had gained!'\n\n'I have only given you a simple statement of the facts,' replied Elsie;\n'to know our feelings by the way, the delight we experienced, all we\nlearned, including geography and topography, and the life and health we\ndrank in at every step, you must take that very same walk.'\n\n'More inscrutable mysteries!' returned Aunt Sarah.\n\n'Yes,' said Lucy D----, 'inscrutable, and yet subtilely vivifying as the\nbreath of their Author, the Great Architect of this glorious universe.'\n\n\n\n\nOUR GOVERNMENT AND THE BLACKS.\n\n\nAll thoughtful minds are profoundly conscious that the problems of war\nare not the last and most important to be solved in our national\naffairs. It is clear enough that this great convulsion must end; and\nend, too, in the total extinction of that stupendous system of iniquity\nin the interests of which it was projected. President Lincoln's\nProclamation of emancipation throughout rebeldom, and the recent order\nto enlist the slaves throughout the Border States in military service to\nthe Government, emancipating all thus enlisted, whether slaves of loyal\nor disloyal masters, with the certainty that there is to be no cessation\nto the grand achievements of our arms short of the completest success,\nall conspire to assure us that the dreadful _disorder_ hitherto\nconsuming our national vitals is to pass finally away in the convulsive\n_disease_ of its last throes, so distressing to us all. It being thus\ncertain that this consecrated crime is to be dismantled, dishonored, and\nabandoned forever, the question is forced upon us: 'What is to be done\nwith the negroes?' Some four millions of human beings, doomed to\nremorseless servitude, denied the static force of social law, forbidden\nby positive law the rights of education, through which alone are\nattained the culture and refinement of real manhood--these are the\n'freedmen' just emerging from the most insignificant nonage to the\nsublime personality of citizenship in a Government of the people. Such\nbeing practically their attitude, what are the real demands and needs in\nthe case?\n\nReputed statesmen, journalists, public speakers, and politicians are all\nready enough to determine the matter. 'Let them alone,' say they. 'They\nare needed where they are; and the respective wants of capital and labor\nwill regulate the intercourse between these simple and uncultured\npeople and the powerful and shrewd men who henceforth are to buy their\nservice.' Such, in our humble opinion, is not the wisdom of sound,\nhealthy statesmanship. Let us see.\n\nWe cannot get a complete handling of this matter without first\ndetermining the purpose and character of government as a principle; and\nwe cannot determine this without a clear understanding of the laws of\nthe human mind in its historic evolution. We must understand, then, that\ngovernment is legitimately only an institution in the service of\nuniversal man. It is subjective, ministerial, instrumental always ways;\n_aiming only at the interests of the governed_; else it contains an\nelement hostile to the Divine order that peacefully directs all\nmovement, and must therefore be disturbed with a commotion that will\neither restore or destroy it.\n\nWe may not hereupon assume that government must necessarily assume only\none form; for, being thus subservient to human use, to manly culture, to\ncomplete social state, it must infallibly assume forms precisely\nproportioned to the human conditions to which applied; hence, we must\nunderstand the laws of the human mind, which display its _varied_\nconditions in the course of its evolution from infancy to manhood,\nbefore we can have a clear, scientific conception of the principles,\noperations, and organic forms of human government. Let us, then, inquire\nbriefly as to these laws.\n\nHereupon we find the mental conditions of the Grand Man--the human race\nat large--precisely analogous to those of the small man--the individual\nperson. And by exhibiting the mental conditions with principles of\ngovernment properly related, which rule in one sphere, we infallibly\npresent the corresponding conditions and forms in the other sphere.\n\nThe human mind, then, is a three-fold form, each fold having its own\ndistinct character, in consequence of which it is broadly and very\ndefinitely individualized. Childhood, youthhood, and manhood, constitute\nthis triple form. The slightest consideration will readily confirm one\nas to the propriety of this analysis; for, one cannot fail to see that\nthe distinct characteristics of each are broad and marked, and therefore\nnecessarily discriminate to any completeness of thought upon this\nsubject. Childhood is a form of total inexperience and unlimited\ndependence. Youthhood is a form of growth from the helplessness of the\nchild to the strength and completeness of the man; involving the trials\nof experimental endeavor, attended with the numerous buffs and rebuffs\nso surely the witness of vital efforts toward fulness. Manhood is the\nform of fulness, completeness, maturity. It is the form of luscious\njuices ultimated in the perfectly rounded and glowing fruitage; juices\nthat pressed the tender bud into the thousand charms of floral beauty,\nand thence moulded and urged the growing form to its crowning\nexcellence.\n\nChildhood, therefore, is a form in which activities are commanded from\nwithout; as the parent commands the child, knowing that the child's best\ninterests--the ultimate realization of true, manly freedom--are only to\nbe realized through such arbitrary tutelage. Youthhood is a form of\nrational freedom, wherein the subject's moral freedom is stimulated\nunder various forms of appeal in behalf of right doing. Here the careful\nparent keeps the reins firmly in hand, but still slackens them to allow\nthe plunging steed to determine his own career; overjoyed if he choose\nrightly and make his course with vigor and safety; sad and anxious if\nforced to draw rein and urge anew the proper direction. It is evident\nthat the subject's activities here are partly self-determined or free,\nand partly coerced or outwardly imposed.\n\nManhood is a form that repudiates all methods of external appliances,\nscales the bounds of parental dictation, and finds only life's fulness\nin a freedom all aglow with the soul's adoration. It knows no law but\nthat of attraction; feels no impulse but that of love. Its activities\nare perfectly free or spontaneous. The human mind thus falling under\nthis triple order of development, inevitably projects governmental forms\nstrictly proportioned or related thereto. And this is true regarding any\nof its organized forms, from the individual to the human race at large:\nhence the infantile condition of a people or a nation demands a\nperfectly absolute, arbitrary, or commanding form of government; while\nthe youthful condition demands a mixed form; wherein the ruled are\npartly free or self-determined, and partly subject or directed by the\nreigning authority; and the manly condition demands a system of pure\nself-government, wherein the law is written on the heart.\n\nIt must be borne in mind that government is solely instrumental or\nministerial to human use; being designed to mould and fashion unfolding\nhuman powers to higher and still higher social conditions, tending all\nto that perfect ultimate wherein life and law are both spontaneous and\nexactly balanced, and nothing detrimental to the dearest interests of\nmanhood can by possibility exist.\n\nGovernment, then, of whatever kind, must always be administered with\nstrict regard for the interests of the governed; and it is the endeavor\nto subvert and overcome this legitimate principle of government, through\nthe mistaken selfishness of ruling powers, which attempt to administer\nin behalf of their own lusts and in violation of universal ends, which\nhas kept and is keeping up now the convulsions that shake and try civil\ninstitutions to their utmost.\n\nThe theory or declaratory form of our Government stands out, boldly and\ndistinctly, as that of the highest order. In theory it is the form\nproportionate to full manhood; planting and fostering institutions\ntending to promote the free play of all that is great and glorious in\nhuman character. It does not thus far practically realize its theory,\nbecause, without regard to this incongruous system of inhumanity, which,\nby its very nature, can find no harmony nor peace in connection, nations\nthemselves wear the human form, and must, therefore, realize the various\nstates of infancy, youthfulness, and manhood--of germ, growth, and\nfruitage. This is true of whatever national form. Nationalities founded\nupon the principles of absolutism, embody and express the same laws and\nconditions. Their principle of supreme external authority is first a\ncondition of germination, then of growth or labored effort toward\nmaturity, and lastly of fruitage, in which the whole form is matured in\nperfectly organic completeness, manifesting despotism in government, in\norderly or scientific proportions.\n\nOur nation, then, has not realized its highest conditions, because it is\nas yet only germinal, or the national child-man; or, at best, is but the\nvigorous blade, or national youth-man; while the corn, fully ripe in the\near--the national man-man--is reserved unto the glory of the approaching\nfuture, whose rays already dawn upon us and illustrate the clouds, that\nhave hitherto hung over us and darkened our way, with the power and\ngreat glory of the coming of the Son of Man.\n\nLet us now try to draw nearer to the mark at which we principally aimed\nin projecting this article. We said that the 'let-them-alone' system,\nconcerning the nation's 'freedmen,' is not the system of sound\nstatesmanship. Why not? Because they are a people in a state of\ninfantile weakness and inexperience; whom, from the irrepressible laws\nand conditions of the human mind, we _must_ govern and control, either\nwisely and beneficently or otherwise. To unloose the chains that have\nbound them, and set them adrift to contend and compete under our\nmethods of individualism or isolated interests, is to doom them to\nconditions hardly to be preferred to those from which they are about to\nescape. This is certainly true with respect to a large majority. Witness\nthe state of our weakest white laborers, particularly in all our large\ncities, and some few years back. See them by thousands and tens of\nthousands imploring for employment, and only too happy if they may find\nit at the most repulsive and unwholesome labor, sufficient to stay their\nfamished frames and adjourn for a time the pangs of hunger and frosts.\nDriven in despairing hordes to beggary, prostitution, and crimes of\nevery kind, how fearfully threatening are the neglected duties and\nobligations that confront us in their behalf! What, then, shall we say\nto those who propose to swell the frightful tide by turning loose\nmillions more, weaker and more incompetent, it may be, besides being\nsubject to the evils of the reigning prejudices against color? No, no;\nit must not be done. The Government must become the visible providence\nof these weak children. It must organize and direct their efforts and\ninterests. It must, at least, organize them into industrial legions, and\ncarefully direct all their educational interests. This work, too, must\nassume paternal form. Government is rightfully the foster parent of all\nits tender, weak, or by any means incompetent children; and unless it\nacknowledge and fulfil its functions as such, it is not Divinely\nadministered, and stands accountable before Supreme Wisdom for all\nremissness. To meet all the demands, an especial commission must be\nestablished, and organized with a completeness that will meet all the\neducational and industrial needs of these dependent children. This\ncommission must have a wise head and _tender heart_. It must be fully\nalive to the great issues involved, and must be healthy and vigorous in\nits extremities, where will come the immediate points of contact with,\nthe great power it is to operate--the organized freedmen. The expense of\nthis commission must not be a tax upon the Government, nor must\nGovernment derive any profit therefrom. Such an organized directory,\nwith extremities all complete, may be amply paid from the freedmen's\nlabors; at the same time, those labors being doubly remunerative to\nthemselves, in consequence of the wise adjustment of the organized\nmachinery of such a commission. For the weak and uneducated to be in\ncomplete subjection to the stronger and more cultivated is in strict\naccordance with the divinest order; only this relation must be that of\ndependence and providence, without a taint of selfishness. It must be\nhumanitary or beneficent in its aims, and not inhuman and malevolent, as\nis always the case when the weak are subjected to distinguish,\naggrandize, and enrich those who subject them. That the freedmen may be\norganized and directed upon such humane and economical principles and\naccording to the strictest method and order--an order amounting to\ndefinite science--will be practically demonstrated when the Government,\nin the full consciousness of its mission, calls to its aid competent men\nfor this commission, and moves vigorously in the work. The principles of\ngovernment which we have briefly suggested as the basis of movement in\nthis matter, based upon the laws and consequently applying to the needs\nof the human mind, enable us infallibly to estimate the whole relations\nof Government and people. Our Government being in its theory the highest\nform--the form proportioned to manhood, or the human mind so matured as\nto have the intelligence to perceive and the virtue to execute the\nright--proceeds, of course, upon the declaration that 'all _men are\ncreated_ free and equal;' but in the only practical sense of free or\nself-government, which, in its very nature, can only rest upon the\nvirtue and intelligence of its subjects, men cannot be regarded as\n'created' until they are made whole or complete in the crowning\nintelligence and virtue of the loftiest human attributes. But as\ngovernment, of whatever kind, follows the laws of the human mind, is\nfirst a germ, then a growth, and then a fruitage--shoot, blade, and\near--our Government can only realize this greatness and perfection\n(unlimited intelligence and virtue) in its matured or organic state;\nwhen the declared principles of its form shall have become livingly\ncombined or organized in institutions of unlimited excellence and\npower--institutions that will perpetually embody and express the exalted\nhuman force that inspired them. That our Government has thus far failed\nto exhibit such completeness, only argues that it has heretofore been in\na formative condition--a condition of laborious trial, tuition, and\ngrowth, fitting it to realize ultimately its fullness, wherein it will\nstand related to previous conditions as the grand, symmetric beauty of\nthe ear of grain stands related to its various formative states.\n\nIf now our Government is, as we fondly hope, approaching its third\ndegree, its matured condition, with a race of dependent children\nemerging from the lowest condition, that of chattel slavery, it is plain\nenough what the relation of these people and the Government should be.\nThey are simply minors, subjects of the Government, but not a part of\nthe Government. The right of suffrage is not to be extended to them,\nbecause, from the nature and spirit of the Government, they are\nnecessarily excluded from the _highest_ prerogatives of citizenship.\nTheir education and whole training are to proceed with a view to their\nbecoming ultimately a function in the government.\n\nIf the principles thus stated amount to a _science_ of government--and\nwe unhesitatingly aver that they do--then it is clear enough that\nself-government--the highest form--does by no means necessitate, under\nall conditions, _universal_ suffrage. In truth, its orderly development\nstrictly forbids it. A government, founded and only healthily operated\non virtue and intelligence, must apply itself studiously to develop\nthese conditions in its subjects; thus, and only thus, may these\nsubjects become a part of the governmental power in its full, harmonious\ndevelopment. Self-government must recognize the principle of universal\nsuffrage, because it proceeds upon, and, in its ripest form, must come\nto that; but, as it is an operation or analytic before it is an ordered\nform or synthetic in its character, it will, while forming or growing,\nboth restrict the rights of suffrage, and permit its subjects to a part\nin government when they are not fully qualified therefor. Our freedmen,\nthen, are neither to be subjected contrary to the demands of their own\nhighest good, nor are they to become an element in government in\ndetriment to the public good. Hence they must not be controlled in _any\nform_ of servitude to interested and selfish superiors, nor must they,\nby partaking of the elective franchise, become, at present, active\nparticipants in the government.\n\nOur current national history must be regarded as singularly marked by\nbeneficent Providential design. At the same time that a people hitherto\ndespised and oppressed are emancipated from a dreadful thraldom, the\nconditions attending such emancipation are forcing upon the nation a\nsystem of industrial organization which we trust will not only prove\neffective in all that pertains to their future welfare, but will, at the\nsame time, become the example of an organization that shall emancipate\nand enthrone labor everywhere and in all conditions. Seeing thus the\nlight of day streaming in with unmarred radiance, dispelling every trace\nof darkness and gloom, we cannot but thank God for His wise\ndispensations, and with renewed hope and energy press onward toward the\nglowing east to greet the rising sun.\n\n\n\n\nOUT OF PRISON.\n\n  From crowds that scorn the mounting wings,\n   The happy heights of souls serene,\n  I wander where the blackbird sings,\n  And over bubbling, shadowy springs,\n   The beech-leaves cluster, young and green.\n\n  I know the forest's changeful tongue\n   That talketh all the day with me:\n  I trill in every bobolink's song,\n  And every brooklet bears along\n   My greeting to the chainless sea!\n\n  The loud wind laughs, the low wind broods;\n   There is no sorrow in the strain!\n  Of all the voices of the woods,\n  That haunt these houseless solitudes,\n   Not one has any tone of pain.\n\n  In merry round my days run free,\n   With slender thought for worldly things:\n  A little toil sufficeth me;\n  I live the life of bird and bee,\n   Nor fret for what the morrow brings.\n\n  Nor care, nor age, nor grief have I,\n   Only a measureless content!\n  So time may creep, or time may fly;\n  _I_ reck not how the years go by,\n   With Nature's youth forever blent.\n\n  They beckon me by day, by night,\n   The bodiless elves that round me play!\n  I soar and sail from height to height;\n  No mortal, but a thing of light\n   As free from earthly clog as they.\n\n  But when my feet, unwilling, tread\n   The crowded walks of busy men,\n  Their walls that close above my head\n  Beat down my buoyant wings outspread,\n   And I am but a man again.\n\n  My pulses spurn the narrow bound!\n   The cold, hard glances give me pain!\n  I long for wild, unmeasured ground,\n  Free winds that wake the leaves to sound,\n   Low rustles of the summer rain!\n\n  My senses loathe their living death--\n   The coffined garb the city wears!\n  I draw through sighs my heavy breath,\n  And pine till lengths of wood and heath\n   Blow over me their endless airs!\n\n\n\n\nLIES, AND HOW TO KILL THEM.\n\n     'I said, in my haste, all men are liars.'--KING DAVID.\n\n     'Ye said it in your _haste_, did ye, David? Hech, mon, were ye\n      leevin now, ye might say it at your _leisure_.'--DOMINIE\n      McPHAIL.\n\nThe Dominie was right. It's a lying world. It does not improve with age\neither. The habit has become chronic, and the worst of all is, that the\nworld has told some lies so often, that it actually now believes them\nitself. The wretched family propagates, too, at a terrible rate. Lies\nbreed, like other vermin, rapidly, and they are not at all modest about\nintruding in any company.\n\nI meet them in the gossiping circle, and I meet them in the courts of\njustice. I find lies in politics and lies in religion, lies in the\npulpit, 'nail't wi' Scripture,' lies in the counting room railed with\nfalse entries, religious lies, told by Deacon Longface, for the\nadvancement of what the Deacon calls 'the gospel,' and irreligious lies\ntold by Bill Snooks, and clenched with an oath, lies in good books, and\nlies in bad ones, lies written, and printed in the newspapers, and lies\nwhispered in the ear, and any number of lies sent by telegraph! And\nthen, there's the walking lies, going about on two legs, saying what\nthey do not believe, professing what they do not feel, the most\nscandalous sort of lies extant.\n\nI meet them often, too, in 'the best society.' They are very impudent,\nyou know. I suppose they force their presence on people. At all events,\nI know I find them in respectable company, and they seem quite at home\nthere.\n\nMy friend Jones has just built what the newspapers call 'an elegant\nmansion.' I was invited to the house-warming. Mrs. Jones's set is very\nexclusive, and I was greatly complimented, of course. I went. Jones has\ntaste. I noticed the plaster walls. Jones had them colored to marble.\nThe wainscoting of the library was pine, but the pine lied itself into a\npassable walnut. The folding doors of the parlor were pine, too, when I\ncame near. They pretended to be solid oak while I stood at the other end\nof the room. Jones had succumbed to the demands of his time, and had\nmade his dwelling among lies. His 'elegant mansion' was a big, staring\nlie from top to bottom. From the plated door-knob to the grained railing\nround the garret stairs, he had 'made lies his refuge.' I was bewildered\nthat evening. It was impossible to say what was real. Miss Seraphina\nJones had a lovely color. Was it _done_ like the folding doors? Mrs.\nSmythe had the whitest of teeth when she smiled. Were they only a\npretence at teeth? Mrs. Robinson had beautiful masses of that chestnut\nhair around her handsome neck. The bewildering 'mansion' of my friend\nmade me half doubt even that splendid hair. Tom Harris's magnificent\nwhiskers, I _knew_, were not colored by fancy to that depth of darkness.\nAt last I actually began to doubt the sincerity of everybody present.\nTheir warm expressions of delight with Jones's new house, their pleasure\nin each other's society, their earnest inquiries after each other's\nwelfare, all began to affect me with a sense of unreality, owing to that\nmasquerading 'mansion.' I began to think, in such a house, there might\nbe more shams than the marbled plaster or the grained pine.\n\nJones's church is not better. I occupied a seat in his 'eligible pew'\nlast Sunday. The lath and plaster walls pretended to be Caen stone. The\ncheap deal was all 'make-believe' oak. The brick pillars were 'blocked\noff,' and unblushingly claimed to be granite. As I entered, I observed\nthat the pulpit stood under the arch of a recess, roofed with carved\nstone, with clustered columns rising on the sides and spreading into\ngraceful arches overhead. As I walked up the broad aisle, the recess\nshifted strangely, and the clustered columns of 'carven stone' ran in\nand out, at hide and seek. At last the truth flashed on me. The chancel\nwas only painted on the flat rear wall of the building! I don't know\nwhat the sermon was about. It doesn't matter. How _could_ a man preach\ntruth, framed in such a staring lie? I have no doubt he tried to, for, I\nbelieve, he is an excellent man; but what a place to put him, Sunday\nafter Sunday, with that painted cheat behind him, mocking all he says!\n\nBut lies are venerable as well as respectable. There are old, gray lies\nthat men half worship. The more toothless and drivelling, often the more\nvenerable. They have imposed their solemn emptiness on men for\ngenerations. They have awed the souls of the fathers. They make the\nchildren tremble. Men chant their praises, call them great names, and\ntell each other the old scarecrows are better than any truths--they are\nso ancient, so venerable, you see; and all the old women, male and\nfemale, believe them.\n\nThen, there are powerful lies. Think on the wars men have fought for\nlies, on the millions of followers lies have had--how from their lofty\nseats they govern empires, convulse continents, and drive patient\nnations mad. Think on the money they have made, the mouths they have\nfilled, the backs they have warmed, the houses they have built, the\nreputations they have created, the systems they have propped, the books\nthey have sent out, the presses they have kept busy. Think of the\nDonation of Constantine, the Forged Decretals, the South Sea Scheme, the\nMississippi Bubble, of Wild Cat Banks, and Joyce Heth! He is certainly a\nbold man who will rashly measure his strength with this mighty family.\n\nAs the world goes, the Father of Lies crowns himself and claims the\nsovereignty. 'All these things will I give thee'--riches, honor, power.\nIt is the old Temptation of the Desert forever repeated. He lies when he\nmakes the offer. They were never his to give. But it's a lying world.\nThere are millions of us cheated. They take the old scoundrel at his\nword.\n\nYou and I, reader, do not, let us hope. We agree in believing that,\nunder any circumstances, lies are not good; that, at all times, they are\nunsafe, unwholesome, and in every way bad, very bad; that, on the whole,\nit is not safe to trust them, or go with them. That is a good creed. It\nappears to me the only creed, on this subject, that will stand.\n\nFor this is, after all, a very solemn sort of life. It has a very\nserious ending. A great universe whirls away with its ebon-faced\nmysteries piled from central caves to highest heavens--a universe, with\nall its mysteries, of hardest reality and baldest truth. A man, looking\nup to the cold, clear, unswerving stars, out yonder in the wintry night,\nor down at the grave that lies, somewhere, for the digging across his\npath, must feel that a lie for him, knowing his place, knowing himself,\nthat a lie for him is accursed.\n\nWe want the truth always--clear-eyed, sharp-cut, marble-faced truth. We\nwant to know the facts and realities of our position, just as they are.\nThe mariner sails away into the lonely sea. The mystery of the\nunfathomed deep sways miles down beneath his passing keel. The mystery\nof the overarching heavens swims far above with mazy constellation and\nrevolving sphere. Between the mystery of the sky and the mystery of the\nsea he steers right on, in calm and tempest confident, in night and\nnoonday secure. For he there, on the trackless wastes that girdle in the\ngreat wide world, alone with the silence of Nature and God, _knows_ the\nfacts of his position, the realities of his place. The charts lie spread\nbefore him. Island, continent, lone sea-rock, hidden shoal, they are all\nmapped to his eye. The faithful needle points due north. The true sun\nrises where he always has. The faithful, changeless stars look down at\nmidnight. The truth saves him, rocked in the arms of the wild sea. The\nreality holds him secure. Ask him, looking out, in the night watch, over\nthe black sea and up to the inky deeps, and down to the dim-lighted\ncompass before him, ask him his opinion of _a lie_! What his honest\nnotion may be about a false light on yonder headland, a false latitude\non his chart for this island or that shoal, a mistaken measurement of\ndepth across this bay or through yonder straits! Ask him the nature and\neffects of _a lie_ in the chart he sails by!\n\nAnd we are all sailors. We want true charts. The false chart is our\nruin. The false beacon on the headland is kindled by the fiends. It\nleads to death--a wreck-strewn sea, dashing white up the black cliffs,\nand bubbling cries, rising above the tempest's roar and the surges'\nboom, as, one by one, the swimmers sink to darkness through the foam!\n\nNay, for us, sailors over life's seas, sailors into eternity's dimness,\nthe lie wears its Father's likeness. And the liar, the man who makes a\nlie, or helps a lie to success, a lie of word or deed, a lying boast\nmerely, or a bad, vile, lying system, is my enemy, your enemy,\nhumanity's enemy. He has deserted God's army, has denied his human\nbrotherhood so far, has gone over, soul and body, to Satan. He is God's\nenemy and man's thenceforward.\n\nThat, I say, is, I trust, our creed about lies and liars too. We know\nwhere the lie comes from. We know whither it tends. We have made up our\nminds that it, and all its belonging, were best swept clean away and\npitched into the Big Fire. Blessed be the man, we say, who successfully\nkills lies! He is a man to be honored and loved, no matter how rough he\nis in the process. It is never very smooth business. It is not a thing\nthat can be well done in gloves. Let us not quarrel with how the\nchampion does it. The main end is to get the lies well choked somehow.\n\nBut the one great difficulty in the way of such a man is, that so many\npeople believe in lies. My eager young friend, Philalethes, supposes\nthat, if he can only expose this falsehood, show up this sham, or sound\nthe emptiness of this piece of cant or pretence, he will do the state\nsome service, that men will thank him and call him benefactor. He does\nthe work, and lo! to his amazement, many excellent men count him their\ndeadly enemy.\n\nThese good souls see what he sees, that lies, and shams, and cheats in\nbusiness, in science, in politics, in religion, in social life, are\noften very successful and very powerful, and they come to _their_\nconclusion, which is not his by a great deal. He thinks the lie ought to\nbe hated, with a hatred the more intense because of its success. They\nconclude that lies, in this world at least, are necessary. They have\nseen, with their own eyes, how powerful, venerable, or respectable lies\nare, and they act on their knowledge. They take the lie into sleeping\npartnership--Quirk and _Co_.\n\nThere are men who do not believe plain truth can walk alone in this\nworld. She needs a pair of lies for crutches! Men will actually write\nand print lies for the truth's sake. Men have piously written down and\ncopyrighted lies (I have their books on my shelves) for the sake of\nreligion! They have so little faith in God, they think they must wheedle\nSatan over on His side, or the truth and the right will fail. It is very\neasy to believe in God for the other world, but very hard to believe in\nHim for this. He will be omnipotent lord and master there, but here,\nnow, in this bewildering world, in this confused and wretched time,\nwhere wrong seems so prosperous and lies so strong, is He omnipotent\nhere? Hereaway, is not the Devil mightier? Can we get along without a\nlittle of his help?\n\nNow lies can never end till this ends. While men think them necessary to\ntruth, in business, in politics, in social order, even in religion, they\nwill stand. People must be got to see that they are evil, that under no\ncircumstances can they be anything else, that there can be no alliance\nbetween truth and falsehood, that the false thing must, in the end, be\nthe corrupting thing, Satanic and vile utterly. They must know that,\njust so far as anything is incorporate with a lie, so far is it foul to\nthe nostrils of all angels, and ought to be to the nostrils of all men.\n\nWeave a lie into your social polity. It may prosper for a while, but\nsoon or late your social polity runs mad. Take a lie into your business,\nas sleeping partner, try to live and prosper in that connection, and,\nsome time, you and your business will go to the dogs together. Adopt a\nlie in your religion, make up your mind, piously as you think, to\nbelieve what you do not believe and cannot believe, attempt to sanctify\nfalsehood and lie yourself into a faith, and your sham creed and your\nlying religion will do you no good in this world or in the other.\n\nBecause a lie is a respectable lie, believed and patronized by\nrespectable people, shall you respect it? Because some venerable sham\nhas imposed its emptiness on a score of generations, shall we go on\nreverencing it, and pass the scarecrow and its trumpery trappings on for\nthe reverence of our children? Shall we, for any cause, that is, turn\nliars ourselves, and use the tongues God gave us to speak honest truth\nand simple meaning with, to deceive, in small matter or great, one human\nbrother of ours, and make him think Satan's black lie as good as the\nLord's white truth?\n\nIt may be strong preaching, but how can one help it? Never yet did a\ntrue-hearted, clear-headed reformer set to work to clear away some old\ncankering sore of falsehood from a people's life that he did not meet\nwith opposition. And never yet did that opposition come from those who\nloved the lie for the lie's sake or the bad for the bad's sake. It came\nfrom those who love Truth, but who could not trust her, who loved Good,\nbut had no faith in its success, who wanted to see the right side\ntriumph, but had no confidence in the right--who really believed, that\nis to say, that Satan was almighty and the Lord's cause could not\nprosper, in this world at least, without his help! The opposition came\nfrom those who would deal gently with respectable lies, not because they\nare lies, but because they are respectable; who trembled before powerful\nlies, not because they were lies, but because they were powerful; who,\nseeing shams and cheats so prosperous, so venerable, so strong, got the\nnotion into their poor cowardly hearts that they are strongest, and\nwanted the reformer to come humbly, cap in hand, and ask them to let a\nlittle truth live, a little modest, humble, unaggressive truth--it will\nbe very orderly, very quiet, very deferential, if they, the powerful,\nthe venerable, the respectable lies will let it stay here, in some\ncorner, out of charity!\n\nThese are the men who, in all ages, have built barriers against heaven,\nthe cowards, the faithless, the unbelieving. They dare not trust truth\nbecause it is truth, and good because it is good, leaving consequences\nwith Him whose special business it is to take care of consequences. No,\nit is not love for the lie, but want of faith in the truth, that blocks\nthe chariot wheels of the golden year.\n\nFor men do not love the lie after all. There's comfort in that. They do\nnot like being cheated. They never get quite used to it, as, they say,\neels do to skinning. They sometimes turn on the man, or the system, that\ntries it on them, in a very terrible and savage manner, with fury as of\na mad lion, and take swift, fearful vengeance. The big, dumb heart of\nhumanity, in the long, run, can be trusted. It is often imposed upon,\nits blind trust shamefully abused. Scoundrels exist and prosper on its\npatience and credulity. But only for a time. There is a reckoning for\nall such deceptions, if need be, in blood and fire. The dull heart\nthrobs, the dull eyes open, the great brain stirs in its sleep, and\nhumanity, true to its origin, rises to crush the lie with its million\narms of power. And earth-born Briareus, when his thousand hands turn to\nright his wrongs, is not delicate in their handling. The echoes of a\nFrench Revolution will ring for some generations yet.\n\nThe man who turns to combat error needs the assurance of the true\ninstincts of his race, for he enters on a task that must seem hopeless\noften.\n\n  'Truth crushed to earth will rise again;'\n\nso Mr. Bryant tells him, and he is much obliged to Mr. Bryant. But will\nnot error do just the same? He killed a lie yesterday, and buried it\ndecently. He finds it alive again and prosperous to-day. Cut a man's\nhead off, and he dies. There's no help for it, unless he is a St. Denis,\nand then he can only take a walk with his head in his hand. But, if he\nis not a St. Denis, he dies. That is the law. Cut the head off a lie, it\ndoes not die at all. It rather seems to enjoy the operation. You will\nmeet it, like fifty St. Denises, on every morning walk, during your\nlifetime. They have a marvellous vitality. I meet lies every day that,\nto my certain knowledge, were put to death a hundred years ago, by\nmaster hands at the business, too. They ought, in decency at least, to\nlook like pale ghosts 'revisiting the glimpses of the moon,' but they\ndon't. They are smug, comfortable, and somewhat portly, as from good,\nsolid living.\n\nNow this is discouraging somewhat. But there is no good in shutting\none's eyes to the fact. That is what I am going against. It is best to\nknow that lies die hard. They will bear at least as many killings as a\ncat, and that's _nine_. Still, much depends upon the manner of the\noperation. How is it best performed? Knowledge is needed in all\npursuits. There is a science undoubtedly in killing lies. If you wish to\ngo into the business, and I trust most honest men do, you need to study\nit somewhat. Otherwise you will waste much effort, and get few results.\nIt is not easy to kill one wolf with a stick, but, call science to your\naid, and an ounce of strychnine, well administered, will do the business\nfor a pack. Instead of going into a rough-and-tumble fight with some\ncoarse, rude, vile lie, and mauling it to death by sheer force of\nmuscle, it is better to use science and put it to death neatly, cleanly,\nand delicately, with unsoiled hands. Let us see if we can find the\nscience of killing lies.\n\n'The greater the lie the greater the truth.' Take that with you. A lie\nmust, somewhere, have a truth to prop it. In the heart of every big\nsuccessful lie you will find some reality. Of course you cannot build a\nhouse on _nothing_. A pyramid cannot be constructed in the air. Now a\nlie is _nothing_, the very definition of nothing. It is what _is not_.\nSo, of course, no pure and simple lie exists. It always builds itself on\nsome truth. It always roots itself into some fact. And there is the\nsecret of its vitality. You batter the lie with your logic, but the\nblows rebound from the iron truth beneath. You assail it with the\nflashing darts of your rhetoric, the points fly harmless from the marble\nreality below. There is truth there somewhere. That is why your rhetoric\nand your logic fail. That, too, is why one so often sees that most\nbewildering and despairing sight, men clinging to a lie, honoring it,\ntrusting it, defending it, in all sincerity, against all assailants. It\nis not the lie they defend, but the truth in the lie. What a relief it\nwas when I first made that discovery! I was ready to think meanly of my\nkind, to distrust humanity's instincts for truth. The lookout was on\ndespair. But, when I understood the nature of the lie, I learned to\nthink better of my brethren, I learned to have more hope in their Maker.\nNo, there is no building on nothing. Every lie has a substratum of\ntruth. In fact, look closer, and is not a lie only a distorted truth?--a\ntruth torn from its connections, its features twisted out of all\nsymmetry, its outlines battered out of all shape?\n\nA man tells a true story to-day, in the hearing of one who has this\ndistorting power, an essentially untrue soul. He hears the same story\nto-morrow, the very same, but so deformed, so mangled, so patched, that\nit is, now, every inch a lie--the truth gone crazy. That is, a truth\nhalf told is a lie, a truth added to is a lie, a truth distorted is a\nlie, a truth with its due proportions changed is a lie. And a lie may\nalways be defined as a lame, deformed, or crazy truth.\n\nAnd it is the truth in the lie that gives it its power, that makes\nhonest men so often accept, love, and help it. Their conscious design is\nto work for the truth's sake. It is the truth in the lie that makes so\nmany logic shafts, so many rhetoric arrows glance off, as from the hide\nof a rhinoceros.\n\nAnd the bigger the lie the bigger also the truth. That is another bit of\nscience. If Mrs. Tattle tells Mrs. Tittle a lie about Mrs. Jenkins, she\nknows very well Mrs. Tittle will not believe her unless her lie has some\nspice of fact to go on, unless it has _vraisemblance_, truth-likeness,\nan appearance of foundation at least. Mean little lies, like those she\nsets going, do not need much salt of truth to keep them from spoiling;\nstill they require their due modicum, and they usually have it. As for\ninstance, she says, with a long face, to Mrs. Tittle: 'Mrs. Jenkins, the\nwidow Jenkins, you know, it's _awful_. She went over to Pinkins's last\nevening; I saw her go, and I do believe she stayed till twelve, and Mrs.\nPinkins is away, you know. Isn't it terrible?' and she raises her eyes\nin pious horror at the depravity of the world, and of handsome young\nwidows in particular. That is the _lie_. Now here is the _truth_. Mrs.\nJenkins _did_ go across the way to Pinkins's, because one of his little\nones was suddenly taken with some baby ailment, and the poor fellow, in\nhis wife's absence, was scared out of his few wits in consequence. He\nsent for the kind-hearted widow, and begged her help for Johnny. She\ncame, nursed the young scamp like a mother, and returned at nine, with\nher conscience glowing under the performance of a kindly and neighborly\nact.\n\nNow, without this much of truth, the amiable Mrs. Tattle would never\nhave manufactured this particular lie. All liars understand the\nprinciple. They scarcely ever, until they become blind and stupid liars,\ninvent a falsehood out of mere fancy. They pay tribute to humanity's\ninstinct for truth so far as to tell as much of it as possible without\nceasing to lie. They get in as great an amount of truth as convenient,\nto save their lie from swift, sure death.\n\nBut a rousing big lie!--not one of these small neighborhood affairs,\nthat buzz about like wasps in every community--but a grand and\nmagnificent lie, imposed on a nation, imposed maybe on half a world,\nmust have a corresponding truth to make it prosper. It takes less salt\nto cure the small pig, more to cure the large hog. So, the greater the\nweight of dead lie, the greater the amount required of preserving truth.\n\nMohammed imposed a lie on half a continent. That lie has lived and, in\nsome sort, prospered to this day. All sorts of babblement have been\nwritten and spoken about that wonderful fact. The truth is, Mohammed's\ngreat lie was founded on, and propagated with, an equally great truth, a\ntruth amply sufficient to carry it. In the midst of abominable idolatry,\nof stupid polytheism, Mohammed proclaimed: 'There is no God but God!'\nHis wild and foolish fictions were based on that grand, unalterable\ntruth. That truth is big enough to bear up more lies than even he\nventured to cover it with. The human heart leaped up to grasp the great\nfact that props the Universe--'GOD IS!'--and, in its love for that,\naccepted also the falsehoods woven into its proclamation.\n\nIn all the universe the evil roots itself into the good. Evil never has\nan independent life. Like an idol, 'it is nothing in the world.' An evil\nnature is a good nature, only turned from its aim. Death exists only\nbecause there is life. Disease feeds on rosy health. Devils are, by\nnature, angels. The foulest fiend is only the loftiest seraph spoiled.\nThe evil is always a parasite. All things were made 'very good.' An evil\nthing is only one of those good things corrupted. The lie, therefore,\ngrows out of the truth. The clearest heaven's truth, half told,\ndistorted, patched upon, is the vilest lie thenceforth.\n\nNow, when one wants to kill lies successfully, he must remember all\nthis. He may turn, as many have done, to the work of proving\nMohammedanism a cheat. He sees it is. He wants to get others to see it.\nHe brings his logic artillery and the rifle brigades of his flashing\nrhetoric to the battle. But, let him not be surprised if his heavy shot\nis powdered, and his Minie bullets glance harmless, as from a Monitor's\nturret, for beneath lies the iron truth that 'God is God,' and that\nsaves the lie that 'Mohammed is His prophet.' He is not to rush, like a\nmadman, at the lie, and try to maul it to death by sheer force of arm\nand hand. There is a hard truth beneath it, and he will only lame his\nknuckles. Let him go at the thing scientifically. They say of slander,\nwhich is one kind of lie, that, if left alone, it will sting itself to\ndeath. It is so somewhat with all falsehood. One should pay less\nattention to the lie and more to the truth. And the best way to destroy\nthe false is to teach simply the true, and leave the false no room to\nstand on.\n\nIt is possible to destroy one lie by another. They are cannibals, and\neat each other. Voltaire tried to conquer the lie of a corrupt church by\nestablishing the greater lie of the denial of any church. That is a very\nunfortunate process, and yet it is common enough. The best way is to set\nout the truth, plain, and simple, and whole, and so kill lies in flocks.\nPositive teaching will be found the most effective teaching. The man who\ntakes up the business of combating error, may originate quite as many\nerrors as he destroys. There are a hundred prominent examples. Negative\nteaching is barren business at best. Better show what _is_ the truth\nthan worry oneself to show what is _not_ it.\n\nFor, as I have shown, all lies have some truth in them. That is why they\nkick, and struggle, and die so hard. Now, take the truth, tear away the\nlies patched about it, tell it all, and you have quenched that\nparticular lie that worried you, do you not see? and every lie that\nroots itself in that given truth, or lives on its distortion. Declare\nyour one truth convincingly, clearly, warmly as if you loved it, and the\nwork is done. All that does not agree with that is, of course, false,\nwithout further breath wasted.\n\nI might spend one day in proving that two and three are not four,\nanother in proving that nine and six are not four, and so on _ad\ninfinitum_. How much more sensible to prove that two and two are four,\nand so end the thing! How much simpler to show what is the truth than,\nlaboriously, to expose the claims of a thousand pretenders that are\n_not_ it! Here are five hundred John Smiths. They each pretend to be\n_our_ John, the man we know and esteem so highly. I could set to work\nwith infinite labor, and, by having commissions appointed all over the\nworld to take evidence, and by employing a hundred or so of my friends\nthe lawyers, I might, after a lifetime of investigation, prove the\nnegative, that four hundred and ninety-nine of them are not John. But\nhow much easier to walk out the real John at once, prove the positive,\nand let the rest pack! By proving that one truth, you see, I kill four\nhundred and ninety-nine lies--a good day's work that.\n\nThere is altogether too much of this negative style in all our defences\nof truth, too much attempt to destroy what is wrong, and too little to\nbuild what is right. And, after all, the business of the destructive,\nthough many times very necessary and very useful, is not the highest\nstyle of work. You are never sure of your ground till, on the ruins of\nthe towers of injustice and wrong, you erect the fortresses of justice\nand right.\n\nThe wise way is to let truth fight her own battles. She will render a\ngood account of all her foes. Our humble duty is to stand by her, merely\nas seconds in the strife, to help her to her feet should she fall, to\nburnish her armor if the rust come to dim its brightness or spoil the\nkeenness of her weapon's edge, knowing that she, as with the sword of\nthe cherubim, will scatter, at the last, the evil legions and their dark\narray, as the whirlwind scatters the chaff.\n\nI have written of a war that, as far as this world is concerned, is\nendless. As long as the world exists lies will exist. Truths will always\nbe half told, half learned, half understood. The man who girds himself\nto do battle with falsehood and wrong should understand that 'there is\nno discharge in this war.' It will last his life out. He must accept the\ninevitable condition of his place, and must be content to do his best,\nhopefully and bravely, in this world-work, though he surely know that it\nshall be said of him, as of those faithful ones who saw only in vision\nthe coming Christ: 'These all died in hope, not having obtained the\npromise.' I have attempted here some hints for the truth-lover. I warn\nhim, on the start, that his work is endless, his discouragements many\nand great. Often and often it will seem that the evil is omnipotent, the\nfalse all-conquering. Again and again his heart must sink in half\ndespair before the world's triumphant wrongs, before its overwhelming\nlies. In many a dark time the heavens will seem brass and the earth\niron, and the evil victorious over all. He must be prepared for this.\nThere is no good in cheating men with false hopes. In a world that\ncrowns its saviors with thorns, such things are, and it is just as well\nto know it.\n\nBut there are encouragements too. The conviction is perennial among men,\nthat, on the whole, the false must go down. That is one strong\nencouragement. This is another, that, after all, men are truth-lovers.\nThe true instincts of the race will give themselves voice some time, and\nwhen they speak they shake the world. On the whole, they are for the\nright thing and the true thing. All history, I believe, will bear them\nthat testimony.\n\nBut the great encouragement is, that the Lord is King, that a true God\nowns creation, that He is on the side of truth, and armed against every\nlie. I think, between ourselves, that is encouragement enough. The side\nthat Jehovah is on is a pretty strong side, no matter who is on the\nother. In the long run it will be the safe side, and the successful\nside.\n\n\n\n\nWAS HE SUCCESSFUL?\n\n_PART THE LAST._\n\n     'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one _lives_\n     it!--to not many is it _known_; and seize it where you will, it is\n     interesting.'--GOETHE.\n\n     'SUCCESSFUL.--Terminating in accomplishing what is wished\n     or intended.'--WEBSTER'S _Dictionary_.\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe reader must imagine a lapse of five years.\n\nHiram Meeker sits by an open window of his front parlor. It is the first\nweek in June; and, although early in the afternoon, the avenue is\nbeginning to be thronged with the fashionable world.\n\nHiram sits, idly regarding the passers by. If you observe particularly,\nyou will perceive that the chair in which he is sitting is of a peculiar\nconstruction. It is made so as to be wheeled from one point to another,\nwithout disturbing the occupant.\n\nIf you regard his countenance with a little more scrutiny, you will find\nit greatly changed. There is no longer that firm texture of the skin\nwhich indicates the vigor of health, and which shows that the muscles\nare under full control. One side of the face is a very little out of\nshape; not enough, however, to affect the appearance of the mouth, and\nprobably not to interfere with articulation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nReader, the 'evil days' have come to Hiram. They _have_ come, but, as\none might say, gently, without aggravating circumstances or attending\nmisfortunes. Still, the evil days have come. The 'years,' too, draw nigh\nwhen he shall have no pleasure in them.\n\nIt is a twelvemonth now since the fatal, long-dreaded _paralysis_ came.\nThe stroke was a mild one, but there it was. All that care, and\nforethought, and the best medical advice could accomplish, had been put\nin requisition, and not without effect; but the millionnaire could not\nneglect his vast interests, nor fail to mature plans which his fertile\nbrain originated.\n\nThe machine gave occasional token of the wear and tear to which it was\nsubjected. Then Hiram would intermit his labor; would ride farther and\nsharper of a morning; would subject himself to an extra amount of\nfriction. Presently the brain would work bravely on again, as of yore,\njust the same--exactly the same. Hiram could perceive no\ndifference--none. Then would come another premonitory symptom, which\nwould be followed by other extra rides and various new courses of\ntreatment, till all worked well again. During these periods, Doctor\nFrank, under whose charge Hiram had at length placed himself, would urge\non his brother the necessity of some relief from his self-imposed\nlabors. But, as I have intimated, the advice was heeded only while\ndanger was apparent.\n\nWhen the fearful visitor _did_ appear, Hiram bitterly regretted tasking\nhis brain so severely. He was now quite willing to obey every injunction\nand follow every suggestion of his physician.\n\nTo this is owing his present comfortable state and tolerable degree of\nhealth. But privately let me tell you that he is failing--not fast, but\ngradually, surely failing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLet us return to the window.\n\nMrs. Meeker's carriage is at the door. In a few moments Arabella herself\ncomes out and enters it, and drives away. Positively she does not appear\nin the least changed since we last saw her. In fact, her health was\nnever so good as at present.\n\n'She will outlive me,' mutters Hiram--'she will outlive me, though she\nis more than two years older than I am. Let me see, from April to\nNovember is seven months. Yes, it is nearer three years than two. She\nwill outlive me, though.\n\n'I say, Williams!'\n\n'Yes, sir.'\n\n'Williams, have you heard how Mr. Hill is to-day? I am told he is not\nexpected to live.'\n\n'No more he wasn't sir; but I met his man this morning, at market, and\nhe says as how Mr. Hill is very much better, sir, very much better.'\n\n'Humph!\n\n'Williams, who was that young man I saw come to the door this morning?'\n\n'I really couldn't say, sir--I didn't know of any, sir--oh, now I\nrecollect, sir: it was a messenger from the Doctor, sir, with the new\nfriction gloves.'\n\n'Humph!--\n\n'You understand, Williams, if _that_ young man ever comes near the\nhouse--you know who I mean--I say, you--you understand what I told you?'\n\n'Oh, yes, sir--certainly, sir.'\n\n'That will do, Williams.--Hill is getting better, is he?' pursues Hiram\nto himself. 'Let me see--Hill must be at least four years older than I.\nYes, I recollect perfectly when he was at Joslin's, the time I came down\nfrom Burnsville. Why, I was a mere boy, then, and Hill--Hill was a young\nman of five-and-twenty. Yes, I recollect perfectly'--and Hiram smiled,\nas if his encounter with Joslin and his clerk was fresh in his mind. 'So\nHill is better to-day,' he continued. 'He will outlive me too. Yet he is\ncertainly four years older--four years older.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere may be some of my readers who have taken sufficient interest in\n'that scapegrace Hill' to wish to know something about him during these\nlast thirty years.\n\nI will say, therefore, that when Hiram jilted Emma Tenant, Hill took a\nperfect disgust toward him. He presently quit drinking and swearing, and\nmarried a pretty--indeed, a very charming--rosy-cheeked girl, whose only\nfault was, as he said, that she was foolish enough to love him. This\ngirl was the daughter of his landlady, and not worth a penny--in money.\nTill Hiram's 'affair' with Emma Tenant, he had exercised sufficient\ninfluence over Hill to prevent his committing himself. That resulted in\nHill's throwing off the yoke, and announcing his independence. Hill was\nno fool. The fact is, Hiram, to a certain extent, was in his power. The\nparties never quarrelled. But all accounts were closed between them the\nfollowing season. I am constrained to add Hill continued in the liquor\nbusiness, in which he amassed a pretty large fortune. He was afterward\nmade President of the Globe Bank, one of the largest in the city, as all\nknow, which office he continues to hold. He has proved a good husband, a\nkind father, and a useful member of society. The phrase is a stereotyped\none, but it is true of Hill.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLeaving Hiram Meeker to pursue his soliloquy, I will endeavor to put the\nreader in possession of such facts as may be necessary for the better\nunderstanding of the narrative, and the present situation of affairs in\nHiram's own house.\n\nAfter the departure of Belle, I remarked that Hiram was busily engaged\nfor more than a week in preparing his will. With the defection of his\nson and the elopement of his favorite daughter, Hiram's ideas took a new\nand distinctive turn.\n\nHe at one time had considerable pride in the idea of building up the\nfamily name in his children, 'even unto his children's children.' This\nhe thought a laudable ambition, since he found the phrase in Scripture.\nBut when Belle deserted him, and he found himself not only forsaken but\nduped, his feelings underwent an entire change.\n\nWhen Harriet, in her anxiety to induce her father to bring back her\nsister, said, 'Give her my share--I shall not require it,' there was\nstirred in Hiram's heart the old demon of Calculation and\nAcquisitiveness. It seemed as if something had been saved to him by\nHarriet's untimely departure from the world. It is difficult fully to\nunderstand this, since, while he lived, certainly he would retain\ncontrol of all his property; and after his death, what could it avail\nhim? Nevertheless, I but recount the simple truth.\n\nThat night he conceived the idea of a magnificent disposition of his\nvast estate, to take place on his decease. Now he began to regard his\nafflictions in a providential light. These were chastenings, at present\nnot joyous but grievous; but they would work out for him a more eternal\nweight of glory.\n\nThe consequence was, that by his will be founded three distinct public\ninstitutions, all bearing his name; and prepared, at the same time,\nminute directions how to carry his bequests into effect. These\ninstitutions were not what are called charitable, neither did their\nestablishment indicate a heart easily touched by human misfortune. They\nwere calculated, however, to adorn and ornament the city, and to blazon\nforth _H. Meeker_ to the world so long as they stood.\n\nOne thing threatened to interfere with Hiram's arrangements. His wife\nwould have a right of dower in all his real estate, in case she survived\nhim. This annoyed Hiram greatly.\n\nHe got along with the matter in a business way. Arabella herself was\ncalled in. Hiram announced, in general terms, what he proposed to do,\nand suggested that he was ready to leave her a sum certain, provided she\nwould relinquish her rights in the real estate.\n\nUnder ordinary circumstances Arabella would have been indignant; but her\nthoughts were of her son, now a wanderer from his home. She was\ntolerably familiar with the laws which regulate property. She knew if\nshe insisted on her dower, which she had a right to do, that however\naffluent she would be while she lived, she would have nothing to leave\nher child. She did not give Belle a thought.\n\nAfter a good deal of haggling, it was agreed that Hiram should give her\nby his will three hundred thousand dollars (just about the sum, by the\nway, she brought her husband), together with the household furniture,\nplate, horses, carriages, and so forth, and the use of the house during\nher life.\n\nThis settled, Hiram was left free to follow out his ambitious plans for\nraising a monument to--himself.\n\nThese occupy him entirely. So much so, that he has no time to look\nforward to the great future which cannot now be very far off to him.\nIndeed, strange as one may think, although Hiram feels well assured of\nhis title to the kingdom, he _thinks_ very little about it; neither does\nthe prospect give him the least satisfaction.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile, where is Harriet? What has become of Belle! How did Gus turn\nout?\n\nHarriet survived longer than one would have imagined, considering the\nprogress disease had made when we first became acquainted with her.\nWhile she lived, she could not fail to impart her influence--the\ninfluence of a gentle and a chastened spirit--over the whole household.\n\nI have already intimated that there was a new tie between her and her\nmother--the worldly minded and fashionable Arabella. It was in the\ninterest which both felt in Gus. It seemed to be the chief object of\nHarriet in living, to bring back her brother to his home, and to see him\nin the right path. The mother longed to bring about the same thing, but\nprobably for very different reasons from those which actuated the dying\ngirl. But here their sympathies met, and they could act in concert. Gus\nhad always been sensibly alive to Harriet's regard for him. He loved her\nwith real affection; and when, in a foreign land, he read her letters,\nfraught with the strongest expressions of love and sympathy, and filled\nwith the most earnest appeals from his 'dying sister, whose every breath\nwas a prayer for him,' it was impossible for his nature to resist.\n\nIn a few months, Gus had taken his resolution. He abhorred trade. His\nfour years in college were not altogether lost on him. He felt quite\nsure that his father would never relent. He believed he discovered in\nhimself a taste for the medical profession. So, after a short period,\nGus established himself in a very quiet way in Paris, and became a very\npersevering and devoted student. His mother, of course, managed to keep\nhim in funds; but his drafts on her were very moderate. His reformation\nseemed complete.\n\nAfter devoting about eighteen months to the study of medicine abroad, he\nreturned to New York. This was the season before Harriet died. He said\nhe could not endure the idea of her passing out of the world without his\nseeing her again, and telling her what was in his heart.\n\nHiram all this time remained, or professed to remain, profoundly\nignorant of what was going on. He continued to speak of his 'reprobate\nson,' among his acquaintances in the church. The least attempt on\nHarriet's part to introduce the forbidden subject was met by the most\nstern repulse.\n\nBut Gus came back. He was obliged to enter his own home stealthily and\nin secret, where he deserved to be welcomed back in honor and with\nreward. But he came. What was the joy, the intense satisfaction of\nHarriet, to see him again! And Arabella--it was a strange sight indeed\nto see _her_ give way to any real emotion.\n\nPerhaps, before this, you have guessed that Doctor Frank has had\nsomething to do with Gus's return. He has had a great deal to do with\nit. Doctor Frank is an old man. He has no boys--living. He wants Gus to\nlive with him. He will give him the benefit of his large experience, and\nGus in return will relieve the doctor of much of the hard work which is\nconstantly accumulating. This is Doctor Frank's plan. It has been\ncarried out, and Gus is now 'the young doctor.' Bravo Gus! God bless\nyou!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPoor Belle!\n\nAt the end of a single year, she was obliged to quit her husband. Quit\nher husband, did I say? I mean that her husband quitted her. After\nspending a few weeks in travelling, the two set off for Europe; and,\ngoing to Paris, they gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the gay\nscenes which this remarkable city affords.\n\n'When the ocean shall be between us, papa will no longer hold out--I\nknow he will not.'\n\nSo Belle said to her husband. But Belle was mistaken. Months passed, and\ndestitution stared the couple in the face. Then the various articles of\njewelry went, one by one--and then the crisis arrived.\n\nWhen Signor Filippo Barbone became fully satisfied that his\nfather-in-law was not to be turned from his resolution: when it became\napparent that the mother was not to be influenced, he came to the\nconclusion that he had made a bad bargain, and resolved to escape as\nsoon as possible from the consequences of it.\n\nBelle, on her part, began to be disenchanted. Then all the elements of\nher imperious, passionate nature, broke out in the fiercest, most\nvehement, most vindictive manner. She heaped reproaches, taunts, and\nmaledictions on the head of the signor, who bore them with more\nequanimity than would be supposed, but who determined not to have\nanother such tempest. One night he decamped, taking with him the few\nremaining valuables the miserable girl possessed.\n\nBelle had not communicated with Gus, or even permitted him to know her\nwhereabouts. Now she wrote him a note, imploring him to come to her. He\nresponded at once, and instantly made what arrangements he could for her\ncomfort. After a season, and by the joint efforts of Gus and Harriet and\nDoctor Frank, Belle was enabled to go back to New York. Her father would\nnot see her; her mother would not permit her to enter the house; but a\nsmall weekly stipend was allowed, to enable her to board in a\nrespectable place, and to dress decently.\n\nHer unfortunate marriage has had very little effect on her. She never\nwas so handsome in her life. She enjoys exciting the sympathies of those\nby whom she is surrounded, including half-a-dozen gentlemen who are\nconstantly dangling around her. A young lawyer, who was boarding at the\nsame house, undertook to institute proceedings for a divorce against the\nabsent signor. He was successful in his application, and Belle is now\nlegally free. She will probably marry some man of coarse taste, who will\nbe attracted by her fine form and showy appearance, to say nothing of\nthe effect of the prevalent belief that she will certainly be provided\nfor 'on old Meeker's death.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo much for the present situation of the Meeker family. While Arabella\nis taking her drive, I have had time to tell the reader thus much about\nit. The carriage is now approaching, and I must stop.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe shadows of evening begin to gather. Along the great artery of the\ncity press the crowd. Their steps tend homeward.\n\nStill Hiram sits by the window, but oblivious of the current which\nsweeps by.\n\nHis thoughts go back to Hampton. He is a clerk in the 'opposition\nstore,' making love to Mary Jessup.\n\n'What a pretty girl she used to be!--how much she always did for\nme--what pains she took to please me!' he mutters to himself.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow he is thinking of Burnsville. His mind seems principally to dwell on\nwhat was formerly of secondary importance to him.\n\n'Those Hawkins girls--they were good girls--very kind to me always--nice\ngirls--handsome girls--both of them in love with me. The widow Hawkins,\ntoo....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Sarah Burns--she was a different sort from the rest. I don't think I\never cared so much about her--too independent--thought too much of\nherself. How quick she broke the engagement! I remember it was\npreparatory lecture--preparatory lecture....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n'Emma Tenant--_she_ wasn't proud--Emma really loved me--I always, knew\nshe did....'\n\nHe raised his eyes.\n\nWas it through some species of traction, as believers in odic force\nother peculiar affinities, attribute to their influences, that he did so\nat that moment?\n\n_There_ was Emma Tenant--Mrs. Lawrence--passing in her carriage,\nsurrounded by blooming, grown-up children.\n\nHer attention, it seems, was directed for an instant to the window.\nTheir gaze met.\n\nNo outward sign that they were ever acquainted was manifested. But there\nwas, on both sides, a _recognition_, instantaneous and complete.\n\n'Poor old man!' exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, involuntarily.\n\n'Who, mamma?'\n\n'We have passed him now.' And no more was said.\n\n'She loved me once,' was the soliloquy. 'That was a great while ago,\ntoo....'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnother carriage passed. A bow from a lady, accompanied by a pleasant\nsmile. It is Miss Innis (Mrs. Leroy), driving out with _her_ children.\nThough no longer young, she is still a most attractive and elegant\nwoman.\n\n'What a wife she would have made me! I should not be in this state if I\nhad her to look after me. She has a kind heart--always smiling, always\nhappy.'\n\n'Mr. Meeker!'\n\nThe shrill voice of Arabella is heard.\n\nHiram groans in spirit.\n\n'Don't you think you had better be wheeled to your room? You know I dine\nout to-day.'\n\n'I prefer to sit here. Tell Williams to come to me.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe shadows fall thicker and faster.\n\nStill Hiram Meeker sits by the window.\n\nDespite my real inclination, I have a morbid desire to linger by his\nside.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI hear the sharp ring of the prompter's bell! The curtain is about to\nfall. I _cannot_ stay in the gloom alone with that man!--Good by to you,\nHiram!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI breathe again--in the cheerful streets, surrounded by bustling,\nearnest, sympathizing humanity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nReader, what think you? WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?\n\n\n\n\nAPHORISMS.\n\nNO. II.\n\n\nOne may effect an _absolute insurance against all real evil_ by the\nadoption of a single rule, i. e., _never to do anything against\nconscience_. This must be applied in our treatment of ourselves, in body\nand mind--especially the former; because there we are most apt to fail.\nIt must be kept strictly toward the soul, in view of its endless\nwelfare, and in all our relations to God and man. This, I admit, may not\nsave us from the invasions of apparent ill; but from the entire\n_reality_ of evil, the security thus furnished is absolute. Conscience\nis the voice of God in the soul; and no one truly obeying this voice\nwill meet with permanent harm. This rule, let us further observe, is\nmost needed where it is least likely to be regarded, i. e., in\ncircumstances where the voice of conscience is not so decided as in the\ncase of temptations to palpable vice. Our danger is often greatest,\nwhere we have to resist only an obscure sense of right and wrong, in\nseeking the lower gratifications of life. So much the more scrupulous\nmust we there be.\n\n\n\n\nBENEDICT OF NURSIA AND THE ORDER OF THE BENEDICTINES.\n\n\nBenedict of Nursia, the founder of the celebrated order which bears his\nname, gave to the Western monasticism a fixed and permanent form, and\nthus carried it far above the Eastern with its imperfect attempts at\norganization, and made it exceedingly profitable to the practical, and\nincidentally also to the literary interests of the Catholic Church. He\nholds, therefore, the dignity of patriarch of the Western monks. He has\nfurnished a remarkable instance of the incalculable influence which a\nsimple but judicious moral rule of life may exercise on many centuries.\n\nBenedict was born of the illustrious house of Anicius at Nursia (now\nNorcia), in Umbria, about the year 480, at the time when the political\nand social state of Europe was distracted and dismembered, and\nliterature, morals, and religion seemed to be doomed to irremediable\nruin. He studied in Rome, but so early as his fifteenth year he fled\nfrom the corrupt society of his fellow students, and spent three years\nin seclusion in a dark, narrow, and almost inaccessible grotto at\nSubiaco.[5] A neighboring monk, Romanus, furnished him from time to time\nhis scanty food, letting it down by a cord, with a little bell, the\nsound of which announced to him the loaf of bread. He there passed\nthrough the usual anchoretic battles with demons, and by prayer and\nascetic exercise attained a rare power over nature. At one time, Pope\nGregory tells us, the allurements of voluptuousness so strongly tempted\nhis imagination that he was on the point of leaving his retreat in\npursuit of a beautiful woman of previous acquaintance; but summoning up\nhis courage, he took off his vestment of skins, and rolled himself naked\non thorns and briers near his cave, until the impure fire of sensual\npassion was forever extinguished. Seven centuries later, St. Francis of\nAssisi planted on that spiritual battle field two rose trees, which grew\nand survived the Benedictine thorns and briers. He gradually became\nknown, and was at first taken for a wild beast by the surrounding\nshepherds, but afterward reverenced as a saint.\n\nAfter this period of hermit life, he began his labors in behalf of the\nmonastery proper. In that mountainous region he established, in\nsuccession, twelve cloisters, each with twelve monks and a superior,\nhimself holding the oversight of all. The persecution of an unworthy\npriest caused him, however, to leave Subiaco, and retire to a wild but\npicturesque mountain district in the Neapolitan province upon the\nboundaries of Samnium and Campania. There he destroyed the remnants of\nidolatry, converted many of the pagan inhabitants to Christianity by his\npreaching and miracles, and in the year 529, under many difficulties,\nfounded upon the ruins of a temple of Apollo the renowned cloister of\nMonte Cassino,[6] the alma mater and capital of his order. Here he\nlabored fourteen years till his death. Although never ordained to the\npriesthood, his life there was rather that of a missionary and apostle\nthan of a solitary. He cultivated the soil, fed the poor, healed the\nsick, preached to the neighboring population, directed the young monks,\nwho in increasing numbers flocked to him, and organized the monastic\nlife upon a fixed method or rule, which he himself conscientiously\nobserved. His power over the hearts and the veneration in which he was\nheld is illustrated by the visit of Jotila, in 542, the barbarian king,\nthe victor of the Romans and master of Italy, who threw himself on his\nface before the saint, accepted his reproof and exhortations, asked his\nblessing, and left a better man, but fell, after ten years' reign, as\nBenedict had predicted, in a great battle with the Graeco-Roman army\nunder Narses. Benedict died, after partaking of the holy communion,\npraying, in standing posture at the foot of the altar, on the 21st of\nMarch, 543, and was buried by the side of his sister, Scholastica, who\nhad established a nunnery near Monte Cassino, and died a few weeks\nbefore him. They met only once a year on the side of the mountain for\nprayer and pious conversation. On the day of his departure two monks saw\nin a vision a shining pathway of stars leading from Monte Cassino to\nheaven, and heard a voice that said by this road Benedict, the well\nbeloved of God, had ascended to heaven.[7]\n\nHis biographer, Pope Gregory I., in the second book of his Dialogues,\nascribes to him miraculous prophecies and healings, and even a raising\nof the dead.[8] With reference to his want of secular culture and his\nspiritual knowledge, he calls him a learned ignorant and an unlettered\nsage.[9] At all events he possessed the genius of a lawgiver, and holds\nthe first place among the founders of monastic orders, though his person\nand life are much less interesting than those of a Bernard of Clairvaux,\na Francis of Assisi, and an Ignatius of Loyola.\n\nThe rule of St. Benedict, on which his fame rests, forms an epoch in the\nhistory of monasticism. In a short time it superseded all contemporary\nand older rules of the kind, and became the immortal code of the most\nillustrious branch of the monastic army, and the basis of the whole\nRoman Catholic cloister life.[10] It consists of a preface or\n_prologus_, and a series of moral, social, liturgical, and penal\nordinances, in seventy-three chapters. It shows a true knowledge of\nhuman nature, the practical wisdom of Rome, and adaptation to Western\ncustoms; and it combines simplicity with completeness, strictness with\ngentleness, humility with courage, and gives the whole cloister life a\nfixed unity and compact organization, which, like the episcopate,\npossessed an unlimited versatility and power of expansion. It made every\ncloister an _ecclesiola in ecclesia_, reflecting the relation of the\nbishop to his charge, the monarchical principle of authority on the\ndemocratic basis of the equality of the brethren, though claiming a\nhigher degree of perfection than could be realized in the great secular\nchurch. For the rude and undisciplined world of the Middle Age, the\nBenedictine rule furnished a wholesome course of training and a constant\nstimulus to the obedience, self-control, order, and industry which were\nindispensable to the regeneration and healthy growth of social life.[11]\n\nThe spirit of the rule may be judged from the following sentences of the\n_prologus_, which contains pious exhortations: 'Having thus,' he says,\n'my brethren, asked of the Lord who shall dwell in His tabernacle, we\nhave heard the precepts prescribed to such a one. If we fulfil these\nconditions we shall be heirs of the kingdom of heaven. Let us, then,\nprepare our hearts and bodies to fight under a holy obedience to these\nprecepts; and if it is not always possible for nature to obey, let us\nask the Lord that He would deign to give us the succor of His grace.\nWould we avoid the pains of hell and attain eternal life while there is\nstill time, while we are still in this mortal body, and while the light\nof this life is bestowed upon us for that purpose, let us run and strive\nso as to reap an eternal reward. We must, then, form a _school of divine\nservitude_, in which, we trust, nothing too heavy or rigorous will be\nestablished. But if, in conformity with right and justice, we should\nexercise a little severity for the amendment of vices or the\npreservation of charity, beware of fleeing under the impulse of terror\nfrom the way of salvation, which cannot but have a hard beginning. When\nman has walked for some time in obedience and faith, his heart will\nexpand, and he will run with the unspeakable sweetness of love in the\nway of God's commandments. May He grant that, never straying from the\ninstruction of the Master, and persevering in His doctrine in the\nmonastery until death, we may share by patience in the sufferings of\nChrist, and be worthy to share together His kingdom.'\n\nThe leading provisions of this rule are as follows:\n\nAt the head of each society stands an abbot, who is elected by the\nmonks, and with their consent appoints a provost (_praepositus_), and,\nwhen the number of the brethren requires, deans over the several\ndivisions (_decaniae_), as assistants. He governs, in Christ's stead, by\nauthority and example, and is to his cloister what the bishop is to his\ndiocese. In the more weighty matters he takes the congregation of the\nbrethren into consultation; in ordinary affairs, only the older members.\nThe formal entrance into the cloister must be preceded by a probation or\nnovitiate of one year (subsequently it was made three years), that no\none might prematurely or rashly take the solemn step. If the novice\nrepented his resolution, he could leave the cloister without hindrance;\nif he adhered to it, he was, at the close of his probation, subjected to\nan examination in presence of the abbot and the monks, and then,\nappealing to the saints, whose relics were in the cloister, he laid upon\nthe altar of the chapel the irrevocable vow, written or at least\nsubscribed by his own hand, and therewith cut off from himself forever\nall return to the world.\n\nFrom this important arrangement the cloister received its stability, and\nthe whole monastic institution derived additional earnestness, solidity,\nand permanence.\n\nThe vow was threefold, comprising _stablitas_, perpetual adherence to\nthe monastic order; _conversio morum_, especially voluntary poverty and\nchastity, which were always regarded as the very essence of monastic\npiety under all its forms; and _obedientia coram Deo et sanctis ejus_,\nabsolute obedience to the abbot, as the representative of God and\nChrist. This obedience is the cardinal virtue of a monk.[12]\n\nThe life of the cloister consisted of a judicious alternation of\nspiritual and bodily exercises. This is the great excellence of the rule\nof Benedict, who proceeded here upon the true principle that idleness is\nthe mortal enemy of the soul and the workshop of the devil.[13] Seven\nhours were to be devoted to prayer, singing of psalms, and\nmeditation;[14] from two to three hours, especially on Sunday, to\nreligious reading; and from six to seven hours to manual labor indoors\nor in the field, or, instead of this, to the training of children, who\nwere committed to the cloister by their parents (_oblati_).[15]\n\nHere was a starting point for the afterward celebrated cloister schools,\nand for that attention to literary pursuits which, though entirely\nforeign to the uneducated Benedict and his immediate successors,\nafterward became one of the chief ornaments of his order, and in many\ncloisters took the place of manual labor.\n\nIn other respects the mode of life was to be simple without extreme\nrigor, and confined to strictly necessary things. Clothing consisted of\na tunic with a black cowl (whence the name _Black Friars_); the material\nto be determined by the climate and season. On the two weekly fast days,\nand from the middle of September to Easter, one meal was to suffice for\nthe day. Each monk is allowed daily a pound of bread and pulse, and,\naccording to the Italian custom, half a flagon (_hemina_) of wine;\nthough he is advised to abstain from the wine, if he can do so without\ninjury to his health. Flesh is permitted only to the weak and sick,[16]\nwho were to be treated with special care. During the meal some edifying\npiece was read, and silence enjoined. The individual monk knows no\npersonal property, not even his simple dress as such; and the fruits of\nhis labor go into the common treasury. He should avoid all contact with\nthe world as dangerous to the soul, and therefore every cloister should\nbe so arranged as to be able to carry on even the arts and trades\nnecessary for supplying its wants.[17] Hospitality and other works of\nlove are especially commanded.\n\nThe penalties for transgression of the rule are, first, private\nadmonition, then exclusion from the fellowship of prayer, next\nexclusion from fraternal intercourse, and finally expulsion from the\ncloister, after which, however, restoration is possible, even to the\nthird time.\n\nBenedict had no presentiment of the vast historical importance which his\nrule, originally designed simply for the cloister of Monte Cassino, was\ndestined to attain. He probably never aspired beyond the regeneration\nand salvation of his own soul and that of his brother monks, and all the\ntalk of some later historians about his far-reaching plans of a\npolitical and social regeneration of Europe, and the preservation and\npromotion of literature and art, find no support whatever in his life or\nin his rule. But he humbly planted a seed which Providence blessed a\nhundredfold. By his rule, he became, without his own will or knowledge,\nthe founder of an order, which, until in the thirteenth century the\nDominicans and Franciscans pressed it partially into the background,\nspread with great rapidity over the whole of Europe, maintained a clear\nsupremacy, formed the model for all other monastic orders, and gave to\nthe Catholic Church an imposing array of missionaries, authors, artists,\nbishops, archbishops, cardinals, and popes, as Gregory the Great and\nGregory VII. In less than a century after the death of Benedict, the\nconquests of the barbarians in Italy, Gaul, and Spain were reconquered\nfor civilization, and the vast territories of Great Britain, Germany,\nand Scandinavia incorporated into Christendom or opened to missionary\nlabor; and in this progress of history the monastic institution\nregulated and organized by Benedict's rule bears an honorable share.\n\nBenedict himself established a second cloister in the vicinity of\nTerracina, and two of his favorite disciples, Placidus and St.\nMaurus,[18] introduced the 'holy rule,' the one into Sicily, the other\ninto France. Pope Gregory the Great, himself at one time a Benedictine\nmonk, enhanced its prestige, and converted the Anglo-Saxons to the Roman\nChristian faith by Benedictine monks. Gradually the rule found so\ngeneral acceptance both in old and in new institutions, that, in the\ntime of Charlemagne, it became a question, whether there were any monks\nat all who were not Benedictines. The order, it is true, has degenerated\nfrom time to time, through the increase of its wealth and the decay of\nits discipline, but its fostering care of religion, of humane studies,\nand of the general civilization of Europe, from the tilling of the soil\nto the noblest learning, has given it an honorable place in history and\nwon immortal praise.\n\nThe patronage of learning, however, as we have already said, was not\nwithin the design of the founder or his rule. The joining of this to the\ncloister life is due, if we leave out of view the learned monk Jerome,\nto CASSIODORUS, who, in 538, retired from the honors and cares\nof high civil office in the Gothic monarchy of Italy,[19] to a monastery\nfounded by himself at Vivarium[20] (Viviers), in Calabria, in Lower\nItaly. Here he spent nearly thirty years as monk and abbot, collected a\nlarge library, encouraged the monks to copy and to study the Holy\nScriptures, the works of the church fathers, and even the ancient\nclassics, and wrote for them several literary and theological text\nbooks, especially his treatise _De institutione divinarum literarum_, a\nkind of elementary encyclopaedia, which was the code of monastic\neducation for many generations. Vivarium at one time almost rivalled\nMonte Cassino, and Cassiodorus[21] won the honorary title of the\nrestorer of knowledge in the sixth century.\n\nThe Benedictines, already accustomed to regular work, soon followed this\nexample. Thus, that very mode of life which in its founder, Anthony,\ndespised all learning, became, in the course of its development, an\nasylum of culture in the rough and stormy times of the immigration and\nthe crusades, and a conservator of the literary treasures of antiquity\nfor the use of modern times.\n\n\n\n\nHANNAH THURSTON.\n\nPAUL. Well, Dorcas, now you have finished the book, what do you\nthink of it?\n\nDORCAS. I must confess, my expectations on the whole have been\nagreeably disappointed. From the criticisms I had read, both favorable\nand adverse, I was fully prepared to quarrel with it from beginning to\nend. I find in it much power and sustained interest. The descriptions of\nnature are admirable--fresh, unhackneyed, and vivid. Western New York,\nwith its blue lakes, sloping hills, shining brooks, quiet woodlands,\nspring buds, autumn flowers, winding country roads, and laden grain\nfields, stands before one, clearly pictured. The characters, with their\n_isms_, seem like old acquaintances, and the seething, fermenting\ncondition of American society is most accurately represented. There is\npathos, too, in the story, and many will read it with moistened eyes.\n\nPAUL. So far so good, but--?\n\nDORCAS. But there runs through the entire work a vein of\nsentiment or philosophy, which wears a very suspicious resemblance to\nthat of a certain school just now popular in France. I need not tell\nyou, Uncle Paul, how distasteful to me is that school, nor how false I\nthink the premises upon which it is founded. I am convinced there is a\ndifference in the mental and moral constitution of men and women. I will\nnot bore you by any disquisition upon relative superiority or\ninferiority, but will simply give you a portion of my idea as I find it\nlaid down by St. John Chrysostom: 'Do not confound _submission_ with\n_slavery_,' says the golden-mouthed Greek. 'The woman obeys, but\n_remains free_; she is _equal_ in honor. It is true that she is subject\nto her husband; and this is her punishment for having rendered herself\nguilty in the beginning. Mark it well; woman was not condemned to\nsubjection at the time of her creation; when God made and presented her\nto her husband, He said nothing of domination; we hear nothing from the\nlips of Adam which supposes it. It was only after having violated her\nduty by leading him astray to whom she had been given as a support, that\nshe heard these words: 'Thou shalt be under thy husband's power, and he\nshall have dominion over thee.''\n\nNow, in the book under consideration, we are led to suppose that even\nthe 'exceptional women' find submission and dependence, not only\ndelightful, but absolute necessities of their being. They are only too\nhappy to succumb to the powerful magnetism attributed to men by reason\nalone of their manhood. (A doctrine too repulsive to admit of\ndiscussion.) I fancy that thinking, sensitive, and high-spirited women\nhave not yet ceased to find submission and dependence a _punishment_.\nThey may take up their cross cheerily, and wear it gracefully, but none\nthe less do they feel it to be a cross. As for pecuniary dependence, so\nlong as all goes smoothly and matters are so arranged that the wife is\nnot obliged to ask the husband for funds, the power of custom and of\nlegal provisions may be sufficient to prevent any disquietude; but after\nthe first misunderstanding, the first unkind word, _his_ money, as it\npasses through _her_ hands, burns like coals of fire, and the bitterness\nof her heart, as she perhaps vainly longs for some means of employment\nby which to procure at least sufficient for her own personal expenses,\nwould cause him a new and strange sensation, did she not deem it her\n_duty_ to suppress all evidence, even the existence, of such\nself-assertion, and quietly shoulder this with the rest, as a portion of\nthe burden to be borne through the valley of humiliation into which she\nhas entered, and wherein, by reason of the especial power granted her of\nknowing and loving God, she usually finds herself Heaven's own\nmissionary, the keeper and guide of souls. Now, do not misunderstand me,\nUncle Paul; when I say that marriage is a valley of humiliation, I\nintend no reproach to men; I simply state a fact dependent upon the\nnature of things, and upon the primal sentence passed against the pride\nthat, in spite of the prohibition of the Almighty, sought to know all\nthings, 'to become as gods.' Meekness, humility, self-abnegation,\naffection, are the beautiful flowers that grow by the wayside; but the\npathway is not the less thorny, and no good can be accomplished by\ndenying or sugar-coating the fact.\n\nPAUL. I do not doubt the correctness of your views, Dorcas; but\nyour rather vehement statement of them somewhat surprises me, as you\nyourself married of your own free will, and at an age when women, if\never, are supposed to know their own minds.\n\nDORCAS. That my own marriage has been a happy one, and that my\ngood husband has striven, by recognizing my womanly as well as\nindividual idiosyncrasies, to render the yoke as light as it possibly\ncan be, is the very circumstance that gives me a right to speak and\noffer my testimony against ideas which I think wholly unwarranted by the\nfacts in the case. The views of modern philosophers, attacking the\nsanctity of Christian marriage, are to me perfectly abhorrent. Deprive\nmarriage of its mystical, sacramental, penitential character, and it\nceases to be the bulwark of a well-ordered society. I must again call\nupon St. John Chrysostom to speak for me. He says: 'Marriage is one of\nthe most surprising mysteries, by reason of the sublime character which\nbelongs to it, of representing the alliance of Jesus Christ with His\nChurch. The necessary consequence of which is, that it should not be\ncontracted lightly and through interested motives. No, marriage is no\nbargain; it is the union of the entire life.' This is what true marriage\nshould be; but in so far as mankind fall below the lofty standards set\nbefore them, so far does actual marriage fail to reach its glorious\nideal. Meantime, reverence for maidenhood is one of the strongest\nsafeguards of the sanctity of wedded life, and no delusions of any\nschool, whether romantic, sentimental, Micheletic, humanitarian, or\nLutheranistic, should be permitted to obscure this reverence. Neither my\nown experience, nor that of the young maidens best known to me, teaches\nme that the idle hours of women are haunted by dreams of some human\nlover, who must be found to save them from despair. I cannot think that\nmarriage is essential to, or even best for, the happiness of women. If\nwe enter the nearest institution of Charity Sisters, Sisters of Mercy,\nor of the Poor, we cannot fail to remark the contrast between the\nhealthful, cheery, unsolicitous countenances of the inmates, and the\nnervous, suffering, careworn faces of the wives and mothers in our\nmidst. Both live in the conscientious performance of equally estimable\nduties, but the pleasing of a Heavenly Master would seem to be a more\npeaceful and less wearing task than the gratification of an earthly\nlord. Let us hearken for a moment to an eloquent French theologian:\n'Woman's nature, in some exceptional cases, rises to such a height of\nintellect and sensitiveness, that it ceases to be capable of accepting\nthat subordination which constitutes the essence of Christian marriage.\nThink you there are not women athirst for the ideal; who are crushed by\nthe commonplace of ordinary affections; who would go beyond that narrow\ncircle traced round them by domestic cares? Give to such natures as\ngood, kind, and conscientious a husband as you will, do you think he can\never satisfy the ardent longings of their mind and heart? Do you think\nthey can find in the family the realization of the brilliant dream\ncaressed by them from the earliest years of infancy? Do you not believe\nthat they will constantly feel cruel disappointments, infinite tortures,\nand the deepest anguish?'\n\nPAUL. But if such be a true statement of the case, what are\nthese good ladies to do?\n\nDORCAS. The world has always need of intellect and enthusiasm,\nand these, directed by the spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice,\nwithout which nothing good or great can be accomplished, will point the\nway to the fulfilment of whatever may be the especial vocation of the\nindividual. The author above quoted continues: 'Some heroic virgins have\nplayed so wonderful a part that, by the sublimity of their devotion and\nthe power of their intellect, they have occasionally eclipsed the renown\nof the most illustrious men. A St. Catherine of Sienna was the light of\ndoctors, the ambassadress of nations, the counsellor of popes, and the\nadmiration of her age. A St. Rose of Viterbo, a charming and graceful\nchild, became the intrepid buckler of Rome against the pretensions of\nthe Ghibelline emperors. A St. Clara, by her ardent love for the poor\nand the Cross, was worthy of aiding the Seraph of Assisi in his\nadmirable reform. A St. Theresa astonished the world by the grandeur of\nher character in the age of the Loyolas, the Xaviers, and the Francis\nBorgias.' To these few but striking instances we may add Joan of Arc,\nwhose patriotism and valor saved her country from the dominion of the\nforeign invader, and, in our own day, Florence Nightingale and Miss Dix,\ntogether with hosts of courageous maidens, who in every Christian land\nyearly devote themselves to the service of suffering humanity. I should\nweary you, uncle, were I to pursue this subject into farther depths:\nsuffice it to say that it is one which no man, however tender or\ntalented, could ever exhaust, for there are chords in the feminine\norganization beyond his comprehension--strange chords, the resolution of\nwhich will be found only in that heaven where there shall be no marrying\nnor giving in marriage.\n\nPAUL. You mentioned Joan of Arc: did you observe that the\nauthor of 'Hannah Thurston' notices the fact, that while she has been\npoetized by Schiller, Southey, and others, no woman has ever yet made\nher the theme of song?\n\nDORCAS. I was no little surprised to find such a reproach\nissuing from the lips of one who must have known that no man had yet\nsung her in his verse who had not violated the truth of history and\nsmirched the beauty of a noble character, devoted solely to her country\nand her God, by picturing her as enamored of some mortal lover.\nShakspeare must here receive his share of blame, although the national\nprejudices still existent in his age may offer some excuse. Voltaire is\nnot to be mentioned, Schiller twaddles through a tissue of sheer\ninventions and impossible absurdities, and even Southey, who strives to\nbe faithful to history, thinks he must invest her with a 'suppressed\nattachment' in order to render her sufficiently interesting to be the\nheroine of a poem. (Inconceivable and insane vanity, that imagines no\nwoman can live her life through without laying her heart at the feet of\none of the 'irresistibles'!) The historic character of Joan of Arc has\nbeen terribly maltreated and misrepresented by every man who has\nattempted to portray it, with the single exception of the German\nhistorian, Guido Goerres, whose work, by the way, has been reverently\ndone into English by two sister women.\n\nPAUL. Well, and the final conclusion to all this?\n\nDORCAS. The final conclusion is, that a large portion of even\nthe worthier souls in this world, is drifting away into a sea of\nmaterialism, shrouded in rose-colored mists of poetry and sentiment, and\nit behooves every earnest friend of humanity to sound the alarm, and at\nleast strive to give warning of the danger.\n\n\n\n\nGLORIOUS!\n\n\n  'Far how can a man die better,\n    Than in facing fearful odds.\n  For the ashes of his fathers--\n    And the temples of his gods!'\n\n      MACAULAY'S _Ballads of Ancient Rome_.\n\n\n  Alone--and widowed so early,\n    Aged only twenty-one--\n  Only so few of her years are past,\n    And yet her life is quite done!\n\n  Quite concluded her life is--\n    Nothing for hopes, or for fears;\n  Nothing to think of, or look to see\n    But a barren desert of years!\n\n  Slender, lithe little figure--\n    Graceful and yielding form,\n  Never again to be held in the close\n    Clasp of a manly arm!\n\n  Oh the sweet oval face,\n    And the wonderful violet eyes!\n  No more to be sealed with true kisses,\n    And opened to love's paradise!\n\n  And oh the sunny, brown hair,\n    Which breaks into ripples and waves\n  O'er her sad brow--like the laughter\n    Of young children over graves!\n\n  Put it away under widow's weeds--\n    Draw it as straight as you can:\n  Never again will the dear little head\n    Be held to the heart of a man.\n\n  Dazed, she sits in the twilight\n    Of the funeral-darkened room,\n  Her whole soul gathered to listen--alas!\n    For a voice that is stilled in the tomb.\n\n  Dear voice, now silent forever!\n    God help her! It seems a dream!\n  She hopes, even now she may waken;\n    But see yonder cruel sunbeam.\n\n  How it wanders over the carpet--\n    It lights up the distant room--\n  It falls on his portrait--_his_ portrait!--\n    His face shines out in the gloom\n\n  As warmly and loving as ever;--\n    But, oh, there hangs under its frame\n  The sword he has wielded so bravely--\n    The blade that has lettered his name\n\n  On the tablets of Glory--erected\n  O'er the bodies of thousands of slain;\n  Who have died to preserve the Republic!\n  _Our_ loss--but the nation's great gain.\n\n  Wring the small, white hands together--\n    Clasp them close over the breast:--\n  Prisoned heart, throbbing so wildly,\n    Never again to know rest.\n\n  Can you not leap and be joyful,\n    Knowing the nation is free!\n  Gentle-eyed Peace is but waiting\n    Sure of a welcome, to be.\n\n  Ask not for paeans of triumph\n    From 'only a woman's' heart:\n  Alas! in the triumph of nations\n    She hath but an humble part!\n\n  Hers to be patient, and suffer--\n    While her soul goes out to the fray\n  With the one who is dearer than heaven,\n    To see him shot down by the way.\n\n  Anguished, for drops of cold water\n    That e'en to the vilest we give!\n  Mangled and crushed and insulted!\n    God! can I write it, and live!\n\n  Fold the hands o'er the soft bosom\n    Baby hands never caressed--\n  Hush into patience the sweet lips\n    Never to man's to be pressed.\n\n  There on the altar of nations\n    She has given the soul out of her life:\n  Holocaust greater was never:\n    God help the poor, little wife!\n\n\n\n\nTHE ISLE OF SPRINGS.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nHISTORICAL SKETCH.\n\nJamaica was discovered by Columbus himself, on the 3d of May, 1494,\nwhile prosecuting his second voyage. On his fourth and last voyage he\nwas shipwrecked on its northern coast, and, through the cruel jealousy\nof the governor of Hispaniola, was detained there nearly a year before\nrelief was sent. In the dearth of historical associations, I have\nsometimes pleased myself with gazing at the high summit of Cape Clear\nHill, which is far and wide conspicuous along the northern shore, and\nreflecting that the eye of the great discoverer may have often rested\nupon it during his weary detention, endeavoring thus to raise present\ninsignificance somewhat by linking it with the one illustrious name in\nthe annals of the island.\n\nSevilla d'Oro, the first settlement of the Spaniards in Jamaica, was\nfounded in 1509, near the place of Columbus's shipwreck. It soon became\na splendid city. Traces of pavement are still discoverable two miles\ndistant from the church and abbey around which the town was built. In a\nfew years, however, it disappeared as suddenly as it had arisen. Even\nthe cause of its destruction is not certainly known. It is supposed,\nhowever, to have been a sudden irruption of the Indians. These were of\nthe same voluptuous and gentle race which peopled the other Great\nAntilles, but, like them, might have been roused to temporary madness by\nthe diabolical cruelties of the Spaniards. If so, their brief revenge\navailed them little, for by 1558, the sixty thousand Indians, who\ninhabited the island when discovered, had been extirpated, it is said,\nto the very last one. Near the seashore in the east of the island are\nsome caves, in which mouldering bones of the unhappy aborigines are\nstill found, who had taken refuge here, preferring to die of famine\nrather than to fall into the merciless hands of the Spaniards.\n\nAfter the extirpation of the Indians, the labor of African slaves was\nintroduced. Some sugar was raised, but the greater part of the island\nwas devoted to the raising of cattle and swine. Besides the few whites\nand negroes needed for this, and a small number at two or three\nseaports, the population was mainly gathered in the town of St. Jago de\nla Vega. This was built on the south side, a few miles from the sea,\nafter the destruction of Sevilla d'Oro. At the time of the English\nconquest in 1655, during Cromwell's protectorate, the population\nconsisted of twelve hundred whites and fifteen hundred negro slaves.\nThey were summoned by the English admiral to take the oath of allegiance\nto England or to leave the island. But they declared that they could do\nneither; that they were born subjects of the King of Spain, and knew no\nother allegiance; and, on the other hand, that they were natives of\nJamaica, and had neither friends nor kindred elsewhere. They implored\nhim, therefore, not to exact an impossible oath, nor yet to turn them\nadrift in the wide world. But the misfortunes of Spanish Papists were a\nmatter of little concern to English Puritans. They were expelled the\nisland, but leaving their slaves in the mountain forests of the central\nridge, they planted a seed which for generations bore bitter fruit to\ntheir cruel enemies. These slaves became the nucleus of those formidable\nMaroon communities which for generations were a terror to the island.\nTheir masters, having conveyed their families across to Cuba, returned\nwith a body of Spanish troops, hoping, in their turn, to expel the\ninvaders. They intrenched themselves in a natural fastness that appeared\nimpregnable, and an English messenger being sent to demand a surrender,\nthe venerable governor, Don Arnoldo Sasi, it is said, ordered him to be\nshown around the fortification, that he might see that it was impossible\nto take it, and then dismissed him with a handsome present. But the\nEnglish soldiers knew no such thing as an impregnable fortress; they\nsoon stormed the height, and, as the Spaniards were fleeing along the\ncliffs, picked them off like so many crows. A few attendants hurried\ndown the aged governor to the sea, and conveyed him across to Cuba. And\nthus perished the tranquil and happy colony of St. Jago de la Vega. The\nvictors took possession of the deserted town, which has finally become\nthe seat of government. But they changed its Popish appellation of St.\nJago de la Vega to the homely but unimpeachably Protestant name of\nSpanishtown, which it still bears in popular use, although officially it\nhas resumed its former designation. There were two Roman Catholic\nchurches in the town, each of which gave the name of its patron saint to\nthe street on which it stood. But the Puritans would know them only as\nWhitechurch street and Redchurch street--names which, I believe, still\nremain, curious monuments of Puritan scrupulosity in that southern land.\nSpanishtown has increased in population to about five thousand, and in\nits palmy days of slaveholding prosperity exhibited doubtless much pomp\nof vice-regal splendor. But this has long fled, and its sandy streets\nare now almost as silent and sombre in the glittering sunshine as if\ntraversed only by the ghosts of the Spanish colonists who dwelt here in\npeace until ruthlessly thrust forth by the English invader.\n\nAfter the conquest, the island filled up with English, partly by\nvoluntary emigration, and partly by a double deportation from home,\nfirst of refractory Cavaliers during Cromwell's protectorate, and partly\nof mutinous Puritans after the return of the Stuarts. These often\nrenewed in the streets of Spanishtown the brawls of the mother country,\nand the exclamation, 'My king!' which the negroes are fond of using, is\nsaid to be a genuine relic of the time when it was the watchword of the\noutnumbered but courageous Cavaliers. Even after the Restoration, the\nPuritans were for a while in the ascendant in the island which the\nPuritan protector had wrested from the great foe of Protestantism; but\ngradually all traces of that hardy sect disappeared from a land which\nan enervating climate and the rapidly advancing barbarism of slavery\nrendered far fitter for another sort of inhabitants, namely, the\nbuccaneers. The buccaneers, it will be remembered, were not exactly\npirates preying indiscriminately upon all. They were rather English\ncorsairs, who took advantage of the long enmity between England and\nSpain to carry on, in time of peace and war alike, perpetual forrays\nagainst the Spanish settlements and commerce of the West Indies. They\nwere simply the jayhawkers and border ruffians of their day, and, with\nsome traits of chivalry, differed probably as little from pirates as\nQuantrell and his fellow scoundrels differ from robbers. This villanous\ncrew early resorted in great numbers to Jamaica, which became as good a\nbase of operations against a power with which England was professedly at\npeace as Liverpool and Greenock are now against another power with which\nshe is professedly at peace. Dr. Arnold, in one of his letters, says he\nimagines the British West Indies have never recovered from the taint of\nbuccaneer blood. It is hard to say, for the universal corruption of\nmorals and justice induced by slavery, existing in the overwhelming\nproportions which it had in the West Indies, renders it almost\nimpossible to measure how far any subsidiary influence of evil may have\nhelped to aggravate the mischief.\n\nJamaica, like the other colonies, soon received a constitution. Like her\nsisters on the continent, she opposed a spirited and successful\nresistance to the early encroachments of the crown. When our Revolution\nbroke out, her Assembly passed resolutions declaring their entire\nconcurrence in the principles set forth by the Congress, and gave as the\nreasons for not joining in our armed vindication of them, their insular\nposition, and the peculiar nature of their population. Had geography\npermitted, Jamaica would doubtless have made one Slave State the more in\nthe original Union, and would have been one of the fiercest afterward in\nthe secession. We may well believe that nothing but the knowledge that\nshe would be crushed like an eggshell by the mighty power of England,\nhindered her in 1834 from heading her sister islands in a revolt against\nthe impending abolition of slavery, and thus giving the world\ntwenty-seven years earlier the spectacle of a great slaveholders'\nrebellion.\n\nThe history of Jamaica, otherwise so monotonous and devoid of interest,\neven to its own people, yet includes one awful event, the destruction of\nPort Royal by the earthquake of 1692. This city, built by the English\nsoon after the conquest, on the tongue of land which encloses the\npresent harbor of Kingston, soon became the most splendid city of the\nEnglish in America. Its quays and warehouses, Macaulay says, were\nthought to rival those of Cheapside. This wealth and splendor were not\nwholly the fruit of lawful commerce, for Port Royal was the favored\nresort of the buccaneers. Their lawless forrays against the Spanish\nfilled it with wealth, and filled it also with voluptuous wickedness.\n\nTradition adds, perhaps to give emphasis to its doom, that just before\nthe earthquake, a successful expedition had filled the city with booty,\nwhich loaded the warehouses, and even overflowed into the dwelling\nhouses and verandas. But the stroke of judgment came, and a few shocks\nof an earthquake in a few seconds buried the greater part of the\ndissolute and splendid city beneath the waters of its own harbor. The\ndecaying bodies that were thrown afterward on the shore produced a\npestilence which swept off three thousand of those who had survived the\nearthquake. The sad remnant went over to the inside shore of the harbor,\nand built Kingston. A poor village of some twelve or fifteen hundred\nsouls, adjoining the naval station, is now all that represents the once\nwealthy and wicked city, the Sodom of the West, and smitten with a fate\nlike that of Sodom.\n\nThe same earthquake which destroyed Port Royal, almost ruined the\nisland. Whole plantations changed their places. The mountains were\nstrangely torn and rent. In many parts the immense accumulation of earth\nfallen from the mountains choked up the course of the streams for\ntwenty-four hours, and when at last they burst their way through, they\nbore down on their swollen floods thousands of trunks of trees,\nbranchless and barkless, to the sea. The gorge of the Bocaguas, through\nwhich the Rio Cobre winds in a glorious succession of cascades and\nwhirling pools, is said to have been entirely filled up, causing the\nwaters to overspread the upland basin of St. Thomas-in-the-Vale with a\nlake, which lasted nine days before the waters tore loose from their\nconfinement, and swept over the plains to the ocean. There was evidence\nof a slight subsidence over the whole island. The earthquake of 1692 is\nundoubtedly the most desolating convulsion of nature which has ever\nbefallen any portion of the English race.\n\nFor generations after the destruction of Port Royal, it was affirmed\nthat the spires and housetops of the sunken city could be discerned on a\nclear day through the waters of the harbor. Even now there is a floating\nbelief that they may occasionally be dimly descried, though I have never\nbeen able to ascertain whether it is worthy of credit.\n\nSince then, although there are often shocks of earthquake, sometimes\nseveral in a year, and though some have occurred quite destructive to\nproperty, there has been none to divide with that of 1692 its awful\npreeminence of desolation. It is true, we know not at what time such a\none may come, and it has been truly said that 'this beautiful island may\nbe regarded as a gorgeous carpet spread over the deeply charged mines of\na volcano.' Hurricanes, though very much less frequent than in the\nWindward Islands, have yet left their traces in the annals of Jamaica.\nParticularly noted are those of the 28th of August, 1712, of the 28th of\nAugust, 1722, and the series which, with the exception of two years,\nannually ravaged the island from 1780 to 1786 inclusive. It was in one\nof these that the town of Savanna-la-Mar was so completely overwhelmed\nby the sea, driven over it by the force of the wind, that when the flood\nrolled back to its home, not the slightest vestige of the place was\ndiscernible. In such a region the petition of the Litany, as it is here\noffered, 'From lightning, tempest, and _earthquake_, good Lord, deliver\nus,' falls on the stranger's ear with unwontedly solemn force.\n\nThe awful magnificence of these convulsions of nature is in strange\ncontrast with the insignificance of the record of human actions in this\nisland. Not that Jamaica was an insignificant member of the empire. Far\nfrom it. The teeming source of wealth, she was, on the contrary, during\nthe whole of the eighteenth century, continually increasing in\nimportance. Even dukes were glad to leave England to assume the princely\nstate of a governor of Jamaica. Six hundred thousand African slaves were\nintroduced during the last century, of which number something over half\nremained at the beginning of this. Human blood flowed in fertilizing\nstreams over the island, and out of this ghastly compost rose an\nopulence so splendid as to silence for generations all inquiry into its\norigin or character. It secured its possessors not only easy access, but\nfrequent intermarriages among the aristocracy of England, who thus in\ntime came to be among the largest West Indian slaveholders. Jamaica was\njustly reckoned one of the brightest jewels in the British crown. But\nthe brilliancy was merely that of wealth, and as the ownership of this\nwas transferred more and more to Great Britain, the island itself at\nlength came to be of little more independent account than an outlying\nestate. Petty squabbles between the governors and the Assembly,\noccasional negro conspiracies, soon suppressed and cruelly punished, and\nthe wearying contests with the remaining negroes, who, under the name of\nMaroons, long maintained a harassing warfare from their mountain\nfastnesses, and yielded at last to favorable terms, are almost all that\nfills the chronicles of the colony.\n\nThe island society, unrelieved by any eminence of genius or virtue, or\nby the stir of great public interests, presented little more than a dull\nmonotony of sensuality and indolence, on a ground of inhumanity. It is\nno wonder that Zachary Macaulay, from his experience in Jamaica as the\nsuperintendent of an estate, formed in quiet sternness that resolution\nto devote his life to uprooting a social system whose presiding\ndivinities he saw to be Mammon and Moloch, which he afterward so nobly\nfulfilled. The graces and virtues of private character that lent some\nrelief to this dreary picture, I shall speak of hereafter.\n\nOne relief to the prevailing dulness of Jamaica life was found in a bar\nof first-rate talent. There was so much wealth passing from hand to\nhand, and so many disputed titles in the continual mutations of\nownership among the estates under the reckless system of conducting them\nprevalent, that the disciples of the law found a rich harvest, and it\nwas worth while for a first-rate man to settle in the island. It is\nthought that the lawyers of Jamaica used to receive not less than\nL500,000 annually. Whether this was reckoned in sterling money or in the\nisland currency, I do not know, but probably the latter, equivalent to\nL300,000 sterling. Of men not lawyers, Bryant Edwards is the only one of\nthe last century or the early part of this of any note whatever among\nthose permanently settled in the island. His chief claim to distinction\nis found in his carefully prepared and judicious 'History of the West\nIndies.' Beckford, the author of 'Vathek,' and Monk Lewis, christened\nMatthew, the patent ghost-story teller of half a century ago, and more\nhonorably connected with the history of the island as a proprietor,\nwhose inexperienced kindness toward his negroes had almost led to his\nprosecution, both resided in the island for a while. Jamaica had almost\ndrawn to herself a name far more illustrious than any or all which had\nappeared in her annals--that of Robert Burns. It is known that he had\nalready engaged his passage to the island, when the course of events\nturned him from it. He celebrates his expected departure in some verses\nmore witty than moral, in which he addresses our islanders as follows:\n\n  'Jamaica bodies, use him weel,\n  And hap him in a cosy biel,\n  Ye'll find him aye a dainty chiel,\n    And fu' of glee;\n  He wadna wrang the very deil,\n    That's ower the sea.'\n\nPoor fellow! had he really gone, the admonition to 'Jamaica bodies' to\n'use him weel,' would probably have been obeyed by making him drink\nhimself to death ten or twelve years earlier than he did in Dumfries,\nand thus would one of earth's great, though stained names, have been\nlost in the inglorious darkness of a Jamaica bookkeeper's short life, as\nmany a young countryman of his, perhaps not less gifted than he, had\nperished before him.\n\nAmong the distinguished personages of Jamaica, I ought not to omit\nmention of the Duke of Manchester, governor soon after the beginning of\nthis century, who was able to boast that no virtuous woman had crossed\nthe threshold of the King's House in Spanishtown during his\nadministration. So that if Jamaica has never had her _parc-aux-cerfs_,\nshe can at least boast her Regent Orleans. There is small need of any\nspecial _parc-aux-cerfs_ in a slaveholding country.[22]\n\nIn brief, except a certain interest attached to the struggles of the\nbarbarous Maroons to maintain their wild freedom in the woods and\nmountains, the human history of Jamaica, from the English conquest in\n1655 to the abolition of slavery in 1834, is little more than a\nmonotonous blank.\n\nShe had a vigorous bar, a sumptuous church establishment, and boundless,\nthough shifting wealth. But all these together, smitten as they were\nwith the palsy of voluptuousness and oppression, had not the power to\nbring forth one great name, to achieve one heroic deed, or on the other\nhand, to foster any growth of humble, diffused happiness. Her sin,\nplated with gold, dazzled the eyes and confounded the consciences of\nmen, but, like the ornaments of a sepulchre, it only beautified\noutwardly what within was full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness.\n\nThose events of her history which bear on the abolition of slavery will\nbe specially noticed hereafter.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEVELOPMENT OF AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE.\n\n\nThe rule held, anciently, that a nation's architecture was the exponent\nof its national character, growing with and out of its social, civil,\nand religious peculiarities, and modified by climate, habit, and taste.\nIn those early ages, the halcyon days of the art, men built with a\npurpose, built what they wanted in a natural and appropriate way,\nand--built successfully. So true was this, that to this day, most of\ntheir relics proclaim their own origin, just as fossils determine the\nrelative positions of their enclosing strata, and history owes to\narchitecture the solution of many of her hardest problems. The ancient\nEgyptians, for instance, gloried in the erection of the most magnificent\ntombs that their genius could produce, and, ruined as they are, we find\nthat it is in their sepulchral monuments--the rock-wrought mausoleum,\nand the stupendous pyramid--that their art-current found its readiest\nflow. Compare these with the light and graceful structures of the Moors,\nthe cool, arcaded courts, and the tesselated pavements, the orange\ntrees, and the fountains. 'But no comparison,' says Fergusson, 'is\napplicable to objects so totally different. Each is a true\nrepresentative of the feeling and character of the people by whom it was\nraised. The plaster Alhambra would be totally out of place and\ncontemptible beside the great temple-palace of Karnak. No less would the\ngranite works of Egypt be considered monuments of ill-directed labor if\nplaced in the palace of the gay and luxurious Arab fatalist, to whom the\npresent was everything, and with whom the enjoyment of the passing hour\nwas all in all.'\n\nStill another idea, grander than any aspiration of Saracen or Egyptian,\nwe find, when Europe, slowly shaking off the lethargy of the Dark Ages,\nwas developing the idea of religion. It was material, however, as well\nas spiritual. God was glorified, not only by repentance or holiness of\nlife, but also by the devotion of hand and heart and fortune to His\nearthly temples and the jewelled shrines of His saints. All that impetus\nwhich is now given to religion itself, was turned into the channels of\nreligious art. And yet, temporally speaking, how grand were the results!\nSlowly but surely arose those vast and wonderful cathedrals, springing\nlightly out of the quaintly gabled streets, with their richly wrought\ntransepts and their pinnacled spires. Not trailing along the ground like\nthe Greek temple or the Arab mosque--of the earth, earthy--but leading\nthe soul heavenward with their upward flow of harmony. Vast Bibles of\nstone, bearing on lofty facade and on buttressed flank the sculptured\ndetails of Holy Writ--silent lessons, but not lost upon the rude though\nreverent men who dwelt within their shadow. It is sad to think that\nthere can never be any more cathedrals. For they _grew_ in those times:\nnow they would have to be built.\n\nBut we are following a tangent. Our idea is, that architecture, to be\ngood, must be appropriate--expressive of the spirit of the age. It\nshould be an epitome of the nation's progress, an abstract of its\nguiding principles, condensed, as it were, and crystallized into an art.\nOf what use would a garment be, though ever so elaborate, if it did not\nfit? Just so our houses, which are but a broader kind of clothing,\nshould be fitted to their purpose, or they will never yield us any\npleasure.\n\nSuppose that, in searching the ruins of ancient Greece, we found nothing\nbut pusillanimous, sham imitations of Egyptian art. Would we not despise\nsuch a paltry method of making matter serve for mind--such a miserable\nmake-shift to save the labor of invention? And yet it is this same\nservile imitation of classical and foreign models that is fettering the\nprogress of art in America. Instead of honestly constructing what we\nwant, and then decorating it with a style of ornament that should\nassist, explain, and intensify it, we go wandering off to the ends of\nthe earth, building Grecian temples and Veronese palaces, some entire\nand some in slices, dreary, indefinite-looking objects, devoid of all\nconstructive principles within, and ornamented with falsified gewgaws\nwithout, stuck on in the hope of hiding rather than helping out the\nflimsy design. Our 'national style' we are sure can never be born of any\nsuch travesties. Borrowed architecture never fits well.\n\nThe fact is, we ignore the first great principle--the essence and _sine\nqua non_, of the art--DECORATED CONSTRUCTION. By construction is meant\nthat mechanical arrangement of parts which is best suited to convenience\nand most conducive to stability. It is what the French would call the\n_motif_, the end in view, while decoration is only the means. And the\nmoment we lose sight of it, in our anxiety to make room for some pet\nornament, that very ornament becomes an eyesore, and will persist in\nspoiling the design, for the simple reason that the end is sacrificed to\nthe means. Set it down, then, at the start, that ornament must be\ndependent upon construction, and not construction upon ornament. The\nuseful begets the beautiful, and the order cannot be reversed.\n\nBut before proceeding to what American architecture might be, we must,\nin all fairness, examine it as it is.\n\nOur great cities, of course, claim our attention first, for these\ncentres of wealth and intellect must necessarily be centres of art, and\nthere, if at all, are we to discover our prospects for a national style.\nAs a single example of what it has attained to so far, nothing can be\nbetter suited to our purpose than Broadway, New York, our best-known and\nmost essentially American thoroughfare. But what to compare it to we\nknow not. Neither history nor geography affords a parallel. It resembles\nneither the London Strand nor the Parisian Boulevard, nor is it like the\nLudwig Strasse of Munich, nor the Grand Canal of Venice; and yet it has\nsomething or other in common with all of these. There is all the\nincongruity of the English thoroughfare and the brilliancy of the\nFrench, while the frequent succession of vast palatial structures allies\nit still closer to the last-named examples. Perhaps, after all, the\nGrand Canal--the silent highway of the City of the Sea--is more like it\nin general effect than any other street in Europe. The one, it is true,\nis as straight as an airline, and the other nearly the shape of an S;\nthe one a paved roadway, noisy with the rush of traffic, and, in the\nother, the water washing the very walls of palaces that are mournful and\ndeserted--while, as regards style, there is scarcely a single specimen\nof the Venetian in this country.\n\nBut the resemblance is this: your prevailing impression from first to\nlast is the absence of all general arrangement, and the independent\nelegance of each separate facade. Each tells the same story: it is the\nwealth and enterprise of the citizen, and not the munificence of the\nsovereign, that has added palace to palace, and made the dumb stones\neloquent. Remembering, then, that it is private taste and influence that\nis to develop our art, we proceed to the analysis of the great\nthoroughfare in question.\n\nFancy yourself, patient reader, at one end of this street, so as to\ncommand its vista. What do you see? Architecture? Very little, we\nimagine. Save the buildings immediately at your right and left, all the\nothers are seen in profile, a contingency never reckoned on by their\nbuilders. The decoration is all piled on the front, as elaborate a\ndesign, often, as Palladio ever dreamt of, but at the side, every\ncornice and stringpiece stops as short as if it had been sawn off, and\nthe whole side is a flat blank piece of brickwork. This is greatly\naggravated by the disparity in height, and the ponderous cornices. As to\nconstruction, the prevailing type is a flimsy pile of brick and timber,\n'put up,' apparently, by mutual connivance of the contractor and the\ncoroner, and screened off from the street by a thin veneer of\n'architecture.' Now there is a certain merit, _sui generis_, in a clever\ndeception, but those in vogue here are too utterly transparent to claim\neven this. The telltale wall of brick cheats you out of the pleasure of\ncheating yourself, no matter how charitably disposed.\n\nWere it necessary to represent this street upon the stage, the decorator\nwould simply have to paint his scenes upon the edges, and leave the side\ntoward the audience bare. As you walk along you see a given building\nsideways for five minutes or more, but you cannot see it as it was meant\nto be seen--full in front--for as many seconds. We even know of churches\nin the cross streets, though near Broadway, whose square towers are\nstone-fronted after the usual fashion, but present nothing to the\ncrowded thoroughfare but undressed walls of brick! Yes, a Christian\nchurch, _in flagrante delictu_.\n\nIt will be objected to this that there is no use in finishing the sides\nof city buildings, as they may afterward be hidden by others. This would\ndo well enough if they were all of the same height; but they are not,\nand never can be. Indeed, a house is by many considered 'handsomer' than\nits neighbors, just so far forth as it overtops them. The builder would\nhardly think it a fair beat if the cornices corresponded. The successive\nerections on a row of vacant lots, usually illustrate this popular\nambition. Some one secures the corner and builds his house. So far, so\ngood. Presently number two comes along, and, to secure himself from\ninvidious comparison, piles his house half a story higher than number\none. But his triumph is short, for the third aspirant soon arrives, who,\ntrue to principle, takes another step in the ascending series. So it\ngoes till the block is finished, the whole thing looking as if\narchitecture was a sort of auction, in which the prize of success was\nawarded to the highest builder.\n\nIt being one of our social necessities that our houses differ in size,\nwe must pay some attention to their sides. Not giving them as decided a\ntreatment as the front, but something compatible with a plain surface.\nAnd, above all, the principal cornice and roof lines should be carried\nround on the sides, at least as far as they can be seen. In some rare\ninstances, where this has been done, it is astonishing to note the\nimproved appearance and _finish_, that it gives.\n\nDid you ever consider the superior elegance of a corner house? Yet it is\nnot so much the position as the fact that the position is taken\nadvantage of. Being finished on both sides, it gives to the mind the\nidea of thickness as well as length and breadth. It is, in short, a\n_solid_, while the affair next door, overtopping it perhaps a story or\ntwo, is merely a _superficies_.\n\nBut this is only a side thrust. Our 'commercial palaces' challenge the\nsame criticism face to face. For the front, considered by itself even,\nis generally incomplete. A supposititious formula determines that the\nhouse must be in the Italian palace style, but the narrow lot forbidding\nan entire design, the builder, as he cannot put in all, puts in all he\ncan, so that, instead of the house being a house, it is only a specimen\nslice of a palace. It has no particular beginning or middle or ending,\nand, with the long viscera of brickwork trailing off behind, it looks as\nif just wrenched out of the side of some Florentine or Genoese mansion.\nAnd, in very truth, is it not?\n\nThe common cause of these errors and incongruities is our self-abasement\nto a style which depends for its effect upon continuous uniformity of\ndesign, while, from the very nature of our society, our houses must be\ndiverse in size and pretension. We are a social people, it is true, but\nour individualities are strongly marked, and our dwellings, while\ndesigned with reference to each other, should never be too uniform. How\nfrightful those white-shuttered brick piles which monotonize the streets\nof Philadelphia! But to assert its individuality the house need not\nshoot up like a vein of trap rock through a stratum of conglomerate: an\nAmerican rises, not through the mass, but out of it.\n\nHave you ever seen a street view of Bruges or Nuremberg, those fantastic\nold cities of mediaeval Germany? You remember them, the tall gabled\nhouses with projecting stories, the picturesque grouping of porch and\ngallery and oriel, the curious old bridges and the Gothic fountains, the\ngrotesque carvings over the doorways, and the perfect population of\ndormer windows and turrets and lanterns. And did you not, _entre nous_,\nlike it better than those stiff, formal views of the French and Italian\ncities? Was not the poetry more pleasing than the prose?\n\n'Oh well,' you say, 'these turrets and gables and things look all very\nwell in pictures, but they would never do for our streets: we must build\nin some regular style, you know.' The same old error again, the same\nservile imitation of a vague something or other, which we call classic.\nDo you think the old German burghers built in any regular style? Not a\nbit of it. They built just what they wanted, in the most natural and\nplain-spoken manner. If they wanted a porch over the door, or a bay\nwindow at a certain corner, or a turret to enjoy some favorite\nview--they made them, put them just where they were needed. Convenience\nwas everything, and precedent nothing.\n\nIs there not something about this individual originality, this perfect\nfreedom of thought and expression, that might be adapted to express the\nAmerican character? And if more pleasing, why cling to the effete and\ncumbrous tyrannies of a soulless classicism? Why crush out all symptoms\nof natural growth to make room for the unsightly exotic?\n\nNature herself has made the law that beauty is _variety_. Monotony,\nthough magnificent, will become irksome, but variety is an unceasing\ndelight. Versailles, with its formal avenues of shorn foliage, and its\ngeometrical lawns and terraces, may please you more at first sight than\nan English park, because the mind feels a sort of pride in being able to\ngrasp such vast ideas at a glance. But you will find, upon a second or\nthird visit, that the unnatural arrangement of the French pleasure\ngrounds has something of staleness about it. Nature disdains such\nbondage. Louis XIV, it is said, grew weary of his splendid plaything,\nalmost before it was finished. How different the English landscape\ngarden, where graceful sweeps and irregular masses of foliage meet the\neye with unlooked-for beauties at every turn! Well do we remember how,\nafter a few days spent in viewing the grand dullness of the Bavarian\ncapital, we looked wearily back to the delightful visit we made at\nNuremberg, with its curious old streets and fountains:\n\n  'Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song;\n  Memories haunt thy pointed gables like the rooks that round them throng.'\n\nTo claim the merit of variety for our streets is wrong, for they are not\nvaried, but only incongruous. Their variety is rather that of an\narchitectural museum than the result of any combination. We have styles\nenough, in all conscience, but none that will tolerate any other.\n\nAgainst this may be urged the very argument with which we set out, that\na nation's architecture should be the exponent of its national\ncharacter, and as we are made up of every people and every class, that\nthis heterogeneous _melange_ is our normal style. But mark the\ndistinction: Although we are made up of so many diverse elements, yet\nthe component parts are severally and mutually held in solution. Each so\naffects the mass as to give rise to a new element--not a mere union, but\na result--not an addition, but a multiplication. But with the\nrepresentative art, the materials have merely come in contact--nothing\nmore. Our houses lack that social element which characterizes our\npeople. Each is itself, and itself alone, ruining the appearance of its\nneighbors, and ruined by them in turn. _Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo_,\nis the only law; while we are a chemical solution, our architecture is\nonly a mechanical one.\n\nHow proceed, then, to develop our national style, that unborn something\nwhich a future age might refer to as American, just as we speak of\nByzantine or Gothic? Are we waiting for somebody to invent it? We think,\nmaybe, that it is to spring forth, ready made, like Minerva from the\nbrain of Zeus. If this is our idea, we might as well give up at once and\nconfess to the world our imbecility. Never, from Adam's day to this, did\nanybody ever invent a new architecture. It is purely a matter of\ngenealogy. For just as we trace back a family line, can we trace the\ngenerations of art. Spite of its complications, many an offshoot can be\nfollowed up directly to the parent stock. Taking, for example, the\nmediaeval architecture of Spain, the brilliant 'Moresco,' we find it to\nbe a combination of the vigorous Gothic of the North with the beautiful\nthough effeminate Saracenic--the exotic of the South. And of these\nlatter, each is traceable, though by different lines, to the same great\nprototype, the Roman. For when Rome was divided, the Dome fell to the\ninheritance of the Eastern Empire, and the Basilica (which was only a\nGreek temple turned inside out) to the Western. The former, joined to\nthe Arabian, and the latter to the Gothic, formed two great families,\nfrom the union of whose descendants sprang the Moresco. But even the\nRoman was a derivative style, leading us back successively through\nGreece, Assyria, and Egypt. Each step is visibly allied to the\npreceding, and yet how unlike the pyramid and the Spanish cathedral! Did\nhistory permit, all the styles that have ever existed could be traced in\nthe same way; it is quite as easy to account for their diversities, as\nfor those of the nations that produced them. Ham and Japheth were of the\nsame household, yet how different their descendants of to-day! As from\none man sprang all people, so was there an original germ of architecture\nfrom which all successive styles have been derived.\n\nThe composite forms that have arisen since commerce and civilization\nhave brought the ends of the world together, increase the complication.\nThere have been marriages and intermarriages, some good matches and some\nbad ones, some with vigorous and some with sickly offspring, and some\nhybrids of such monstrous malformation as almost to make us fear that a\nnew style can be invented. But the effect is impossible without the\ncause. Save the mysterious Pyramids, every structure extant acknowledges\nits ancestry. If physiologists are fond of claiming the history of the\nrace as one of their own chapters, architecture has at least an equal\nclaim.\n\nBut all this does not mean that we are mere passive agents in the\nmatter. _We_ are, in a great measure, the 'external influences' that\nmodify art. The motion exists, but it devolves upon us to give\ndirection.\n\nWe have already alluded to Venetian architecture as being parallel in\norigin and tendency to our own, and much can be gained, we believe, by a\ncareful examination of what it accomplished. Not that we ought to copy,\nline for line, the doge's palace or the Casa d'Oro--the arabesque\narcade, or the Gothic balcony--that would only be following the\nwell-worn rut of imitation. We are not to study the result, but the\ncause. For the causes that produced the style in question were not\nunlike what we find at home to-day. A commercial republic, there was the\nsame liberty of expression--the same preponderance of the individual\nover the national; and there, as here, are we attracted rather by the\nelegance of independent units than by any general unity of design.\n\nBut the growth of art in Venice (we ask special attention) was due to\nher central situation, and the simultaneous influx of foreign elements.\nIt was her commerce that made Venice great: her glory came and departed\nwith it. Witnessing, as she did, the development of all the mediaeval\nstyles, she became--geographically and historically--the metropolis of\narchitecture. 'The Greeks,' says Ruskin, 'gave the shaft, Rome gave the\narch, the Arabs pointed and foliated the arch.... Opposite in their\ncharacter and mission, alike in their magnificence of energy, they came\nfrom the North and from the South--the glacier torrent and the lava\nstream, they met and contended over the wreck of the Roman Empire; and\nthe very centre of the struggle, the point of pause of both, the dead\nwater of the opposite eddies, charged with embayed fragments of the\nRoman wreck, is _Venice_.\n\n'The ducal palace of Venice contains the three elements in exactly equal\nproportions, the Roman, Lombard, and Arab. It is the central building of\nthe world.'\n\nTruly, it was a glorious success that art achieved in the Italian\nrepublic, Whether the old precedents were violated or not, the result is\nunquestionably pleasing, and the pleasure-seeking tourist lingers there\nas long as the critic.\n\nAt this transition state, through which Venice passed so nobly, have we\nnow arrived. We have collected our materials, and piled them up\ntogether, but just as all seems most propitious, _le mouvement\ns'arrete_, the materials will not coalesce. The brass and the silver,\nthe iron and the gold, are all in the crucible, but there is no fusion,\nonly a discordant clash.\n\nAlas! there is no heat. We are not warmed, as yet, with any love for\nart. We are too much absorbed in the rapid accumulation of wealth, or\nthe passing excitement of the hour, to attend to anything that is noble\nor honest or beautiful. And now that devastating war is sweeping through\nthe land and clogging the wheels of progress, we are learning terrible\nlessons; but, with experience for our teacher, learning them well. Where\nwar prevails, civilization for the time must stand still. _Inter arma\nsilent--artes_. And so long as we consider art a marketable commodity,\nand consign it, like merchandise, to soulless builders, so long will it\nremain in hopeless embryo. Only by taking a personal interest in it can\nwe hope to make it our own.\n\nSo much for what we have done. There is little to be proud of, and\nlittle, we hope, that will influence our future art. To which we now\nturn our attention.\n\nTo begin with, great public buildings will never form a distinguishing\nfeature of American architecture. It is to be preeminently a domestic\nstyle. Herein shall we differ from the European nations, for in art, as\nin politics, the people are the rulers. It is discouraging, at first\nthought, to reflect that no such magnificent architectural combinations\nas those of the French capital can ever find place in an American city.\nThey are grand, they are superb, these endless successions of palaces\nand gardens and triumphal arches, with groves and fountains all in\nperfect symmetry, and well-balanced vistas radiating in all directions;\nbut they are the result of centuries of despotism--of the impoverishment\nof the many and the aggrandizement of the few. This, we hope, is not to\nbe the fashion in America. It is true that the ground plan for the city\nof Washington exhibits a design analogous to the above, but we think it\nwill be a long time before it exists elsewhere than on the map. The\nGreeks and Romans, we know, confined their efforts to public buildings,\nbut that was their business. They served their Governments, but our\nGovernment serves us: the spirit of the age points in an opposite\ndirection. Since we are so fond of the classic, why not have chariots\nfor carriages, and triremes instead of gunboats and steamers?\n\nOur real style will first appear in our residences and warehouses, in\nour banks and hotels and railroad depots. It sounds odd, but it is\nmanifestly so to be. We are a commercial republic. Old European palaces\nand cathedrals are doubtless very grand, and--for those who need such\nthings--most excellent models. But with us the private element already\npredominates; we only need to begin honestly, and the thing is half\ndone.\n\nOur national dread of Gothic, except it be for church purposes, should\nbe done away with. The Gothic _principle_, we mean; the style we may\nfollow or may not. But to be sincere and constructive, to build with a\npurpose, we must do as did the mediaeval builders. In their hands, our\ndaguerrean sky-lights and shot towers, our factory chimneys and\nsignboards, would have become glorious objects, become useful objects.\nTheir art did not confine itself to one day in seven; it permeated the\ncommonest details of every-day life, because they were common. Hence\nthey ennobled everything.\n\nBut the Romans, unfortunately, never had any shot towers, or hotels, or\nrailroad depots, and so we think such things exceptions to the ordinary\nrules of architecture. But after all, perhaps, this is all the better\nfor their future, as it leaves them comparatively untrammelled. In the\nmatter of railroad depots, England has certainly stolen a march upon us,\nthe large city stations in that rail-bound country being perfect Crystal\nPalaces in size and elegance, while those for the more rural places are\noften the most exquisite little villas, unapproachable in neatness and\ntaste. In some parts of the Continent, the Swiss style has been pressed\ninto this service with notable success.\n\nIn regard to fire-alarm towers, we rejoice to be able to make an\nexceptional remark. New York city has actually produced two or three of\nthese of new and elegant shape, perfectly adapted to their purpose; and\nyet, so far as we know, not copied from anything else. Those in Sixth\nand Third avenues have a grace of outline that is really elegant, and\nshow what we can accomplish if we only build what we want in a natural\nand appropriate way.\n\nNothing, however, is to exert a vaster influence on our style than the\nhotel. This 'institution,' as we have it, is comparatively unknown in\nEurope; beyond all nations are we a travelling and hotel-building\npeople. Our hotels have not grown up with the scant traffic of the post\nchaise or _diligence_; they overleaped that feeble infancy, and started\nat once with the railroad and steamboat. Large, luxurious, and well\nappointed, they are usually the prominent buildings in all our large\ncities.\n\nBut as yet it is only their size and social importance that\ndistinguishes them, not their architecture. The recipe for a first-class\ncity house is simple: a vast square front of white, with ninety-six or a\nhundred and forty-four windows, as the case may be, all alike, and all\nequidistant. The variety afforded by this arrangement is much the same\nas that of an uncut sheet of postage stamps. In such large masses, a\nsingle color--white especially--is always disagreeable, unless treated\nwith some variety of form. Brick, with stone dressings, will almost\ninvariably produce a finer front than stone alone. But, after all, the\nmost desirable kind of variety is that which seeks to express exteriorly\nthe inner arrangement of the building, by giving some degree of\nprominence to the principal rooms. As to interior, our hotels neglect a\ngrand opportunity in making no capital of the central space they\ngenerally enclose. This, instead of being abandoned to cats and ash\nbarrels, might be made the feature of the establishment. Fancy such a\ncourt roofed over with glass,[23] and surrounded with light arcades of\nironwork forming a continuous balcony at each story, arrange a garden in\nthe centre with a fountain, and give the whole a sort of oriental\ntreatment, and what a really elegant effect could be produced! The main\nentrance in this case would be, not on the street, but on one of the\nsides of this inner court, while an arched carriage way, to connect with\nthe street, would render vehicles accessible under cover. The arcades,\nconnecting all parts of the house, would take the place of halls and\ncorridors, besides forming delightful promenades. Some few hotels could\nbe named, in our large cities, which seem to have the germ of this idea,\nbut we know no instance of its complete development.\n\nStill we have great hopes of the hotel, because it is the place of all\nothers which it is to our interest to make look well. People go to the\npost office all the same, be it a barn or a parthenon, but they will go,\nother things being equal, to the best hotel. Here comes in the American\nprinciple of Competition, the keynote of all our enterprise. Competition\nis to do for us what the hope of earthly immortality did for the\nbuilders of the Pyramids, what the desire to glorify God did for the\nbuilders of the cathedrals. It is to be the soul of our art: what sort\nof a body it is to put on, we shall presently see. Even now it is safe\nto assume that no more such granite prisons as the 'Revere' or the\n'Astor' will be built for hotels. Lightness, variety, and vivacity will\nmore probably characterize this style.\n\nThe _shop front_ is something that we must have in some shape or other,\nand, if fairly treated, it would become as decidedly American as\nbusiness is. It is susceptible of great variety, but care must be taken\nthat it harmonizes with the superstructure. How often we see massive\nstructures of marble, five stories or more, supported on basements of\nplate glass, apparently; while the real supports are carefully\nconcealed! The best method, so far tried, seems to be that in which the\ncolumns are made sufficiently prominent to show their object, and are\nsurmounted by arches, which give a good basis for what comes next\nabove, while affording sufficient window space to the store front.\n\nBut we must make up our mind to part with those hideous signboards,\nwhich trail their loathsome length across our best buildings, regardless\nof console or capital or cornice. For the importance of the sign renders\nit constructive, and it has as much right to take part in the design as\na door or a window. Instead of being pinned on like an afterthought, it\nshould be built into the wall, panel fashion, and by a little taste in\nthe selection of the style of letter, it might become one of the most\nstriking features of the whole front. Color would be better for the\nletters than relief, being more economical and more easily altered.\n\nOur warehouses and even our factories might become imposing objects if\nappropriately conceived, for is not labor ennobling? Anything that is\nworth doing, is worth doing well; and if any of our manufacturing towns\nare hideous, they are not necessarily so.[24] There is a certain\ngrandeur about many such places, with their myriad chimneys and\nponderous wheels and whirling engines, that deserves a corresponding\ngrandeur of expression, and some of our Pennsylvania ironworks already\nafford splendid examples of this. We have seldom been more impressed by\nthe grandeur of mechanical operations than on a recent night visit to\none of the large rolling mills of Scranton. The whole interior, vast as\na cathedral, was brilliantly lighted by the numerous operations in\nmolten and red-hot iron that were everywhere in progress, and, with its\ngleaming furnaces, ranged on either hand down the long vista, and\nglowing here and there from the galleries, really made us feel prouder\nof our race than did many a dim, dilapidated temple of the Old World.\n\nAs to churches, we cannot expect much, except that they will be tasteful\nand commodious audience rooms, commensurate with the importance of their\ncongregations. The religion of to-day appeals to soul, and not to soul\nand sense. The world is older and better educated than in the cathedral\nera, and the apostles and prophets are read, not from sculptured doors\nor painted windows, but from the printed page and the winged word.\nChildhood, that cannot read, requires gaudily painted primers for its\ninstruction and amusement, but the world is a grown man now; the press\nhas superseded the cathedral, and if we imitate those structures in our\nchurches, we should bear in mind that it was their size that gave them\ngrandeur, and that they would be caricatures without it. We have heard\nour American church interiors spoken of somewhere as divisible into two\nclasses--the charlotte-russe style and the molasses-candy style. This is\nnot true, we hope; but there is too much truth in it, for it shows the\ninfluence of a too close imitation of European palaces and churches, and\nthe hard shamming that has to be done to make this imitation apparent.\n\nIf our rural architecture has been more successful, it is because our\nbetter class of country houses are planned with reference to the\nlandscapes they occupy. A rich level meadow with here and there a waving\nelm requires a different style of house from a fir-clad bluff on a river\nbank or a wild gorge in a mountain. No intelligent architect, we take\nit, would design a country house without an intimate acquaintance with\nthe surroundings, and yet the same man, likely as not, would make you a\nsketch for the elevation of your house in town, without even looking to\nsee what it was to adjoin on either side. Now this method may be\ncorrect, but it seems to us that, by first putting on paper the existing\nhouses, say one or two, on each side of the space to be built upon, the\nnew front could be much better planned, and much of that unnecessary\ndiscord avoided which destroys so many of our best streets. This is what\nis done in painting and other arts, and why not in architecture?\nParticular situations require particular treatments. A front that would\nappear well on a narrow street, would be inappropriate on a broad avenue\nor a square. A corner, or the head of a street, are most responsible\nsituations. A tall marble front, placed in a modest row of freestone, is\nhideous, and yet the unrelieved monotony of many such rows is quite as\nbad. A dome, unless at the top of a street or on some open space, is\nnext to worthless. Who would ever notice Boston State House or the\nBaltimore Cathedral, but for their elevated and central positions?\n\nWe often find among the old masters elegant architectural paintings,\nstreet views, taken from the picturesque cities they lived in. We should\nlike to find some one bold enough to paint a street view of Broadway or\nWashington street or Chestnut street.\n\nIt is a pity that our architects are unwilling to acknowledge the\nimportance of the _buttress_. Concerning this feature, it is not easy to\nsay whether beauty or utility is most apparent. It is the very\nidealization of strength, and hence its inherent elegance. Suppose Notre\nDame or Milan Cathedral stripped of their double tiers of flying\nbuttresses. Would you not say that their glory was gone--their beauty\ndeparted? And yet the old builders did not pile them up against their\nnaves for mere beauty's sake. By no means. But they knew the immense\nweight of their vaulted roofs, and anticipated the outward thrust of the\nwalls. That was the problem, and most fairly was it met. They\ncounteracted the outward pressure from within by an inward pressure from\nwithout, and there was the buttress. But what if they had said, We are\nnot going to spoil our fine churches by sticking props all around them,\nand had resorted to concealed bedplates and invisible rods of iron,\nwould their structures have been better or nobler or more enduring?\nFortunately, they gave themselves no concern, as to how they would\nlook--for architecture was honest in those days--they simply built them,\nallowing decoration to come in afterward in its proper order; and\nthereupon the buttress became the distinguishing feature of Gothic art.\n\nPerhaps this is the very reason why we so neglect it; but symptoms are\nalready appearing which lead us to hope that gothophobia is on the\ndecline, and not the least of them is the outcropping of something that\nwould be a buttress if it dared to, but hides its real intention under a\nclassic mask, and passes off as a pilaster or a panel border. But it has\na guilty look, and the sooner it puts off its borrowed garments the\nbetter. Certainly the demand for it is immense. So long as we are a\ncommercial people, vast warehouses, piled from cellar to roof with heavy\nmerchandise, must abound in all our cities. And yet how utterly\nincompetent would many such buildings be to stand alone! So long, too,\nas we are a manufacturing people, must we have huge mills crowded full\nwith heavy apparatus, vibrating machinery, and _human lives_. Have we\nforgotten Lawrence? Let us not wait for another such holocaust ere we\nlearn wisdom. We can do without ornament, but we must have safety. A\nmere increase of dead weight is no remedy; there should be a\nwell-studied mechanical disposition of material. If buttresses are\napplied to warehouses and factories with sole reference to their\nutility, elegance will grow upon them afterward as naturally as leaves\ngrow upon trees.\n\nMaterial must depend much upon locality, but iron is undoubtedly to hold\nan important place in our architecture. Already it is extensively used,\nbut does not seem to command general favor. The reason is that nearly\neverything that has been done with it so far is not iron architecture,\nbut stone architecture done in iron. We do not let it speak its own\nlanguage; the truss, the tie rod, and the girder are kept out of sight,\nwhile every possible display is made of consoles and cornices and\nCorinthian columns and balustrades, and all sorts of foreign\nexpressions. No wonder that it is unable to give an account of itself\nwith all these false witnesses. Stone houses should be made of stone,\nand if made of wood or iron or plaster, they are nothing but shams,\nunenduring and unsatisfactory.\n\nNow architecture requires the least amount of material that is\ncompatible with the greatest amount of strength. The forms of different\nmaterials must be varied to suit their texture, according as it is\nfibrous or crystalline, tough or brittle. Iron, of course, requires a\npeculiar treatment. At the risk of being charged with pedantry, we say\nthat there have never been but two iron buildings, of any pretension, in\nthis country--the Niagara Suspension Bridge and the Crystal Palace at\nNew York. The first still speaks for itself; and of the latter, no one\nwho saw it can forget what an exquisite structure it was, so light and\nairy and elegant, and yet so strong. It was but a bird cage, though,\ncompared with its enormous prototype at Sydenham. That is unquestionably\none of the wonders of the world; its internal _coup d'oeil_ is without\na parallel. Fancy a broad level vista, a third of a mile long, flanked\non either side by graceful groves of ironwork, and covered with a\ncontinuous crystal arch, a hundred feet above your head; line it with a\nprofusion of tropical foliage and clambering vines, that grow as\nluxuriantly as in their native woods, and interspersed with statuary and\nvases gleaming everywhere through the rich masses of verdure, while here\nand there fountains of rare and exquisite design, rising from broad\nmarble basins, relieve without lessening the immense length--and you may\nhave some faint idea of this peerless structure. 'No material is used in\nit,' says Fergusson, 'which is not the best for its purpose, no\nconstructive expedient employed which was not absolutely necessary, and\nit depends wholly for its effect on the arrangement of its parts and the\ndisplay of its construction.' It is in iron what Gothic is in stone.\n\nDetails, if fairly studied, would do much to nationalize our\narchitecture. Why should we, in designing a capital or cornice, still\ncling to the classic acanthus or honeysuckle ornament, or even the\nEnglish ivy, when we have such a fund of our own? The maize and the\nsugarcane, the potato blossom and the cotton boll afford so many mines\nof treasure, that it is surprising that they have not already been\nworked. In the architecture of the Central Park, however, a decided\nimpetus has been given in this direction. The details of the grand\nterrace at the end of the Mall are as elaborate as those of a European\ncathedral, but they are all American--all our own.\n\nAnother excellent feature of our city houses is that little strip of\ngarden in front, just within the sidewalk. For this, too, we think we\nhave some claim of originality. At least it is not European, for in\nBerlin, Vienna, etc., some of the most palatial quarters are without so\nmuch as a sidewalk--the paving stones reaching from wall to wall. Such\nbarrenness of arrangement cannot be relieved by any architecture, nor\nwas there ever a building so good that it could not be improved by a\nsetting of foliage. The power of mutual relief between art and nature is\nwonderful. To this is owing much of the effect of the celebrated 'Place\nNapoleon,' the court of the New Louvre at Paris. The contrast between\nthe richly wrought facades of Caen stone and the foliage in the centre,\nis most grateful to the eye. Even the grand quadrangle of the Tuileries\nseems dismal after it, grand as are its ogre-roofed 'pavilions' and\ntriumphal arch, for it lacks the refreshing verdure. The eye wearies of\nthe everlasting buff color.\n\nNot to overstep the subject, we will say just one word about the street\nplans of our cities. It is really shameful that these are not more\nstudied. No one seems to think of adapting them to the surface of the\nground, but everything must needs be graded flat, and rectangular blocks\nlaid out thereon. Our Western cities, particularly, appear to\ncrystallize in cubes--their monotony is painful. An occasional\nintroduction of the curved street, so common in Britain, would be a\ndelightful relief. The London 'Quadrant' is a superb example--the way in\nwhich the houses come into view, one by one, as you follow the curve, is\nnot to be surpassed. But the chief secret of success in plotting a town\nis to seize upon the natural irregularities of the ground, and make them\npart and parcel of the design. The beauty of Edinburgh--the 'Scottish\nAthens,' as Dugald Stewart called it--is entirely owing to this. The new\ntown is a 'wilderness of granite, magnificently dull,' and the old has\nbarely enough of the picturesque to save it from being hideous. But\nthere is a broad, natural ravine, dividing the two, which has been\nretained in its original shape, and being tastefully arranged with\nshrubbery and terraced walks, forms a fine park. Near one end of this\nthe Castle Hill rises abruptly against the old town, while at the other\nend the view is closed by Calton Hill, with its classic monuments, and\nArthur's Seat rising grandly beyond. Two or three bridges afford a level\ncommunication between the old town and the new, and Prince's street, the\nthoroughfare of the latter, forms a fine terrace along the northern edge\nof the ravine, passing midway the Scott monument, a superb spire of\nGothic. This latter is perhaps the only commendable feature _per se_ in\nthe city--for the details of Edinburgh are notably poor, its pictorial\neffect arising solely from the very happy manner in which they are\ngrouped, amphitheatre-like, around the 'Gardens.'\n\nDid such a vale lie in the track of one of our cities, we would consider\nit an unlucky blemish, to be filled up at once to the general level. It\nwould be named in the contract as such-and-such 'sunken lots,' and as\nthe Castle Rock was digged down and dumped in, tax-payers would rejoice\nover the saved cartage. Having thus killed off Nature, we would put up\nsquares of houses upon the dead level, while the local papers would\ncomment upon the 'improvement of property.'\n\nIf we only had a Napoleon here, some think, his master mind might arrest\nthis Vandalism, infuse some system into our rag-bag cities, and make\neach a Paris. But have we not Public Opinion, stronger than any despot?\nLet a little of this current, guided by taste, be turned into the\nchannels of art, and the results will soon be forthcoming. We seem to be\nhampered, as yet, with a kind of feudal system of architecture; this\nwill presently be done away with, for the American character is\neclectic, and naturally selects and combines the best in art, as in\npolitics and commerce. To combine English good sense without its\nheaviness, French vivacity without its hollowness, and the exuberance of\nGerman fancy without its inertia--to combine and reflect all these\nshould be the mission of our architecture.\n\nNeither is it too much to say that a genuine love for art may have its\nbearing on that part of us which is immortal. Not that any of these\nthings will exist after this life, but as children are drilled by their\nteachers in many studies which have no practical bearing on their after\nlife, so may we consider ourselves as only at boarding school with\nNature while in this present temporary state; and if she has set us some\nlessons which do not appertain directly to our more exalted future, we\nshould remember that this is her method of _discipline_. But she has\ndone more; she has made the very tasks delightful. Are not such studies\nmore beneficial and satisfactory than the idleness and play which fill\nup so much of our lives?\n\nNo student can succeed, however, who tamely copies his neighbor's work.\nLet us hope, then, that our art will soon drop its clumsy costume, and\ntake to itself something natural and national; that it will become, as\nit should, the type of our Western civilization--a civilization that\nspreads itself, not by sword or sceptre or crozier, but by life and\nliberty and light.\n\n\n\n\nJEFFERSON DAVIS AND REPUDIATION OF ARKANSAS BONDS\n\nLETTER NO. III OF HON. ROBERT J. WALKER.\n\n\n                       London, 10 Half Moon Street, Piccadilly,\n                                     _January 28th_, 1864\n\nIn two pamphlets, published by me last summer, Mr. Jefferson Davis was\nclearly convicted of sustaining the repudiation of the Union Bank bonds,\nand the Planters' Bank bonds of the State of Mississippi. These\npamphlets were most extensively circulated throughout the United States,\nthe United Kingdom, and upon the continent of Europe, and several\nconfederate writers have since referred to them; but no attempt ever has\nbeen made, either by Mr. Davis himself, or by any of his agents or\nfriends, to refute any one of the facts or deductions contained in those\npamphlets. Indeed, the facts were founded upon authentic documents,\nofficial papers, and Mr. Davis's own two letters over signature, plainly\nand unequivocally sustaining the repudiation of Mississippi. It is true,\nin the case of the Union Bank bonds of Mississippi, that Mr. Davis\njustified their repudiation on the ground that the bonds of the State\nwere unconstitutional. But the utter fallacy of this position was shown\nby two unanimous decisions of the highest judicial tribunal of the State\nof Mississippi, before whom this very question was brought directly for\nadjudication, affirming the constitutionality and validity of these\nbonds. When it is recollected, also, that this was the Court designated\nby the Constitution and laws of Mississippi, as the tribunal to which\nthe ultimate decision of this question was referred, the wretched\ncharacter of this pretext must be at once perceived. Mr. Davis's two\nrepudiating letters were published by him in the spring and summer of\n1849, yet one of these decisions by the highest judicial tribunal of\nMississippi, quoted by me, affirming the validity and constitutionality\nof these very bonds, was made in 1842, and again unanimously reaffirmed\nin 1853. But still, Mr. Davis adhered to the same position. As to the\nPlanters' Bank bonds, however, the repudiation of which was shown to\nhave been justified by Mr. Davis, there never was even a pretext that\nthey were illegal or unconstitutional. Nor is there any force in the\nsuggestion, that these questions were decided before Mr. Davis came into\npublic life. They were _continuous_ questions, constantly discussed in\nthe press and before legislative and judicial tribunals. And, we have\nseen, even as late as 1853, four years succeeding Mr. Davis's\nrepudiating letters, the second decision was made by the highest\njudicial tribunal of Mississippi, reaffirming the validity and\nconstitutionality of these bonds.\n\nBut I will now cite another instance of the advocacy of repudiation by\nMr. Jefferson Davis, still more flagitious than that of Mississippi. It\nwas that of the State bonds of Arkansas, the validity and\nconstitutionality of which never has been disputed. A brief history of\nthis transaction is as follows: In 1830, James Smithson, an eminent and\nwealthy citizen of London, in the kingdom of Great Britain, died,\nbequeathing, by his last will and testament, the whole of his property\nto the United States of America, in trust, to found at Washington, under\nthe name of 'The Smithsonian Institution,' an establishment 'for the\nincrease of diffusion of knowledge among men.' After some delay, the\nCongress of the United States, in 1836, passed an act, accepting the\ntrust, and pledging the faith of the Government for the faithful\napplication of the money to the noble purpose designated by the\nillustrious donor. Under this act, Richard Rush, one of our most\ndistinguished citizens, who had been minister to England and to France,\nand had held the position of Secretary of State and of the Treasury, at\nWashington, was sent by the Government to London, to obtain from the\nCourt of Chancery the fund, amounting to over $500,000. It is usual in\nthe proceedings of the English Court of Chancery, when funds, under\ncircumstances like these, are bequeathed to trustees for scientific or\ncharitable purposes, not to part with the money to the trustee, except\nupon his filing in court absolute security for the faithful fulfilment\nof the trust. In this case, however, the High Court of Chancery in\nEngland, considering that to imply any laches or neglect of a trust so\nsacred, on the part of the Government of the United States, was an idea\nnot to be entertained, did, by their decree, without any security, hand\nover all the money to the Government of the United States, to be\nappropriated to the purpose designated by the donor, receiving only the\npledge given by the Congress of the United States, for the faithful\nappropriation of the money. Now, if there ever was any obligation, that\nwould be considered sacred by the whole civilized world, it was this,\nand most faithfully has the Government of the United States executed\nthis trust. Nay, it has done much more; it has granted forty acres of\nground, belonging to the Government, in the city of Washington,\ngratuitously, for the erection of the buildings upon them, erected by\nthe Government, are worth largely more than the whole bequest. Not only\nhas the Government done this, but, upon the whole fund received from Mr.\nSmithson, it has always punctually paid an interest of six per cent. in\ngold upon the whole sum, and pledged its faith for a similar perpetual\npayment. It has also largely aided the institution by contributions to\nits museum, collections, and library, and by the gratuitous services of\npublic officers in its behalf. Such was the bill passed by Congress in\n1846, and which has always been most faithfully executed. So that the\ninstitution is now established upon a permanent basis, and is fulfilling\nall the great and noble purposes proposed by the illustrious donor. Now,\nin 1837, this fund was received by the Government of the United States,\nand invested by the Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Woodbury, in the six\nper cent. bonds of the State of Arkansas at par, to the extent of over\nhalf a million of dollars. During the same year Arkansas invested this\nmoney in a bank, entitled 'The Real Estate Bank of Arkansas;' and of\nwhich the State was the great stockholder. In 1839, this Bank, having\nloaned out these funds to the citizens of Arkansas, became absolutely\nand totally insolvent, and has never been able to pay one cent on the\ndollar to any of its creditors. In 1839, the State of Arkansas failed\nto pay the interest on its bonds, and from that day to this has never\npaid one dollar either of interest or principal on any of these most\nsacred obligations.\n\nOn the 4th of March, 1845, I became Secretary of the Treasury of the\nUnited States, and having taken the deepest interest in this Smithsonian\nfund, and in its faithful application to the noble purpose of the donor,\nand inasmuch as one of my predecessors had invested these funds in these\nbonds, and the Government had made itself directly responsible for the\nfaithful execution of this trust, I endeavored to reclaim, as far as\npossible, this money from the State of Arkansas, and to induce Congress\nto appropriate its own moneys to redeem the pledge of the Government,\nand fulfil this trust. My first official action on this subject was as\nfollows: By act of Congress, five per cent. of the net proceeds of the\nsales of the public lands of the United States in Arkansas was payable\nto that State, for certain purposes designated in the act. There was,\nalso, an act of Congress in force, authorizing the Secretary of the\nTreasury, where there were mutual debts and credits between the\nGovernment and any other person, to offset any debt due by any creditor\nof the United States, against any debt, so far as it would go, due by\nthe United States to such creditor. I interpreted this act as\nauthorizing me to withhold this five per cent. fund from the State of\nArkansas and appropriate it, as far as it would go, in payment of the\ninterest which had accumulated on the bonds of the State of Arkansas, in\nwhich my predecessor, Mr. Woodbury, on behalf of the Government, had\ninvested the Smithsonian Fund; thus saving a small portion of the\ninterest which had accrued on these bonds. For this act I was violently\ndenounced by the Senators and Representatives of Arkansas in Congress,\nas also by the Legislature and Governor of the State, and strenuous\nefforts were made, unsuccessfully, first to induce me to revoke my\naction, and, secondly, to have it overruled by the Government. But I\nadhered to it, and declared openly, that if such a breach of trust were\nconsummated, and my action overruled in the premises, I would resign my\nseat in the cabinet. My official action, however, was sustained by an\nalmost unanimous public sentiment of Congress, and of the country.\nIndeed, beyond the limits of the State of Arkansas, and the circle of\nthe repudiators of Mississippi, my course was sustained and approved.\n\nNow, then, let us see what was the action of Mr. Jefferson Davis on the\nquestion of these Arkansas bonds. On reference to the journals of the\nHouse of Representatives, of the Congress of the United States, it\nappears that Mr. Jefferson Davis took his seat in that body, as one of\nthe members elect from the State of Mississippi, on the 8th of December,\n1845. (P. 56.) When the bill was pending for organizing the Smithsonian\nInstitution, and making good for both principal and interest, the sum\nbequeathed by Mr. Smithson that had been invested by the Government of\nthe United States in these Arkansas State bonds, Mr. Jefferson Davis, on\nthe 29th April, 1846, as appears by the official proceedings of the\nHouse, page 749, moved an amendment: 'To add at the end of the section\nthe following'--'_Provided, however_, That if the Governor of the State\nof Arkansas shall make it appear to the satisfaction of the\nAttorney-General of the United States, that he has used suitable means\nto obtain from the Real Estate Bank of the State of Arkansas, payment of\nthe debt due by said Bank to the State of Arkansas, but without success,\nthen, in that case, and until the arrears due by the said Real Estate\nBank shall have been received into the Treasury of the State of\nArkansas, the said State shall be and is hereby declared to be absolved\nfrom the promises on the face of her bonds by which the said State\nheretofore pledged her faith for the due payment of the principal and\ninterest of said bonds.' Now, then, it will be remembered, that the\nlegality and constitutionality of these Arkansas State bonds never has\nbeen disputed. These bonds were issued by the State, under direct\nauthority of law, signed by the Governor, with the broad seal of the\nState attached, and recognized by the Government of the United States,\nby the investment of this sacred fund in these obligations. Nay, more,\nthis fund thus received by the State from the Government on these bonds,\nhad been invested, under the law of the State of Arkansas, in a Real\nEstate Bank, created by that State, and the money loaned to the citizens\nof the State. That State Bank, however, in 1839, became utterly and\nnotoriously insolvent, and never did or could pay one cent in the dollar\non its obligations. And, more especially, never did it pay, after 1839,\none single cent of the principal or interest upon these State\nobligations. Now, then, this institution, in 1846, being absolutely and\ntotally insolvent, its funds having been wasted and squandered without\nthe possibility of recovery, either in whole or in part, Mr. Davis\noffers this resolution to authorize the State to repudiate its bonds,\nand that the Government should look only to this insolvent Bank for the\npayment of the principal and interest on these bonds, amounting then to\nover $700,000. It was not alleged by Mr. Davis, or by any other person,\nthat these bonds were unconstitutional. No such pretext was ever made\neven by the State of Arkansas. It was a most atrocious case of open\nrepudiation. And here, it matters not, so far as this question is\nconcerned, what may have been the obligation of the Government of the\nUnited States to make good these funds. That is a totally distinct and\nindependent question. The true and real issue in this case is this: Was\nnot the State of Arkansas bound to pay these bonds, both interest and\nprincipal, as it fell due, in, which bonds, by the request and authority\nof the State, the Government of the United States had invested this\nSmithsonian fund? This obligation of the State of Arkansas, both moral\nand legal, is undisputed and indisputable; and yet Mr. Davis moved the\nresolution before quoted, absolving the State from the payment of the\nprincipal and interest of these bonds, except so far as the assets of\nher own Bank, then notoriously bankrupt, should avail to make good these\nobligations. That is, the Congress of the United States, by solemn act,\nwas to authorize the State of Arkansas to repudiate her solemn\nobligations. Recollect, this was not a case of Mississippi bonds, of\nwhich State Mr. Davis was then a Representative in Congress, but it was\nthe case of Arkansas, another State, having on the floor of Congress its\nown Senators and Representatives. But it is a very remarkable fact, that\nMississippi, for many years, had then repudiated her own bonds, that Mr.\nDavis justified and sustained that repudiation, and that now he appears\non behalf of Arkansas to induce Congress, by solemn act, to authorize\nthat State to repudiate her obligations also. Thus was it that Mr. Davis\ntravelled out of his own State into another, to make the Government of\nthe United States a party to the repudiation of her bonds by the State\nof Arkansas. Let me not be misunderstood. I do not mean to say, that Mr.\nDavis proposed or intended that the Government of the United States\nshould repudiate its faith, plighted to the British Court of Chancery,\nto make good this fund. That is not the question. It is entirely\ncollateral. But, what he did do was this, and there stands his own\nresolution, offered by himself in the Congress of the United States,\nwhich, if carried into effect, would have released the State of Arkansas\nfrom these bonds, or, in Mr. Davis's own words, 'The said State shall be\nand is hereby declared to be _absolved from the promises_ on the face\nof her bonds, by which the said State heretofore _pledged her faith_\nfor the due payment of the principal and interest of said bonds.'\n\nWhy should Congress release Arkansas from the payment of her State\nobligations? Why thus justify the repudiation of her bonds? Can any\nother reason be assigned than this, that Mr. Jefferson Davis was looking\nto the repudiated bonds of Mississippi, and was endeavoring to establish\na precedent, by solemn act of the Congress, by which, if adopted as a\nprinciple, Mississippi, and every other defaulting State, could be\njustified in the repudiation of their bonds also. It is to the credit of\nthe Congress of the United States, that Mr. Davis's resolution was\nrejected without a division, and without a count. When it is\nrecollected, that at this very time, I, as Secretary of the Treasury,\nwas appropriating the five per cent. found payable by the Government to\nthe State of Arkansas toward the liquidation of these bonds against the\nprotest of that State, the further meaning of these movements will be\nclearly perceived. Had this resolution of Mr. Davis passed the two\nHouses of Congress, absolving the State of Arkansas from the payment of\nthese bonds, I could, of course, as Secretary of the Treasury, no longer\nhave withheld that fund from the State, and appropriated it, so far as\nit went, toward the liquidation of the interest accrued and accruing on\nthese bonds. It appears, then, by conclusive and official evidence, that\nMr. Jefferson Davis's repudiation of State obligations, was not confined\nto his own State, nor even to the State of Arkansas; but that he desired\nto make the Government of the United States, by solemn act of Congress,\na party directly sanctioning such atrocious violations of State faith\nand State obligations.\n\n                                                      R. J. WALKER.\n\n\n\n\nAPHORISMS.\n\n\nNO. III.\n\nTWO RULES.-To get safely and comfortably through the world, one\nmust observe two rules: first, keep your eyes open; second, keep them\nshut.\n\nNot to see the actual realities of our daily existence, is the part of a\nfool.\n\nNot to notice the thousand and one petty faults of others, and the\never-recurring petty annoyances of our circumstances, is the part of a\nwise man.\n\nEven injuries intentionally done to us, are often best disposed of by\nresolutely ignoring them.\n\nSo of evils that cannot be remedied--the less we know of them the\nbetter. Not to see an ill sight, is often just as good as to remove it\nfrom existence.\n\nWe need only to add: This seeing and not seeing, depends very much upon\nthe will. The wolf that wills it can easily see the lamb disturbing the\nwater that he drinks, even while the lamb is below him on the bank of\nthe stream; and the lamb, by a stern resolve, can refuse to _see_ the\ninjustice which it has no power to remedy. The will of man is little\nless than omnipotent in the wide sphere of its appropriate power; and\nthat sphere is much wider than feeble-minded people may suppose.\n\n\n\n\nLITERARY NOTICES.\n\n     LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF THEODORE PARKER, Minister of\n     the Twenty-eighth Congregational Society, Boston. By JOHN\n     WEISS. In 2 volumes. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 & 445\n     Broadway.\n\nA work of two large octavo volumes, containing 1,020 pages, with two\nportraits of Mr. Parker, and some vignettes on wood. The author is John\nWeiss, and the biography is exceedingly well written, a great deal of it\nbeing given directly from Mr. Parker's own letters and journals. He was\nborn in Massachusetts in 1810, and died in Italy before he had completed\nhis fiftieth year. He was brought up on his father's farm, taught school\nwhile in his teens to provide money for further progress, prepared\nhimself for the university, taught a higher school during his college\ncourse, studied the classics, acquired German, French, and Spanish,\nbecame a divinity student in Cambridge, added Danish, Swedish, Arabic\nand Syriac, Anglo-Saxon and Modern Greek, was ordained a Unitarian\nminister in 1837, and settled at West Roxbury. His labors were great: he\npreached, lectured, translated, edited, and wrote. His health sank under\nhis arduous mental toil. He went abroad to regain it, and died in\nFlorence in 1860. Whatever we may think of his creed, as a preacher he\nwas able and earnest. He was a man of varied gifts, of wide and detailed\nculture. He was opposed to slavery, and stood in bold antagonism to the\nFugitive Slave Law. He was blamed, perhaps maligned, during his\nlifetime, but posterity will acknowledge him as a man of large brain and\ngenerous heart. His letters are exceedingly interesting, touching upon\nalmost every subject now under discussion.\n\n  'Would you be good, and fill each human duty?\n  One art's enough for that--the finest art--\n  See but the good in every human heart.'\n\n     WAS HE SUCCESSFUL? A Novel. By RICHARD B.\n     KIMBALL, Author of 'St. Leger,' 'Undercurrents,' 'Romance of\n     Student Life,' etc. New York; Carleton, publisher, 413 Broadway.\n     Leipsic: Tauchnitz. 1864.\n\nThe readers of THE CONTINENTAL have been favored with the first\nperusal of this monitory novel. It is an accurate delineation of men and\nmanners found too frequently in our midst, and the moral should be\ndeeply graven on every heart. We feel the more at liberty to recommend\nthis work, as it was commenced in our columns before the present corps\nof editors had entered upon their labors, and we cordially wish every\nspecies of success to Mr. Kimball.\n\n     MUSICAL SKETCHES. By ELIZA POLKO. Translated from\n     the sixth German edition, by FANNY FULLER. Philadelphia:\n     Frederick Leypoldt. New York: F. W. Christern.\n\nWe think this book will become a favorite with our people. It contains\nsketches, legends, and traditions of many of the great musicians. Bach,\nGluck, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Pergolesi, Schubert, Scarlatti, Weber,\nPaganini, Gretry, Catalani, Malibran, Handel, Anderle, Haydn, Boieldieu,\nCimarosa, Beethoven, Lully, Berger, etc., float pleasantly through its\nfanciful pages. Romance and reality mingle genially together, the\nreality half persuading us that the romance is true. It is appreciative\nand tender in the original, and the translation is well executed. The\nvignette of the music-making cherubs is really beautiful.\n\n     HUSKS. COLONEL FLOYD'S WARDS. By MARION HARLAND.\n     New York: Sheldon & Co., 335 Broadway.\n\nFew young writers have attained so sudden a popularity as Marion\nHarland. We believe it well deserved. Her plots are interesting, her\ncharacters well drawn, her style natural, her morals unexceptionable. Of\nthe two tales composing the present volume, we prefer 'Colonel Floyd's\nWards.' The interest is well sustained, and Virginian society and\nmanners truthfully depicted.\n\n\n     DIARY, from November 18, 1862, to October 18, 1863. By\n     ADAM GUROWSKI. Volume Second. New York: Carleton,\n     publisher, 413 Broadway.\n\nHas Count Gurowski's course toward his own unfortunate country, heroic\nPoland, been sufficiently loyal and faithful to induce us to put much\nconfidence in his portraitures of the men and events of the land of his\nadoption?\n\n\n     THE GREAT CONSUMMATION. THE MILLENNIAL REST; or, The World\n     as it Will Be. By REV. JOHN CUMMING, D. D., F. R. S. E.,\n     Minister of the Scottish National Church, Crown Court, Covent\n     Garden; Author of 'The Great Tribulation,' and 'The Great\n     Preparation.' Second Series. New York: Carleton, publisher, 413\n     Broadway.\n\nThe writings of the Rev. Dr. Cumming are too well known to the public to\nneed any characterization at our hands. His style is clear and simple,\nand we believe it is his desire to awaken and win souls. Although\nfrequently miscomprehending the dogmas of the Mother Church, he is\nneither narrow nor bigoted in his religious views. In the volume under\nconsideration, he takes passages found principally in Isaiah and\nRevelations as texts to describe the Millennium which he believes at\nhand. He strives to inculcate the lesson, '_Be ye therefore ready_.'\n\n\n     CUDJO'S CAVE. By J. T. TROWBRIDGE, Author of\n     'Neighbor Jackwood,' 'The Drummer Boy,' etc. Boston: Tilton & Co.\n\nWe believe Mr. Trowbridge has achieved a real success in his Cudjo. The\nplot is well conceived and sustained, and the interest never flags from\nthe first page to the last. There is no dull reading in the book, no\ninterminable preludes or introductions. We are presented in the very\nfirst chapter to the hero, the young schoolmaster, about to be tarred\nand feathered by a brutal mob. And a real hero he proves himself in his\ngentleness, conscientiousness, and manly moral and physical courage.\nCarl, the German boy, is an inimitable picture of young German life and\ncharacter. Toby, the house negro, is, in his mingled stupidity, cunning,\nand faithfulness, drawn to the life. Nor are the negroes of the cave\nless excellent. Events hurry forward, different characters are strangely\ngrouped, new elements and capacities constantly developed, while truth\nto the original conception is constantly adhered to. Graphic\ndescriptions and picturesque situations abound. If scenes of violence\noccur, it is because they are true to the history of the hour. We close\nby extracting the closing sentence of this loyal and natural novel: 'For\npeaceful days, a peaceful and sunny literature: and may Heaven hasten\nthe time when there shall be no more strife, and no more human bondage;\nwhen, under the folds of the starry flag, from the lake chain to the\ngulf, and from sea to sea, freedom, peace, and righteousness shall\nreign; when all men shall love each other, and the nations shall know\nGod!'\n\n\n     UNITED STATES WALL ATLAS. Constructed and drawn under the\n     direction of A. GUYOT, by ERNEST SANDOZ. New\n     York: Published by Charles Scribner, 124 Grand street.\n\nThis is a physical map of the United States, giving the altitudes\n(within certain limits) of the surface of the land, the height of the\nprincipal mountains, the courses of the ranges and also of the rivers,\ntogether with many other interesting particulars. The principal\npolitical divisions and the chief towns are also indicated. The names of\nthat profound and earnest savant, Prof. A. Guyot, and of his talented\nnephew, E. Sandoz, are a sufficient guarantee of the accuracy and\nexcellence of this useful work.\n\n\n     A BUDGET OF FUN FOR LITTLE FOLKS. By AUNT MAGGIE.\n     Boston: Loring, publisher, 319 Washington street.\n\n     JEAN BELIN; or, The Adventures of a Little French Boy. By\n     ALFRED DE BREHAT. Translated from the French. Boston:\n     Loring, publisher, 319 Washington street. For sale by O. S. Felt,\n     36 Walker street, New York.\n\nTwo very pleasant books for children. The first contains the adventures\nof a knitting society, interspersed with sundry novel fairy tales, and\nthe second is intended to supply the need felt by all the little ones\nwhen 'Robinson Crusoe' and the 'Swiss Family Robinson' have been\nexhausted. The tale is lively and well told, and the characters natural\nand ably sustained. We notice in both works an occasional inaccuracy of\nexpression. Such slight blemishes do not materially impair the\nexcellence of these sprightly volumes, but a little more attention would\nhave sufficed to render them entirely free from error. The examples of\nlanguage placed before youth cannot be too carefully revised. With this\nminute exception, we heartily recommend the 'Budget of Fun' and 'Jean\nBelin,' especially the latter, to all young people.\n\n     CARROT-POMADE, with twenty-six Illustrations by\n     AUGUSTUS HOPPIN. 'Hair ten carats fine.' New York: James\n     G. Gregory, publisher, 46 Walker street.\n\nA ludicrous satire, and well deserved, on the general style of\nadvertisements. Hoppin is too well known to need laudation. His\nillustrations are irresistibly comic. What could be happier than the\ncupids of the brush and comb on the frontispiece? The poor 'krittur\nwhich furnished the grease' is well conceived and executed.\n\n     POEMS. By HENRY PETERSON. Philadelphia: J. B.\n     Lippincott.\n\nA volume of graceful verses. We quote its dedication: 'To the members of\nthat hard-working, poorly rewarded editorial profession, who make so\nmany reputations for others, and so few for themselves, this book is\nrespectfully dedicated by one of the fraternity.' 'Abra's Vision' is a\nhappy rendering of Leigh Hunt's 'Abou Ben Adhem.'\n\n     APPLETON'S UNITED STATES POSTAL GUIDE; containing the\n     Chief Regulations of the Post Office; and a complete List of Post\n     Offices throughout the United States, with other information for\n     the People. Published Quarterly. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 &\n     445 Broadway. One dollar per annum. Price, 25 cents.\n\nThis volume has been prepared with the sanction of Mr. Blair, Postmaster\nGeneral, and is an authorized medium of information between the Post\nOffice Department and the public. It meets a want very generally felt,\nand will be welcomed by the community at large. Its table of contents is\na full one; we have space but for a few items: 'Officers, and recent\nOrders of the Department; Rates of Postage to Foreign Countries; Rates\nof Domestic Postage; Date of Sailing of Foreign Steamers; Establishment\nof Post Offices; Mail Contracts; Penalties in certain cases; Suggestions\nto the Public; Time occupied in the transmission of Letters; Local Post\nOffice Regulations; List of Post Offices in the United States, etc. We\nregard the condensation of important and indeed almost necessary\ninformation as of great value to our people.\n\n     LEGENDS OF THE BIRDS. By CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.\n     Illustrated by F. Moras. Philadelphia: Frederick Leypoldt,\n     publisher. New York: for sale by F. W. Christern, 763 Broadway.\n\nAn exquisite volume, containing illuminated pictures of the Birds of the\nLegends. Very beautiful are the legends, tenderly and simply told in the\ngolden words of a poet. They are calculated to teach us humanity toward\nthe winged creatures of the air, so often the victims of our cruel\nsports. We have The Swallow, The Eagle, The Robin, The Cock, The Swan,\nThe Falcon, The Wood Dove, The Humming Bird, The Scarlet Tannager, The\nPeacock, and The Owl, each bird occupying his own illuminated page; each\nwith his own simple and touching legend. Mr. Leland's little poems will\nspeak to many a heart, and many a mother will read them aloud to the\nwild boys begging for guns to devastate our forests, to inspire them\nwith mercy for these flying flowers, these musicians of the air. Paper,\nprint, type, arabesques, and designs, are excellent. We heartily\ncongratulate Mr. Leypoldt on the beauty of the publication.\n\n     HAND BOOK OF CALISTHENICS AND GYMNASTICS: A Complete Drill\n     Book for Schools, Families, and Gymnasiums. With Music to accompany\n     the Exercises. Illustrated from original designs. By J. MADISON\n     WATSON. New York and Philadelphia: Schermerhorn, Bancroft &\n     Co. Chicago: George Sherwood. 1864.\n\nThe American people are waking up to the importance of physical culture,\nstruggling to develop muscle, to strengthen weak nerves, and to build up\nnational bodily vigor. The purpose of the volume before us is to solve\nthis problem. The author \"has aimed to make it a complete gymnastic\ndrill book, with words of command and classes of movements\nsystematically arranged, embracing all necessary exercises for the\nlungs, the voice, the organs of speech, the joints, and the muscles.\"\n\nPart 1st, under the head of _Vocal Gymnastics_, treats of Respiration,\nPhonetics, and Elocution; concise and clear principles and rules are\ngiven, accompanied by examples and exercises sufficiently numerous to\nenable the student to bring them completely within his comprehension and\nunder his control. We regard this part of the work before us as\nexceedingly important. To read aloud well is one of the rarest of\naccomplishments, though one of the most desirable, and the training of\nthe voice is absolutely necessary to attain this end. When properly\npursued, such exercises are exceedingly invigorating. 'In forming and\nundulating the voice,' says Dr. Combe, 'not only the chest, but also the\ndiaphragm and abdominal muscles are in constant action, and communicate\nto the stomach and bowels a healthy and agreeable stimulus.' The poetic\nselections are made with great taste, and are admirably fitted to\nachieve the end for which they are designed.\n\nPart 2d, under the head of _Calisthenics_, exhibits a varied course of\nexercises without the aid of apparatus. Pupils are taught to beat time,\nand use is thus made of the magic power of rhythmical movement. Nineteen\npieces of piano music are given, which are well chosen, and\nappropriately introduced.\n\nPart 3d, under the head of _Gymnastics_, presents a wider collection of\nexercises for wands, dumb bells, Indian clubs, and hand rings, than any\nof the books we have yet seen. All the exercises are arranged in\naccordance with well-known principles of Anatomy, Physiology, and\nHygiene. 'In presenting a _new system_ of Calisthenics and Gymnastics, a\nseries of illustrations from _original_ designs is indispensable.' These\nare remarkably well drawn and executed. Accent, quantity, with Iambic,\nTrochaic, Anapestic, and Dactylic Rhythms, are _practically_ given in\nthe work, which, should the student have poetic talent, would be of\ngreat use to him in making his own verses, while to the reader of poetry\na knowledge of them is indispensable.\n\nWe heartily commend this book to the notice of our readers--to all who\nprize physical culture, health, and symmetrical education. We hope it\nmay find its way into our schools and families.\n\nPrint, paper, and the mechanical execution of this valuable Hand Book\nare really excellent.\n\n     LIGHT ON SHADOWED PATHS. By T. S. ARTHUR, Author\n     of 'Ten Nights in a Bar Room,' 'Steps toward Heaven,' 'Golden\n     Grain,' etc. New York: Carleton, publisher, 413 Broadway.\n\nThe books of T. S. Arthur have had a very wide circulation both in this\ncountry and in England. This volume is composed of thirty-three short\ntales, well calculated to touch and soothe the popular heart. They are\ntender, moral, and simple.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJANUARY PERIODICALS RECEIVED.\n\n     THE UNIVERSALIST QUARTERLY. Boston: Published by T.\n     Tompkins & Co. New York: H. Lyon, 119 Nassau street.\n\nCONTENTS: The Logic and the End of the Rebellion. The Eastern\nChurch and Council of Nice. Salvation in Christ not Limited to this\nLife. Contributions of Science to Religion. History of the Doctrine of a\nFuture Life. Atheism and its Exponents. Formula of Baptism. The\nUniversalists as a Christian Sect. General Review. Recent Publications.\nAmerican and English Quarterlies.\n\n     THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW, January 1st, 1864. Editors:\n     Prof. James Russell Lowell and Charles Eliot Norton, Esqs. Boston:\n     Crosby & Nichols, 117 Washington street. New York: H. Dexter,\n     Hamilton & Co., Sinclair Tousey, and D. G. Francis.\n\nCONTENTS: Ticknor's Life of Prescott. The Bible and Slavery.\nThe Ambulance System. The Bibliotheca Sacra. Immorality in Politics. The\nEarly Life of Governor Winthrop. The Sanitary Commission. Renan's Life\nof Jesus. The President's Policy. Critical Notices.\n\n     THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.--Contents: Weiss's Life of\n     Theodore Parker. Uhland. The Patience of Hope. Arthur Schopenhauer.\n     The System and Order of Christ's Ministry. Ticknor's Life of\n     Prescott. Our Ambulance System. The Two Messages. Review of Current\n     Literature. New Publications Received. Boston: By the Proprietors,\n     at Walker, Wise & Co.'s, 245 Washington street.\n\n\n\n\nEDITOR'S TABLE.\n\n\nARTISTS' RECEPTION.\n\nThe evening of February 4th, 1864, will long be remembered as the\noccasion of one of the most delightful receptions ever given in the\nTenth-street Studio Building. The Committee deserve great praise for the\nsuccessful manner in which they filled without crowding the pleasant\nexhibition-room and the many interesting studios. Their task was\ncertainly not an easy one, and merits imitation by all managers of\nsocial entertainments.\n\nWant of space must for the present prevent any description of the fine\nworks exhibited; suffice it to say that the Committee--Whittredge,\nMcEntee, Thompson, as well as Gifford, Eastman Johnson, Bierstadt,\nBeard, the Weirs, Hazeltine, William Hart, Dana, Leutze, Gignoux,\nShattuck, Brown, Suydam, etc., were all worthily represented. New York\nhas reason to be proud of her artists.\n\nAmusing incidents were not wanting. As we stood before Beard's\n'Watchers' (an impressive representation of a company of crows watching\nthe last struggles of a dying deer), we heard a lady ask her attendant\nthe meaning of the picture and of its name. The reply was, 'Why--do you\nnot see? Those birds are owls, and they are asleep, and the deer is\nasleep too, and so they are all watchers!' 'Ah!' returned the lady, as\nif this lucid explanation had flooded the subject with light. We were\naccompanied by a very bright young girl, who, desirous of visiting the\nstudio of Mr. Church, and disappointed at learning that it had not been\nopened to the guests of the building, exclaimed, 'Heart of the Andes,\nindeed! Where is his own?' No lover of the true and the beautiful could\nhave resisted the pleading of those earnest blue eyes. We also overheard\nthat 'the Tenth-street boys hold their heads mighty high!' Long may they\ncontinue to do so, and long may success of every kind crown their\nefforts, whether as artists or as conscientious, patriotic men!\n\n\nGOUNOD'S 'FAUST.'\n\nThis opera has attracted large audiences wherever it has been\nrepresented, and has elicited much attention and criticism from the\nmusical public. Dwight's _Journal of Music_, Boston, January 23d,\ncontains the best review of its merits and defects which we have thus\nfar chanced to meet. Mr. Dwight gives M. Gounod ample credit for the\ngood judgment, common sense, science, taste, poetic feeling, rich and\nhighly dramatic orchestration, ingenious musical characterization of\nindividuals and situations, and the many passages of beautiful music\nfound in this elaborate work, but denies to him the _highest_\ninspiration, the spontaneity of genius, and the attainment of any very\nlofty ideal in the production of continuous, elevated, and\nsoul-entrancing melodies. We think this a pretty fair statement of the\nfacts in the case. Mr. Dwight, however, says: 'Not even Mozart in 'Don\nJuan' had so great a subject;' and in this connection we feel compelled\nto offer a few remarks. We think every great composer owes it to his own\nGod-gift, and to the human beings whom he is to influence, not to select\nintrinsically repulsive subjects, and such have we found both 'Don Juan'\nand 'Faust.' Now we are not morbidly fastidious, and we well know the\nfreedom that must be accorded to art, that it may have ample scope and\nrange in the delineation of human feeling and romantic situation; but\nwhen we see a representation of 'Don Juan,' we instinctively strive to\nignore the plot, with its odious characters (the sensual Don, the\ncoarse-minded servant, the unwomanly, man-seeking Elvira, the vengeful\nAnna, the insignificant Ottavio, the light-headed and shallow-hearted\nZerlina), and live only in the beautiful music which the prodigality of\ngenius has wasted upon so poor a theme. Not even _that_ libretto could\ndegrade the pure, serious, and essentially innocent character of\nMozart's conceptions; but, in turn, his refined musical conception has\nbeen unable to lift the subject from the mire of Da Ponte's delineation.\nWe know that page after page has been written to unfold the mystic\nmeanings and profound philosophy contained in the story, but our\nobservation has been, that the effect of the whole upon pure minds is\nsimply--disgust. The musical grandeur of the finale rarely saves its\nbecoming ludicrous in the representation, and the _good joke_ of a life\nof unblushing immorality is in no way lessened by the appearance of\ndemons, in whose existence half the world (at least of of opera goers)\nhas ceased to believe.\n\nThe 'Faust' is nearly, if not quite, as bad. The undisguised sensuality\nof Faust, both in Goethe's drama and in the operatic rendering, is such\nthat it nearly destroys our sympathy with Margaret, and scenes that\nshould be pathetic are either merely repulsive, or excite our\nindignation to such a degree that we 'turn all our tears to sparks of\nfire.'\n\nNothing but loathing can attend the open, deliberate, and utterly gross\ndestruction of virtue as planned and executed by that miserable\nlibertine. Mephistopheles himself is scarcely more corrupt, and the\nrepresentation of these two great poisonous spiders, weaving their\nmeshes round their unfortunate and but too easy prey, can never in any\nsense impress us as lofty specimens of _high art_.\n\nHow different is the plot of 'Fidelio,' where one can yield oneself to\nthe beauty of the music and the pathos of the story without a single\njarring sensation!\n\nLet the masters then beware! Music is essentially pure, and should never\nby great minds be wedded to coarse ideas. The subject must have an\ninfluence upon the immortality of the work. The really noble and truly\nart-loving men and women of all countries will, as they advance in\nmental cultivation and comprehension of the higher aims of art, banish\nsuch gross delineations and festering moral sores from the stage, and\nfine musical works thus sullied will continue to live solely as\nrepresented by such instrument or instruments as may best be calculated\nto express their real value and meaning.\n\nWe go to the opera for relaxation, improvement, and enjoyment, and none\nof these can be found in the spectacle of noble means perverted to\ncorrupt ends. May the day soon come when such important channels of\npublic amusement and instruction may be guided by a refined taste and\ncorrect views of the intimate connection between the Beautiful and the\nAbsolute Good!\n\n\nBallads of the War.\n\n\n  THE DEATH OF COLONEL SHAW.\n\n  By ISABELLA McFARLANE.\n\n  Loud rang the voice of the chieftain,\n     As the Fifty-fourth rushed on:\n  'Charge on the guns of Wagner,\n     Charge--and the fort is won!'\n\n  On--like a wave of the ocean,\n     Dashing against a rock!--\n  Back--ah! back--all broken,\n     Like a wave from the fruitless shock.\n\n  Thus from the guns of Wagner\n     The Fifty-fourth surged back:\n  But the voice of their brave young chieftain\n     Checked not their backward track\n\n  For there, on the sands by Wagner,\n     The gallant Shaw lay low,\n  'Midst a heap of his brave black soldiers,\n     Left in the hands of the foe.\n\n  Not a flag was lowered in his honor,\n     Not a gun its deep voice gave,\n  When, on the sands by Wagner,\n     Shaw was laid in the grave.\n\n  Not a friend stood over his coffin,\n     Shedding tears on his gory breast;\n  But instead, was curse and insult,\n     Cruel laughter, ribald jest.\n\n  Wide and deep was the trench they hollowed,\n     Where the gallant Shaw was laid,\n  With forty negro soldiers\n     Piled over his noble head.\n\n  Yes, forty negro soldiers,\n     Whose hearts were hearts of steel,\n  Who had fought in the cause of freedom,\n     Who had died for their country's weal.\n\n  Was it then so great dishonor\n     For that chief so young and brave--\n  Who had led them on to the battle--\n     To be with them in the grave?\n\n  Nay--most just was the mandate\n     That in death they should not part,\n  For he loved his poor black brothers,\n     With a true and steadfast heart.\n\n  Move not his honored ashes--\n     Let him slumber where he lies,\n  Till the voice of the great Archangel\n     Sounds the trumpet-call to the skies![25]\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] THE GEOLOGICAL EVIDENCES OF THE ANTIQUITY OF MAN, with Remarks on\nTheories of the Origin of Species by Variation. By Sir CHARLES LYELL, F.\nR. S. Author of 'Principles of Geology,' Elements of Geology,' etc.,\netc. Illustrated by woodcuts. Philadelphia: George W. Childs, 628 and\n630 Chestnut street. 1863\n\n[2] If any one is disposed to doubt that the doctrine that fossil forms\nare direct creations, and were never living animals at all, is held by\nany respectable person, we refer them to a book entitled 'Cosmogony, or\nthe Mysteries of Creation,' by Thomas A. Davies, and published by Rudd &\nCarleton, of New York, of no longer ago than 1857.\n\n[3] Principles of Geology, 9th ed., p. 740.\n\n[4] Professor Louis Agassiz, the most patient, learned, and acute\ninvestigator of embryology now living, finds in that science (upon\nwhich, in truth, rests the final settlement of the so-called development\ntheory) _'no single fact_ to justify the assumption that the laws of\ndevelopment, now known to be so precise and definite for every animal,\nhave ever been less so, or have ever been allowed to run into each\nother. The philosopher's stone is no more to be found in the organic\nthan the inorganic world; and we shall seek as vainly to transform the\nlower animal types into the higher ones by any of our theories, as did\nthe alchemists of old to change the baser metals into gold.' He also\nsays: 'To me the fact that the embryonic form of the highest vertebrate\nrecalls in its earlier stages the first representatives of its type in\ngeological times and its lowest representatives at the present day,\nspeaks only of an ideal relation, existing, not in the things\nthemselves, but in the mind that made them. It is true that the\nnaturalist is sometimes startled at these transient resemblances of the\nyoung among the higher animals in one type to the adult condition of the\nlower animals in the same type; but it is also true that he finds each\none of the primary divisions of the animal kingdom bound to its own norm\nof development, which is absolutely distinct from that of all others; it\nis also true that, while he perceives correspondences between the early\nphases of the higher animals and the mature state of the lower ones he\nnever sees any one of them diverge in the slightest degree from its own\nstructural character--never sees the lower rise by a shade beyond the\nlevel which is permanent for the group to which it belongs--never sees\nthe higher ones stop short of their final aim, either in the mode or the\nextent of their transformation.' He likewise ('Methods of Study in\nNatural History,' page 140) discusses the matter of breeds as bearing\nupon diversities of species in a manner to justify his conclusion, that:\n'The influence of man upon animals is, in other words, the influence of\n_mind_ upon them; and yet the ordinary mode of argument upon this\nsubject is, that, because the intelligence of man has been able to\nproduce certain varieties in domesticated animals, therefore physical\ncauses have produced all the diversity existing among wild ones. Surely,\nthe sounder logic would be to infer that, because our finite\nintelligence may cause the original pattern to vary by some slight\nshades of difference, therefore a superior intelligence must have\nestablished all the boundless diversity of which our boasted varieties\nare but the faintest echo. It is the most intelligent farmer who has the\ngreatest success in improving his breeds; and if the animals he has so\nfostered are left to themselves without that intelligent care, they\nreturn to their normal condition. So with plants....'--_Ed. Con_.\n\n[5] In Latin, _Sublaqueum_, or _Sublacum_, in the States of the Church,\nover thirty English miles (Butler says 'near forty,' Montalombert,\n'fifty miles') east of Rome, on the Teverone. Butler describes the place\nas 'a barren, hideous chain of rocks, with a river and lake in the\nvalley.'\n\n[6] _Monasterium Cassinense._ It was destroyed, indeed, by the Lombards,\nas early as 583, as Benedict is said to have predicted it would be, but\nwas rebuilt in 731, consecrated in 748, again destroyed by the Saracens\nin 857, rebuilt about 950, and more completely, after many other\ncalamities, in 1649, consecrated for the third time by Benedict XIII in\n1727, enriched and increased under the patronage of the emperors and\npopes, in modern times despoiled of ts enormous income (which at the end\nof the sixteenth century was reckoned at 500,000 ducats), and has stood\nthrough all vicissitudes to this day. In the times of its splendor, when\nthe abbot was first baron of the kingdom of Naples, and commanded over\nfour hundred towns and villages, it numbered several hundred monks but\nin 1843 only twenty. It has a considerable library. Montalembert (Monks\nof the West, ii. 19) calls Monte Cassino 'the most powerful and\ncelebrated monastery in the Catholic universe; celebrated especially\nbecause there Benedict wrote his rule and formed the type which was to\nserve as a model to innumerable communities submitted to that sovereign\ncode.' He also quotes the poetic description from Dante's _Paradiso_.\nDom Luigi Tosti published at Naples, in 1842, a full history of this\nconvent, in three volumes.\n\n[7] Gregor. Dial. ii. 37.\n\n[8] Butler, in his Lives of Saints, compares Benedict even with Moses\nand Elijah. 'Being chosen by God, like another Moses, to conduct\nfaithful souls into the true promised land, the kingdom of heaven, he\nwas enriched with eminent supernatural gifts, even those of miracles and\nprophecy. He seemed, like another Eliseus, endued by God with an\nextraordinary power, commanding all nature, and, like the ancient\nprophets, foreseeing future events. He often raised the sinking courage\nof his monks, and baffled the various artifices of the devil with the\nsign of the cross, rendered the heaviest stone light, in building his\nmonastery, by a short prayer, and, in presence of a multitude of people,\nraised to life a novice who had been crushed by the fall of a wall at\nMonte Cassino.' Montalembert omits the more extraordinary miracles,\nexcept the deliverance of Placidus from the whirlpool, which he relates\nin the language of Bossuet, ii. 15.\n\n[9] 'Scienter nesciens, et sapienter indoctus.'\n\n[10] The Catholic Church has recognized three other rules besides that\nof St. Benedict, viz.: 1. That of St. Basil, which is stilt retained by\nthe Oriental monks; 2. That of St. Augustine, which is adopted by the\nregular canons, the order of the preaching brothers or Dominicans, and\nseveral military orders; 3. The rule of St. Francis of Assisi and his\nmendicant order, in the thirteenth century.\n\n[11] Pope Gregory believed the rule of St. Benedict even to be directly\ninspired, and Bossuet (_Panegyrie de Saint Benoit_), in evident\nexaggeration, calls it 'an epitome of Christianity, a learned and\nmysterious abridgement of all doctrines of the gospel, all the\ninstitutions of the holy fathers, and all the counsels of perfection.'\nMontalembert speaks in a similar strain of French declamatory eloquence.\n\n[12] Cap. 5: 'Primus humilitatis gradus est obedientia sine mora. Haec\nconvenit iis, qui nihil sibi Christo carius aliquid existimant: propter\nservitium sanctum, quod professi sunt, seu propter metum gehennae, vel\ngloriam vitae aeternae, mox ut aliquid imperatum a majore fuerit, ac si\ndivinitus imperetur, moram pati nesciunt in faciendo.'\n\n[13] Cap. 48: 'Otiositas inimica est animae; et ideo certis temporibus\noccupari debent fratres in labore manuum, certis iterum horis in\nlectione divina.' vina.'\n\n[14] The _horae canonicae_ are the _Nocturnae vigiliae_, _Matutinae_,\n_Prima_, _Tertia_, _Sexta_, _Nona_, _Vespera_, and _Completorium_, and\nare taken (c. 16) from a literal interpretation of Ps. cxix. 164: 'Seven\ntimes a day do I praise thee,' and v. 62: 'At midnight I will rise to\ngive thanks unto thee.' The Psalter was the liturgy and hymn book of the\nconvent. It was so divided among the seven services of the day, that the\nwhole Psalter should be chanted once a week.\n\n[15] Cap. 59: 'Si quis forte de nobilibus offert filium suum Deo in\nmonasterio, si ipse puer minori aetate est, parentes ejus faciant\npetitionem,' etc.\n\n[16] Cap. 40: 'Carnium quadrupedum ab omnibus abstinetur comestio,\npraeter omnino debiles et aegrotos.' Even birds are excluded, which were\nat that time only delicacies for princes and nobles, as Mabillon shows\nfrom the contemporary testimony of Gregory of Tours.\n\n[17] Cap. 66: 'Monasterium, si possit fieri, ita debet construi, ut\nomnia necessaria, id est aqua, molendinum, hortus, pistrinum, vel artes\ndiversae intra monasterium exerceantur, ut non sit necessitas monachis\nvagandi foras, quia omnino non expedit animabus eorum.'\n\n[18] This Maurus, the founder of the abbacy of Glanfeuil (St. Maur sur\nLoire), is the patron saint of a branch of the Benedictines, the\ncelebrated Maurians in France (dating from 1618), who so highly\ndistinguished themselves in the seventeenth and early part of the\neighteenth centuries, by their thorough archaeological and historical\nresearches, and their superior editions of the Fathers. The most eminent\nof the Maurians are D. (Dom, equivalent to Domnus, Sir) Menard,\nd'Achery, Godin, Mabillon, le Nourry, Martianay, Ruinart, Martene,\nMontfaucon, Massuet, Garnier, and de la Rue, and in our time Dom Pitra,\neditor of a valuable collection of patristic fragments, at the cloister\nof Solesme.\n\n[19] He was the last of the Roman consuls--an office which Justinian\nabolished--and was successively the minister of Odoacer, Theodoric, and\nAthalaric, who made him prefect of the pretorium.\n\n[20] Or _Vivaria_, so called from the numerous _vivaria_, or fish ponds,\nin that region\n\n[21] Comp. Mabillon, Ann. Bened. 1. v. c. 24, 27; F. de Ste.-Marthe, Vie\nde Cassiodore, 1684.\n\n[22] I take this anecdote on Mr. Underhill's authority.\n\n[23] As in the Hotel du Louvre in Paris.\n\n[24] The great Bible-printing establishment at Oxford encloses a\nspacious courtyard, which is laid out as a garden. The foliage is\nagreeably disposed, and there are shrubbery walks, flowers, vases, and\nparterres, all arranged in the best taste. Consider what a healthful\ninfluence this must have on the character of the workman.\n\n[25] 'Buried with his niggers.' Such was the answer of the rebel\ncommander at Charleston to General Gillmore's demand for the body of\nColonel Shaw, who commanded the 54th Massachusetts, one of the first\nnegro regiments organized, and was killed in an unsuccessful attempt to\ncarry Fort Wagner by assault.","title":"The Continental Monthly, Vol. 5, No. 4, April, 1864","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":76122}